“Wait. You were supposed to go out with her, but it didn’t happen, so how can you say you’re sparking and it’s great? I’m a little confused.”

  I’m not sure I can untangle it for him or anyone yet. “Let’s just say it’s complicated. She’s someone I, well, I work out with.”

  He cracks up, grabbing his belly. When he collects himself, he says, “I told you workout dates were great.”

  “I suppose you did. I suppose that’s what we’re doing,” I say, and talking to a friend about what’s happening feels fantastic.

  Holy hell, I want to tell him more. I want to tell everyone about Katie.

  Not yet, of course. Not today.

  But soon.

  I want to go out with her, to paint the town red, to take her dancing at the 80s club. I want to shop for crazy costume parties at Daisy’s Duds, and, hell, to take her to the playground with my kid.

  I stop in my tracks, struck dumb by a realization.

  I’m thirty-six, and I’m pretty sure I’ve never fallen this hard for a woman before.

  “Wow,” I mutter, awed by the awareness of what’s happening to me.

  “You okay, man?”

  I shake my head like a dog shaking off water, trying to collect myself. “I’m great, actually. I just realized something kind of mind-boggling.”

  A sly smile spreads across his face. “And are you going to tell her you’re falling ass over biceps, triceps, and delts for her?”

  I jerk my gaze to the relationship expert by my side. “How are you so wise at twenty-five?”

  “It comes with my good looks,” he says with a wink. “Also, maybe don’t wait too long.”

  That’s excellent advice.

  Later that day at her studio, as Katie and I work on variations of the warrior pose, I ask her, “How are you feeling about . . .?” I point from her to me.

  She shoots me a sassy smile. “Am I still hot for you, do you mean?”

  “No, I consider that a given.”

  “So cocky.”

  “And you should take it as a fact that I’m still hot for you. I meant are you still feeling okay about our plans?”

  As I stretch my arms ceilingward, she answers, “Yes. I’ve been checking out other teachers, visiting their classes, working on some suggestions for replacements.”

  She tells me more about what she’s been up to as we move through other poses then drop to the floor, stretching side by side on our backs.

  I flash back to Jason’s words from this morning. Don’t wait too long.

  I don’t want to wait any longer, but I don’t want to pressure her either. Hell, I feel the pressure from my team, and it’s no fun, so I don’t want to do that to Katie. But I can let her know where I’m at in other ways. “I wish time would speed up,” I say, turning my gaze to her as I stretch.

  “Me too,” she whispers, sounding sexy and hopeful at the same time.

  “What do you want to do first?” It’s wild, secretly planning this romance we’ll have when our careers are no longer in the way. “Every time we’ve planned a date, it’s fallen through.”

  She wiggles her brow. “Then we won’t plan a typical date. No foosball and dinner. No bowling and ice cream.”

  “We have no luck when we plan like that,” I agree.

  She takes a beat, reaching her arms high over her head on the mat. “I think you should just come over the night you win the Super Bowl.”

  I shift to my side. “I like the way you think.”

  “You do?” Her eyes lock with mine.

  The air between us crackles.

  “When we win, I’ll fly home, and then I’ll get in a car and go straight to your house.”

  She shifts to her side too, propped on her elbow. “I’ll open the door wearing a naughty grin, because I’ll be so excited to see you. You’ll probably throw me against the wall.”

  I breathe out hard, my skin heating up. “I fucking will.”

  She slides her hand along her side, over her hip. “You’ll tear off my yoga pants.”

  My eyes drift down to her chest. “I’ll rip off all your clothes.”

  She licks her lips, lets out a shuddery breath. “We can go bare, Harlan. I’m on protection, and I have a clean bill of health.”

  “Me too. Clean bill of health,” I rasp, my dick rock-hard at the thought of feeling her slick heat against my cock. “I bet you’d feel incredible.”

  “Bet you would too,” she murmurs.

  Fuck waiting.

