Emerson: Go be a badass yoga babe.

  Katie: Always.

  On that note, I grab my bright red purse, tuck my phone inside it, and bound down the steps of my building to the waiting car.

  “Hey, Saul,” I say to the driver.

  “Hello, Miss Madigan. You’re looking spirited this morning. But then, you often are.”

  “Only way to be.” I flash him a grin. He’s my regular guy—I like to use a driver when I have a ton of meetings, and today is one of those days. This way I can work as I zip around the Bay Area.

  I slide into the back of the car right as my phone buzzes.

  Grabbing it from my bag, I glance at the screen, and a giddy smile takes over my face. A message from the man of the day blinks at me.

  Harlan: Question—would a foosball/ice cream shop work for tonight’s date? After dinner, of course.

  Katie: Two of my favorite things. Three, if you count dinner. But does the shop have a good name? I require a clever name.

  Harlan: Darn. The only place I found that offers two of life’s greatest treats is called . . . wait for it . . . Ye Olde Ice Cream Shoppe.

  Katie: I’m so sad thinking about all the missed opportunities there. They could have called it Poles and Cones.

  Harlan: Ah, good one. I was thinking Sweet Cheeks and Sticks for my future foosball/ice cream joint.

  Katie: And will you serve Libido cones and cups of Desire?

  Harlan: Both. All night long. That combo is on the house for you, sweetheart.

  The bubble inside me cannot be burst. It’s growing bigger and glowing brighter. I clutch the phone, delighting in the messages from him. Taking time to get to know someone is going to be a blast. Bring it on, dating. Come to me, flirting. I am ready to enjoy every step of my brand-new, slow-down-and-smell-the-roses path.

  I’m tapping out a reply when my phone trills.

  Zachary’s name flashes across the screen. “Oh, fabulous dealmaker. Tell me things,” I say as Saul slides the car into traffic, heading south on our way to Palo Alto.

  “Change of plans,” Zachary says, all cheery and caffeinated. “I called Michelle just now. She wasn’t scheduled for a class today, but I want to send her to the venture firm instead of you. Because I need to send you to a new last-minute client. Came in earlier this week and specifically requested the yoga empress.”

  I adjust my imaginary tiara. “It’s good to be the queen.”

  “I’m sure it is, your majesty,” he quips, then continues. “I’ve been sorting through the paperwork. The deal isn’t done yet, but they’ve seen your online videos and researched you, and Lacey—she’s the contact—was raving about the class you did last year in Los Angeles for the elite marathoners. The new client is high-profile.”

  A smidgen of worry digs in, and I hope my plans for tonight aren’t about to get completely derailed. “Just tell me they aren’t in Los Angeles,” I say. Literally nothing can ruin my day except the cancellation of my long-awaited date with the man I’ve had the most chemistry with ever.

  Huh.

  That’s how it is with Harlan.

  We have chemistry, in bed and out of it. Our attraction burns hot, and our compatibility seems off the charts.

  Zachary laughs loudly. “Nope. The new client is in the city, so you actually don’t have as far to go. You’re welcome. It’s Wilder Enterprises.” A fire truck blares its sirens, and I don’t hear what Zachary says next, then sirens blast louder.

  When they fade for a second, I shout, “Just text me the info.”

  The volume climbs again, and Zachary booms, “I’ll send it to your driver’s GPS.”

  “Thanks,” I say, and when we hang up, my phone flashes with the new email icon.

  I scan the pertinent details from my VP. The class I’ll be teaching is Ouch! I Can’t Reach My Toes—Yoga for Flexibility.

  Ah, that class is so fun. And the deal could lead to more partnerships with other high-profile businesses, Zachary writes.

  Sounds good to me.

  I tap back a reply.

  Katie: On my way.

  Then I return to the text thread with Harlan, smiling at the message about his pretend ice cream joint. It’s my turn, so I write back.

  Katie: Glad to hear your fictional ice cream shop won’t charge me. For the record, I am all over a foosball and sweet shop.

