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Understanding passes over her features. “Can he hear me?”
“Nope.” I point at the earbuds.
“Good. Don’t call me baby.” Her nostrils flare, and I smile wider at her irritation. It’s like a drug to me. I love playing with her, firing her up. “I get that we need to pretend in front of him, but—oh my god. Is that a photo of me on your nightstand?”
Behind me, McKinnon starts moving around the room, making noise. “You know I miss you like crazy when I’m on the road.”
She flattens her palm over her mouth like she’s trying to hide a laugh. “Did he see it?”
“Yep.” I grin at her, and she snorts.
“Go into the hall if you’re going to talk all night,” McKinnon says.
Over my shoulder, I give him a disinterested, distracted look and point at my earbuds. “I can’t hear you. I’m doing Hartley’s yoga class.”
“No, you’re not,” Hartley says in my ear.
I ignore her, shrugging at McKinnon. “You’re welcome to join,” I lie. He’s not fucking welcome. “If you want to work on your flexibility.”
“I’m good,” he says, scowling as he picks up his phone and wallet.
I swivel my chair back to my laptop, smiling at Hartley as the hotel room door closes behind McKinnon. “That was fun.”
The corner of her mouth lifts.
“Admit it.”
Her smile lifts higher, and my knee bounces. “Okay. It was fun. Good night.”
“I’m staying for the class.”
“Miller. This is my job. We fucked with Connor, and now I actually need to teach a class.”
Something unpleasant stabs me in the gut. I’m not like McKinnon. I’m not going to make things difficult for her when she’s trying to work.
“Hey.” My voice turns sincere and coaxing, and I dampen my amusement. “I just want to get a good stretch in, okay? I’m not here to cause problems.”
She doesn’t seem convinced. “You cause problems whether you’re trying or not.”
I laugh. “You’re not wrong, but I’m going to mute myself. You won’t even know I’m here.” My brows lift. “Your website says everyone is welcome. You can’t kick me out just because I have a perfect physique.”
I swear she’s blushing. “You’re never going to drop that, are you?”
“Nope.” She’s definitely blushing.
“You can stay on one condition.” Her expression turns serious. “These students are not professional athletes. They’re normal people. They have normal bodies. My job is to make everyone feel welcome, regardless of what they look like or what their abilities are.” She gives me a long look, no trace of irritation or frustration on her face. “I teach fat people, skinny people, young people, old people, differently abled people… everyone. Everyone deserves to enjoy movement and feel good in their bodies.”
An ugly feeling whips through me. Does she really think I’msuchan asshole that I would make fun of people for not being professional athletes?
“If you make anyone feel uncomfortable,” she says, and her voice is firm, “I’ll remove you from the class.”
I blink at her. “I wouldn’t, Hartley. I would never do that.”
She looks down, nodding. “Okay. Good.”
My eyebrows pinch as I study her. I just found an interesting part of Hartley, and I want to know so much more. And at the same time, I don’t like that she felt the need to lay out these rules for me. Treating people with respect is just common sense. I would never—
I think about last year, how Streicher and I fought. How I antagonized people on the ice. How everyone compares me to my dad.