  I reach for her, running a hand down her side, sliding closer to her sexy-as-sin body. “I need to steal a kiss now. It’ll get me through missing you this weekend.”

  “Take it,” she says, then seals her lips to mine. She crushes my mouth in a consuming kiss. It’s the opposite of our last kiss in my kitchen. This one is wild and desperate, tinged with jet-fueled need. It’s rough and messy, the kind of messy that leads to hands roping in hair and teeth clicking and me yanking her against my erection.

  I flop to my back, pull her on top of me, and rub against her. “Katie,” I groan.

  She whispers my name with the same urgency as she rides the hard ridge of my cock. She rocks and sways, then consumes my lips again as we grab at each other.

  Everything feels electric and intense. Whatever faint hold I had on control spirals away.

  She swings her gaze to the door. This is the moment where we should break apart. Smooth down our clothes. Settle our jackhammering pulses.

  A glance at the door is the kind of break in the action that can jolt you back to reality.

  To consequences.

  To promises.

  Instead, Katie says, “Let me make sure it’s locked.”

  In a heartbeat, she hops up from me, scurries to the door, and locks it. She’s back in seconds, straddling me again.

  “Are you sure, sweetheart?”

  She rocks against me, pressing her hands to either side of my face. “So sure,” she murmurs.

  I grab her ass, cup those cheeks, and tug her tighter. Now is the time. “I want you so much. I’m so crazy for you. I’m falling for you so hard.”

  She gasps, then smiles softly. “I’m falling for you too,” she says, sounding utterly lost in the passion.

  Just like I am.

  25

  KATIE

  He’s too hard to resist.

  I want a taste of him, this man I’ve fallen for.

  So in my yoga studio, I shimmy off my pants, shove down his shorts. My mouth waters when his cock says hello.

  Oh yes. I have enjoyed every encounter with him, and it is so very good to touch him again.

  To touch my man.

  Because he feels that way—all mine.

  I wrap a hand around his hard length, and he shudders. “Katie,” he moans, sounding desperate, sounding lost. It’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard.

  And it’s all for me.

  I’ve tried to take my time with him, to learn my lessons, to go slow. To do everything right.

  But he’s what feels right.

  And he’s all I want. I want all of him naked against me.

  “Take off your shirt,” I tell my guy.

  He sits up and does that sexy move where he tugs it off in one quick sweep.

  “I want to be under you,” I say with a moan, since I’m wildly aroused already. “Want to feel this whole gorgeous body against me.”

  “You should have everything you want,” he rumbles.

  In a split second, we shift. I’m on my back on the mat, and he’s kneeling between my legs, rubbing the head of his cock against my wet, aching center.

  Pleasure rushes through me at the delicious feel of him. It pulses through my core as I reach for his hips and pull him closer.

  He slides in an inch, and we both groan at the same time. Needy, hungry cries.

  My hands loop around to that fantastic ass, and I grab him. He heeds the call, sinks all the way into me, then stills.

  Ecstasy throbs through my body.

  I’m shaking everywhere.

  Pleasure and longing and emotion swirl inside me as I hold him tight. Wrapping my legs around his firm ass, I whisper, “Missed you so much.”

  “Missed you too,” he groans as he rocks his hips, finds a pace, and moves in me. He lowers his chest to mine, keeping me close, swiveling his hips.

  He grunts then lets out a long, plaintive, “God, you feel so good.”

  I feel more than good. I feel wanted. I feel worshiped.

  I feel all the things I told myself to wait for. I feel everything.

  Most of all, I feel like we’re not just falling into each other, but falling deeper in love with each thrust.

  It’s more than sex.

  It’s connection and intimacy.

  As he moves in me, roping his arms around my shoulders, holding me tight, he whispers sweet nothings.

  How good I feel.

  How much he wants me.

  How incredible this is.