  Harlan: Someone needs to make that happen. My mouth is watering now just thinking of it. By the way, are you in the mood for sushi, Thai, Italian, Vietnamese, or some other fantastic cuisine tonight? The only thing off-limits is a new boba place in Hayes Valley because my bud Jason is taking a date there, and if we show up too, I’d look like I have no creativity. So don’t say boba in Hayes Valley, pretty please.

  Katie: Darn. I love boba tea!

  Harlan: Ha. Me too. And trying new boba shops is fun.

  We text back and forth, picking a location for sushi as the car zips through the city.

  “Almost there, Miss Madigan,” Saul calls out.

  “Thank you for the heads up,” I say, but I don’t glance away from my phone because talking to Harlan is too fun.

  Harlan: Fair warning. I plan on kissing the breath out of you as soon as I see you tonight. Miss those lips of yours, sweetheart.

  My stomach flips. Warmth winds through me.

  Katie: I definitely volunteer as tribute for that.

  Harlan: Excellent. Now, I need to turn my phone off. We have game film today, and my Lyft just dropped me off at the training facility.

  Katie: We just drove past the stadium. Have fun!

  Only, instead of going by the stadium, Saul pulls into the parking lot behind it. That’s odd. Why are we here?

  But Saul doesn’t know. The email says to go to the South Entrance of Wilder Enterprises, so I do, even though it looks suspiciously like the training facility for the San Francisco Renegades.

  Before I can knock on the door, it swings open, and a woman greets me. She’s petite and peppy, full of energy. “I’m Lacey, and we’re excited to have you here. Your online video on how to balance a crow pose in ten days? Changed. My. Life.” The tiny brunette brims with enthusiasm as she escorts me to an exercise room. I quickly get the room set up with mats and Lacey turns to me and says, “And here is our Super Bowl-winning team.”

  My head spins.

  No effing way.

  My new client is the San Francisco Renegades.

  Which means I’ll be teaching downward-facing dog to my date.

  14

  HARLAN

  Coach Greenhaven clicks off the big screen, takes a deep breath, then says to the team, “And that’s what you need to know about the Seattle secondary. They are as ruthless as Baltimore’s.”

  “My right thigh will vouch for Baltimore,” I say, patting my leg. A collision with that team’s cornerback last month led to a strained hamstring, but thankfully, it didn’t put me out of commission.

  With a stern look in his gray eyes, the head coach turns his gaze to me then nods to the rest of the 53-man roster, parked in leather chairs scattered around the room. “And that’s why I took Harlan out of the last game there at the end. Don’t want that thigh to turn into an injury for him and if anyone else sustained a similar injury, I’d do the same.” Coach takes a beat, surveys the team. “And that’s also why we’re implementing some new protocols. Our team trainers are on top of the latest sports medicine research and exercise. Studies have shown that athletes heal faster from injuries and have fewer injuries too if they practice yoga regularly.”

  I sit up straighter, my interest piqued by the mention of yoga. Katie’s profession. Maybe I’ll learn an interesting tidbit to share with her tonight. Bet she’d dig that.

  “It improves strength, balance, and flexibility, and it’s proven to help top athletes speed up their recovery time and stay off the injured list. Something you all want to do, I presume?”

  Nods and grunts of agreement echo in the spacious room. I sit on the edge of my chair, eager for more info.

  “And starting today, you’ll all be taking yoga classes,” he says.

  Some of the noises of agreement become groans and whines.

  I turn around, giving the guys a c’mon look. “You all just said you wanted fewer injuries. Now you don’t want to do yoga? Man up, Renegades.”

  “Yoga is for girls,” someone mutters.

  “Yoga won’t help me tackle.”

  “Yoga is weird.”

  I roll my eyes. “You wish you played as well as a girl.” I will defend girls till my dying day.

  Probably from the grave too.

  Coach lifts his hands to settle down the naysayers. “Enough. You’re doing yoga from now until the end of the season. No griping. You want a nice, long, healthy career? You’ll practice warrior pose, tree pose, and whatever else the teacher says. This is not optional, Renegades. This concludes the meeting.” He points to the door. “Head to Exercise Room Three and get into child’s pose. Which ought to come easy to some of you.”

