Page 9

Chapter 9

Hannah

“Oh, come on, Ralph, watch where you’re stepping!” I groan over the crinkle of my books and papers crunching under my cat’s plump paws as she bumbles across my bed. She stops right in front of me, blocking my view of the book where I’ve been reading the same passage for what feels like hours, and meows right in my face.

“Can’t you see I’m trying to study here?” I ask, crinkling my nose at her tuna breath, but I scratch her little head anyway, and she starts purring immediately. I didn’t know she was a girl when we adopted her, but by the time we figured it out, she had already gotten used to being called Ralph, so we kept it. “Alright, fine, I get the hint. I guess I can take a break for a little while. Do you want me to make you a little place to sit, you demanding little princess?”

Ralph turns around in circles a couple of times, which I take as a yes, so I start shoving books and papers out of the way to make a little nest for her. I’ve been in bed with my face in the books for so long that I’ve lost track of time, and I’ve made a disaster zone around me. Stacks of my handwritten notes and a dozen textbooks, each highlighted to within an inch of their lives, lie scattered across my fluffy purple comforter that’s now more cat hair than fabric. Whenever I’m home, Ralph wants to be right next to me, and she follows me everywhere like a little shadow—including to bed.

The irony isn’t lost on me that the one relationship I can maintain without complications is with my needy tabby.

Ralph circles around a couple more times in the space I cleared for her before she seems satisfied and curls into a ball, still purring. I pet her for a while until she falls asleep, then quietly climb out of bed to do some stretching. Ralph stirs and lifts her head to watch as I lower to my knees to get into a downward-facing dog position, but when she sees that my spot on the bed is empty, she gets up and lies down in the warmth I left behind.

“Oh, I see how it is,” I mutter, eyeing her betrayal as I turn myself into a triangle and feel the stretch all the way down my hamstrings with my feet flat on the floor. I breathe into the stretch, feeling the tight knots in my muscles surrender, and after a few counts, I walk my hands closer to my feet, deepening the sensation until my body hums with it.

On the exhale, I breathe out all the swirling thoughts and legal jargon jumbling around in my head, letting the endless parade of torts and statutes dissolve into the ether. With each inhale, I draw in calm; with each exhale, I release the tension coiled at the base of my spine. The next time I breathe out, I feel centered in a way that eluded me all afternoon.

I lower down into cobra pose, arching my back, and my phone rings on the bed, startling Ralph awake. I lunge off the floor and fumble around in the mess on my bed looking for my phone until I find it. It’s not a number I recognize, but I swipe to answer it anyway.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Hannah.” Declan’s voice comes through my cell’s speaker, rich and deep, and I almost drop the phone.

“How did you get my number?” I ask, my eyes widening.

“Your dad gave it to me.”

I collapse into a sitting position with my back against the side of my bed as my stomach performs a series of Olympic-worthy gymnastics. If my father handed my number out to him, does that mean that Declan told him about how we met?

“Oh god, please tell me you didn’t?—”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him anything,” he reassures me quickly. “As far as I know, he doesn’t have a clue about anything that happened between us.”

Relief floods through me so fast it leaves me dizzy. “Then why did he give you my phone number?”

“Because he thinks I might benefit from some yoga to help with my hip flexibility. He said you’re the perfect person to help me with that, and you know what? I agree.”

My mind immediately jumps to a million dirty places as vivid memories of the night we spent together assault my senses—his hands gripping my hips, my legs wrapped around his waist, positions that would make a contortionist blush.

Declan chuckles with a knowing warmth that makes my skin tingle. “Coach wants you to help me with my flexibility, not yours. Although I’d be happy to help you with yours too, if you want.”

I wince at being called out like that, and bat Ralph away as she sniffs at my phone like she’s curious who it is. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Still sore from all those months ago?”

“Declan,” I warn, ignoring the way my stomach flips over at his words.

He shouldn’t even be talking to me right now—I appreciate my father sending business my way, and it’s not like he had any clue there was already a connection between Declan and me when he did it, but in this case I really wish he’d asked me before he gave Declan my number so I could think about it before I got put on the spot.

Because I’m not sure I can handle being alone in that kind of environment with him. Not after the night we had together. Not when I can still remember exactly how his skin felt against mine, how his breath tickled my neck, how his voice sounded when he whispered in French.

“You’re already imagining me in my yoga pants, aren’t you?” Declan teases, and I flinch because I’ve been imagining him doing a lot of things, but none of them involve clothes.

“I’ve seen you wearing less,” I retort before I can stop myself, then immediately regret it. “I mean… that’s not what I meant.”

“Nah, hummingbird. You meant exactly what you said.” He chuckles, his voice dropping lower. “And if I recall correctly, you weren’t complaining at the time.”

“That was different,” I say, trying to regain my composure. “That was then, this is now.”

“And now your dad wants you to help me with my flexibility. Ironic, isn’t it?”

“Declan, that was a one-time thing. It was fun, but that’s… that’s all it was ever supposed to be.”

“Okay, great. Then it shouldn’t be a problem for you to teach me, right?”

I purse my lips, internally debating my answer.

His persistence should irritate me, but there’s something about his confidence that’s both infuriating and intoxicating. He’s like a dog with a bone, and I can just imagine the grin that must have split his face when my father handed my phone number to him, especially after the way I left him high and dry at the arena a few weeks ago the day we first ran into each other.

“I really don’t think it’s a good idea for me to give you private lessons,” I say quietly. “I’m sure you know why.”

Declan laughs, the sound vibrating through the phone. “Okay. Do you want to explain to your dad why you won’t teach me, or should I?”

He’s teasing me. I know he would never do that. And there’s no way in hell that I’m going to tell my dad anything that would make him think Declan and I already know each other. I don’t even want to think about the hell I’d catch from my father if he ever found out that his baby girl went to a sex club, let alone that she spent the night with his newest all-star rookie while she was there.

Still, although I’d never admit it to him or anyone else, part of me actually wants to give in and agree to teach Declan. Part of me wants to see him again, to test whether the chemistry between us was real or just a trick of the club’s seductive atmosphere.

“You went quiet on me,” he says, his voice softer now, less teasing. “Still there, hummingbird?”

The nickname sends an electric current through me.

“Yeah. I’m here.”

“Alright, then what do you say? Are we doing this or not?”

“Are you going to behave?” I ask, trying to sound stern but hearing the breathless quality in my own voice.

Declan chuckles. “I’ll do my best. But no promises.”

“If you can’t keep your hands to yourself?—”

“Don’t worry. I remember exactly where the lines are drawn,” he says, his voice a mixture of warmth and challenge. “But something tells me I’m not going to be the only one having trouble with that part.”

My face burns hot enough that I press a hand to my cheek to cool it off—because he’s right. I close my eyes, biting my lip for a second before I ask, “Are you free on Friday?”

“For you? Of course I am.”

“Good. Meet me at the studio around five. It’s called Yoga Flow. I’ll text you the address.”

“I’ll be there. Looking forward to it,” he says, and I hang up quickly before I have the chance to say something I might regret.

When I turn, I find Ralph perched on the edge of the bed and staring down at me with her tail swishing like she can see right through me.

“What?” I ask.

She just blinks at me and flicks her tail.

“Don’t judge me,” I mutter, flopping back onto the bed. “You’ve never had to choose between your father’s approval and a man who can make your toes curl from across a hockey arena.”

Ralph just stares, unimpressed with my justifications. I bury my face in a pillow and groan.

What have I just agreed to?