Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
I’m not some weirdo with a fetish. I’ve never had a single erotic thought about a woman’s nicely even toes or the elegant arch of her foot.
Until last night…
I crank the water temperature even lower, the better to convince little Tank that getting a hard-on for our yoga teacher is a bad idea.
I’m focused on making one hell of an NHL comeback, not hooking up.
Especially not with a woman who seems to have a thing for yuppie dude bros. Drake looked exactly like the kind of pretentious, poser prick who makes downtown Portland a stupid place to be on the weekend. Every Saturday, these “cool guys” flood downtown, laughing too loud over forty-dollar martinis, bobbing their heads to garbage indie rock, and bitching about the homeless ruining the view from their condo.
I can’t imagine what an intelligent, self-respecting woman like Stephanie had in common with that human chode.
But it’s not any of my business who she dates.
I’m not going to think about it.
Not for one more fucking second.
“Focus, LiBassi,” I mutter, stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around my waist. “Eyes on the prize.”
My phone buzzes on the bathroom counter. It’s Stone.
Good.
I clearly need a reminder not to shit where I eat. He knows Stephanie, too, after all. And he’ll be there beside me in her classes once practice starts.
From the texts of Tank LiBassi
and Tyler Stone
Stone: Hey, so if you hear anything about me being an asshole to the kids yesterday at camp, it’s not true. It was tough love, but it was love, I swear. I just refuse to tolerate players on their phones while I’m trying to share my hard-earned knowledge.
Tank: I don’t blame you. I crack that whip, too, man. I see a phone out and that player’s on the bench for five minutes.
Stone: Oh good! Coach Swindle was looking at me like I was some kind of bully bent on child abuse.
Tank: Nah. That’s just his face. You’re fine. Are you still good to take next Friday, too? Or do you want me to add that back to my schedule?
Stone: Nah, I’m good. I won’t stress now that I know Swindle doesn’t have it out for me.
Tank: Cool, then I’ll sign up for the Friday afternoon yoga class again. Last night’s class was good.
Stone: No way, you went? Already?
Tank: Yeah. Doctor’s orders.
Stone: I know, but I expected you to put it off and grouch about it more. How was it? Torture?
Tank: No, it was good. I actually feel better already. My shoulder is looser this morning than it’s been in a while.
Stone: Sweet! That’s solid, man. Have you considered trying the hot yoga? It’s supposed to be great for flexibility and detoxing or whatever, but I almost passed out the one time I tried it.
Me: Wimp.
Stone: Yep. I’m a delicate flower. Speaking of flowers, I gotta run. I’m taking a floral arranging class before brunch with some old friends.
Me: Are you a geriatric gay man?
Stone: *smiley face emoji* Yes. And loving it. Life is so much more peaceful now that I’ve sworn off dating. I think I might get a dog and an elaborate gaming set-up and settle into singledom forever.
Me: Sounds like the life.
Stone: Right? Who needs emotional connection or human touch? Have a good weekend and catch you later.
I like his last message and toss the phone on my bed before pulling on a pair of worn jeans. It’s Saturday, so I have the entire morning free before my private coaching sessions this afternoon. I should probably use the time to catch up on the cardio I didn’t get at yoga class last night, or maybe hit the ice for some extra conditioning.
Instead, I find myself staring at the business card on my dresser.
Love Lotus Yoga Studio
…it reads in simple, elegant type below an illustration of a peach lotus flower. And below that—
Stephanie Love:
Owner, Yogi, Proud Ally to the Light
It reminds me of what her asshole ex said about her—something about being a “proud black queen,” that was too patronizing for words. His tone put my teeth on edge, like he was using her race as a prop for his ego or something.
I’ve dated black and Latina women before, and the most important thing I learned from those experiences was to keep my mouth shut about things I can never understand. As a white man, the only thing I know for sure about being a woman is that just existing in a female body is way harder than anything I have to deal with on a daily basis. That’s doubly true for women of color.
I clocked that real quick with my Latina girlfriend in high school. I wised up and learned it wasn’t my place to offer an opinion on her race or culture, unless formally invited to do so.
Besides, Stephanie is Stephanie. She’s a unique person outside of any cultural identity, and clearly a proud hippie yoga nerd as much as anything else.