  Oh, this is even better. I’ll have so much juicy goodness to share with Katie tonight.

  I head out of the film room with Cooper. “I love yoga,” he says. “Violet took me to a class last year, and it was awesome.”

  “So, you did do a workout date,” I say as we stroll down the corridor.

  He scratches his jaw, seems to consider this. “Huh. I guess that was a workout date. Damn good one too. Guess Jason is onto something.”

  “Seems he is, but I’m still opting for dinner and foosball tonight instead,” I say, as we near the exercise room. But I switch gears away from dating as I point to my hamstring, nerves in my voice. “I could use something to help with this old leg here. I don’t want to pull a muscle and be out of commission.”

  Maybe yoga will be my savior. Maybe it’ll help keep me at the top of my game in this critical season.

  Critical, as I figure out what the hell to do with my football future.

  Cooper claps me on the back. “Dude, I need you on the field. You’re one of my favorite targets.”

  “And I want to keep being one,” I say, intensely. Since that’s the goal, no matter what. I still don’t know what happens at the end of the season. But whether this is my final year or whether I try to get an epic deal in free agency, the last thing I want is to be down for the count. At all.

  Stats, games, and playing ball—that’s what I want to do.

  I draw a soldiering breath, point to the door and the room beyond. Ready to handle whatever the team throws at us. “If yoga helps me, I will be Namaste-ing day and—”

  I stop in the doorway.

  Whoa.

  A smile spreads at the gorgeous sight.

  Who knew I’d be getting an early preview of my date tonight? She’s the last person I expect to see, but damn, it is good to set eyes on Katie.

  Lucky me to get a sneak peek.

  Except.

  Wait.

  Hold on.

  What the hell is she doing here in the exercise room? With mats spread out on the floor, and yoga straps and stuff?

  Plus, she’s in her yoga clothes, and she’s talking to Lacey, one of the team trainers.

  Well, shit.

  The answer comes in a flash, and it sucks.

  She can’t be our new yoga teacher.

  And yet, I’m sure she is.

  I groan inside. Pretty sure, too, that a date with Katie will violate the team’s no fraternization policy—no dates or hookups with personnel like team trainers, team docs, team managers, or team anythings.

  Katie swings her gaze to me. For a fraction of a second, her eyes flicker with excitement, but resignation quickly replaces it.

  Frustration swirls in my gut. I try not to let things get me down, but I am more than bummed.

  I am seriously disappointed.

  All these years, all this time, and now this twist of fate before what was supposed to be our third time lucky?

  Jaw tight, I grab a mat, flop down, and listen to our new yoga instructor for the next fifty minutes as she guides us through a series of poses.

  These are the poses I want to do with her.

  Only, I can’t.

  When class ends, the guys filter out, but Lacey calls me over to the front of the room.

  What’s that all about? Does she know I already have a thing with Katie? Are we going to be put on some kind of notice?

  I haul in a breath, stealing myself for a reprimand for something I couldn’t foresee. I do my best to stay cool, flashing a smile at the blonde bombshell I want to take home with me, and the brunette pipsqueak in charge of our physical fitness.

  The trainer bounces on her white sneakers. “Harlan, I want to personally introduce you to Katie Madigan.”

  Lacey, that won’t be necessary. I personally introduced myself to every inch of her delicious skin a few months ago when I hand- and cock- and tongue-delivered four orgasms, but thanks for the formality, anyway.

  “Pleasure to meet you,” I say, extending a hand to Katie.

  Her blue eyes twinkle with a cocktail of mischief and regret as she takes my palm. “Pleasure to meet you too, Harlan. I enjoy watching you play.”

  “And I enjoy posing like a flamingo,” I say, still holding her hand. I don’t want to let go. This may be the only time I’ll get to touch her all day.

  Hell, maybe all season.

  I whimper inside.

  My dick wails a song of sorrow.