  It’s all so wildly wonderful that I swear I’m flying off Earth and rocketing to another plane of bliss. My toes curl. My pulse surges. I am bathed in endorphins as we rock and thrust and move together.

  Sweat slicks down his chest. His breath rushes fast, telling me he’s getting closer. “Katie, need you to come soon,” he says, practically begging.

  And that’s all I need.

  His desire.

  His lust.

  It unlocks my climax and I soar to the edge, gasping and panting. My orgasm coils tight then rocks through me in blinding, beautiful waves.

  “Oh God,” I gasp. The sound of my voice jars me, and I bite down on his collarbone to shut up.

  That does it for him, and he fucks me through his release, murmuring my name as he shudders, coming hard inside me.

  A minute later, we’re both loopy and sweaty, and we need to deal with cleanup at my yoga studio.

  But I don’t care, and I don’t think he does either.

  He snuggles against me, kisses my cheek, then says, “I’m falling in love with you.”

  And it’s so right with him. It’s more than right. “I’m falling in love with you too.”

  Later, after we straighten up, I walk him to the door then wave goodbye. “Good luck with practice tomorrow,” I say. He’s got an all-day practice and prep for the game this weekend.

  “See you soon,” he says with a wink, then heads up Fillmore.

  I watch him the whole way with a dopey smile on my face.

  When I return inside, the receptionist drums his purple-polished fingernails on the counter. “He’s such a cutie. Thank you again for having eye candy clients.”

  “It’s my pleasure,” I say with a laugh.

  He slides his finger across his iPad screen. “Now, don’t forget tomorrow morning you have the videographer coming so you can shoot Ten Days to Half Moon Pose.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  “And you want to stop by Leilani’s class in the Mission. I took it yesterday, and her tree poses are to die for.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  He fixes me with a pout, narrows his winged eye-liner eyes, all the more stunning against his dark brown skin. “Are you ever going to tell me what all this research is about?”

  “Someday,” I say breezily, still high on sex, on falling, on love.

  But the next day I wake up with a smidgeon of guilt wiggling through me, and it’s not about the half moon shoot.

  As I shower and get dressed, I keep asking myself if maybe I shouldn’t have given in with Harlan.

  Should I have waited till the end of the season?

  I wait for the universe to answer, but instead, there’s a knock on my door.

  I head to the peephole.

  My mother is waiting on the other side.

  26

  KATIE

  I’d be less surprised to see Ed Sheeran.

  I turn into a statue with my mouth hanging open. How do I talk? Think? Act?

  My brain goes sluggish.

  The woman who ruined my wedding is here at my home. She hasn’t reached out to me since August when I sent her my “Enjoy him,” note.

  But now she’s here on a Thursday morning.

  Knocking.

  This makes no sense.

  I stare at my hand like it’s not even attached to my body. Like it’s been injected with novocaine and I can’t move it.

  Do I let her in?

  Ignore her?

  Tiptoe to the bedroom and hide until she goes away?

  Just like that, I know what to do.

  I am not hiding. I grab the knob, open the door, and meet her gaze for the first time since she took my almost-husband from me.

  “Hello,” I say. I don’t have time to fashion a quip or a zing.

  She flashes a red-lipsticked smile at me. “Darling.”

  It’s said without fear.

  There is no hint of repentance in her voice. No sense she was ever in the wrong.

  Her confidence unnerves me. I’m not sure how to handle her. My jaw tics, and I grit my teeth as I wait for her to speak.

  Her eyes widen, and she peers inside. “Well, can I come in? Would you like to invite me?”

  No. I would not like to.

  But I’m morbidly fascinated with her chutzpah.

  Also, she’s my mother. When I’m around her, I snap back to how I felt growing up.

  Small.

  I’m the gnat on her shoe, one of the kids she didn’t stick around for, and she’s the master of the universe. Curiosity wins. I open the door wide. I need to know why she’s here.

  She sweeps in, scans the walls emptied of Silvio’s art, and surveys the couch strewn with colorful pillows. “The couch looks better now than in those neutral tones. Pinks are so very you . . .” She waves airily, and right is wrong and up is down, and why is my mom complimenting my taste in color, which is so vastly different from her man’s taste?

  “What can I do for you?”

  She spins around and presses her hands together like in prayer. “I’m here to ask you for a favor. An absolutely delicious one.” Her tone is imploring, her eyes wide and I’d even say guileless if I didn’t know her better. But I do know better.

  Whatever she’s about to ask is all about her.

  Everything’s all about her.

  “Okay,” I say evenly, trying hard not to lose my cool. I don’t want her to know she still affects me. That seeing her rattles me.

  How was I able to sass her when she swept into the suite before my wedding? Oh, right. Because that was before she capsized my plans.

  Now I know fully what she’s capable of, and I hate that I come from her, that we share DNA.

  She squeals, then gasps. “Katie! I’m engaged!”

  I blink and jerk away. It’s like a blast of frigid air has whipped into my home and assaulted me. “What?” It comes out like it has ten syllables.

  She flaps her hand, brandishing a fat ring. It’s shiny, gaudy, and so very her. “He asked me to marry him! Silvio did. And I said yes.”

  I stumble backward, grabbing the kitchen counter behind me so I don’t fall.

  Is this my life?

  Is she truly here to show off her engagement ring?

  But she steps closer, waggling her diamond at me. “He asked me to marry him on the Golden Gate Bridge.” She clasps her hand to her chest. “It’s so romantic. Isn’t it?”

  She waits for an answer with expectant eyes, like my opinion on engagement locations matters.

  “It’s great,” I say with zero emotion.

  Why do I feel nothing? It’s eerie, this flatness in my heart. This nothingness.

  I should be . . . livid.

  Destroyed.

  Why do I feel like I’m floating above this scene?

  “That’s where we had our first date,” she adds, still giddy, still bouncing on her toes.

  What did she just say? Their first date? She’s mentioning their first date? It had to have been . . .

  “When he was with me,” I say, but it doesn’t come out enraged. I sound offhand, and I’m not sure what’s going on inside me.

  She tilts her head. “C’mon, you’re not still upset about that, are you?”

  Truthfully, I’m . . . not.

  I’m not upset.

  I’m not bothered at all.

  I am, admittedly, mystified that anyone would brag to the ex about getting engaged. I’m amazed that she would think I’d want her to share this news.

  “I’m not upset,” I say in the same flat tone—a tone that seems to vex her.

  She flicks her wine-red locks off her shoulder, adopting a haughty expression. “Aren’t you happy for me?”

  Is that what she wants? For me to be happy for her? With a surprised chuckle, I shrug. “I have no opinion, honestly.”

  She furrows her brow, stomps her foot.

  I laugh. Foot stomping? Is she serious?

  “Katie, love, I want you to be happy for me,” she pleads, her big eyes begging.

  “I’m sure you do,” I say, revealing nothing, feeling nothing.

  Not a thing.

  And it feels . . . great.

  At last, I understand my emotions. What was confusing is now clear. Feeling nothing for her feels utterly fantastic.

  “But you don’t seem happy,” she adds, stepping closer, waving her hand at my face again. “You’re all frowny. Talk to me.”

  There’s nothing to discuss with her. If I’m frowny, it’s because I’m making a plan for the day. I have things to do. Yoga classes to check out. A replacement to find. A tough conversation to have with my sister. And a DNA donator to kick the fuck out of my house.

  I smile, deep and delighted at last. I draw a fulfilling, gorgeous breath that fuels me, then lock eyes with her. “I don’t actually care about your engagement or your wedding, Mom. Or your life, for that matter. So if you’re wondering what I’m thinking, it’s this—I don’t care. And I feel great about that.”

  I am wildly thrilled to say all that. It’s not a zinger. It’s just the truth.