  My libido curls up in the corner.

  I’ve been cock-blocked by my own damn team.

  “So,” Lacey continues, her brown-eyed gaze straying to our joined hands. Quickly, I let go. “The receiver’s coach and I met earlier today about you, Harlan.”

  I jerk my gaze to Lacey. “You did?”

  Lacey, a former cheerleader, nods enthusiastically. Lacey does everything enthusiastically. “We did, and we thought, given the hamstring strain you sustained the other week, we should make sure your flexibility and balance are at peak levels.”

  For a guy who puts in the extra work, the suggestion sure bristles me. “You’re saying they’re not?”

  Her smile is wide. It usually is. “I’m saying your performance is indeed peak, and we want to keep it there. We think yoga can do that. What do you think?”

  I flash back to my jog this morning. To the wince I felt. Sure, I spend plenty of time lifting weights, running plays. But stretching? I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to improve ye olde flexibility.

  I let go of the momentary annoyance. “Let’s do it.”

  She wipes a hand across her forehead in exaggerated relief. “Whew. I’m glad you agree. Because we’d like you to set up some one-on-one sessions directly with Katie. We need our star receiver corps to be in fantastic shape. Maybe tomorrow morning you could meet up at Katie’s studio? Obviously, the team will cover all the expenses. So, if you two can just exchange numbers and handle the timing?”

  Lacey’s eyes widen as she waits for an answer.

  Katie chimes in first. “Absolutely. I welcome the chance,” she says.

  I clear my throat, hiding the chuckle working its way out. The situation isn’t funny, but the idea that we need to trade numbers is.

  Though, maybe funny isn’t the word. More like devastating to my dick and heart, since both are into Katie.

  Lacey spins on her heel, leaving me alone with the woman I want but can’t have.

  I glance around. Coast is clear. My chest weighs a ton. I hate doing this . . .

  “So, about tonight,” I say heavily.

  Her shoulders hunch. “I know. I figured as much.”

  She’s already on the same page, but I need to be clear. It’s important. “I shouldn’t date someone who works for the team.” It’d look bad, especially in this critical season. I’d look like the playboy I once was. I’m not that guy anymore, and I don’t want to put the team in an awkward position. The potential for a social media blowup is too high.

  “And I can’t date a client,” she adds, sadness in her tone. Her eyes sweep the exercise room, then return to me. “It could hurt our reputation as we’re growing the business. I worry it would look like I’m sleeping my way to deals, especially with such a high-profile one. This is a big opportunity for Sassy Yoga.”

  She sounds wracked by guilt, and I’ll have none of that.

  “Katie, I want this deal to go well for your company, so don’t apologize. I understand completely. Truly, I do.” Especially since it’s harder for women in these situations. Society often gives top athletes a slap on the hand when they mess around with women they work with. But the fairer sex? They usually get the jagged edge of the judgement knife. I hate the thought of that happening to Katie.

  “Thank you for saying that. And please know I would ask for someone else to fill in, but my business manager made it explicitly clear that Wilder Enterprises hired me.” She still sounds like she’s in the worst funk.

  Same here.

  “You’re the face and brand,” I say with a sad smile. “Everyone wants you.”

  She dips her head, laughing wistfully. “But I would otherwise have switched. Because I really wanted to see you tonight,” she says, so sweet, so vulnerable.

  I step closer, daring to get near to her, to inhale her scent. “I really wanted to see you too.”

  Instead, we make plans for the morning.

  Professional plans.

  Even so, when I hit the sack that night, all I want is for the sun to rise.

  15

  HARLAN

  Seeing Katie in her cute blue yoga pants, that tight pink yoga top, and that sexy, swishy ponytail? Well, let’s just say it frazzles my brain.

  But I’m a good boy.

  I’m in the zone.

  The cat, cow, dog zone.

  We are just a yoga teacher and a client, not the man and woman who cancelled a hot date last night.

  In a private room at her studio, designed for one-on-one sessions, Katie takes me through several poses, then says it’s time for a lunge twist.