Page 8

Chapter 8

Cyn

S weat trickles down my temples, not entirely from the effort of holding warrior pose. The heat in my cheeks isn't just exertion—it's Garrett. Three mats over. His presence a gravity I can't escape. His muscular body moves in ways I can’t unsee.

I try to focus on my own practice, but memories flood back—Vegas, our night together. A shiver races through me despite the warmth of the studio.

"Steady your breathing," instructs the yoga teacher, voice serene. My breath hitches, I can’t help it.

I glance over in his direction. Garrett transitions into a forward fold, and for a moment, our eyes meet. I quickly look away, heart pounding.

My mind drifts back to Vegas again. The way his strong hands roamed my body, igniting sparks with every touch. His lips, soft yet demanding, exploring every inch of me. The heat of his skin against mine, our bodies moving in perfect rhythm.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to banish the memories. But they persist, vivid and intoxicating.

The low rumble of his voice as he whispered my name. The flex of his muscles as he lifted me effortlessly. The intensity in his eyes, dark with desire.

My breath quickens. I struggle to maintain my pose.

"Release and flow into downward dog," the instructor says.

As I move, I catch another glimpse of Garrett. A bead of sweat trails down his neck, disappearing beneath his shirt. I imagine tracing its path with my tongue.

I ache to feel his touch again, to lose myself in his embrace. To experience that earth-shattering pleasure one more time.

But I can't. I shouldn't. It was a one-time thing.

Wasn't it?

Finally, class is over. "Namaste," the class murmurs in unison, signaling the end of the session. I linger, wiping my mat slowly. I’m stalling, nerves tangling in my stomach.

"Approach him," I mentally coach myself. "Just say something—anything."

My heart thumps louder than my footsteps as I walk toward him. Garrett is rolling his mat, looking every bit the confident silver fox coach.

"Hey," I start, voice steadier than I feel.

"Hey yourself," Garrett replies, his gaze lifting to meet mine. There's a spark there, recognition of the Vegas wildness they'd left behind.

My stomach flips. “How are you?”

That’s the best you can come up with , Cyn? Seriously…

A tentative smile crosses his face. “I’m good. Surprised to see you. Work and now here. Are you following me?”

I laugh and shake my head. “Yes, followed you here all the way from Vegas.”

“I knew it,” he jokes.

"I, uh...we need to talk."

"About the elephant in the room, I’m guessing?" He grins, chocolatey eyes crinkling.

"Exactly." I swallow hard.

"About Vegas..." I begin, but my words hang suspended.

"Let's not talk about it here," he says, a quiet intensity in his tone. It's clear he feels the gravity of the situation as much as I do.

I nod, relief and anticipation mingling in my chest. "You're right. Not here."

We stand in silence, the air thick with unspoken words. Garrett runs a hand through his hair, a gesture that sends a shiver down my spine.

"Listen," he says, voice low. "There's a diner just down the street that I discovered last week. Best meatloaf and mashed potatoes I’ve had in a long time. Maybe we could grab a bite? Talk things through?"

The thought of spending time with him is as exciting as it is scary. "I...yeah. That sounds good."

We gather our things and head out into the crisp evening air. The walk is short but feels endless. Our shoulders brush occasionally, sending sparks through my body.

The neon sign of The Golden Fork flickers ahead. It's a retro place, all chrome and red vinyl booths. A bell chimes as we enter.

We slide into a booth, the vinyl squeaking beneath us. I fidget with the menu, not really seeing it. Garrett clears his throat.

I look around nervously, praying no one from the Blades is here.

"So..."

"So," I echo.

The waitress approaches, a welcome interruption. "What can I get you folks?"

"I know what I want but I’m not sure she’s ready yet," he says, gazing at me with a questioning look.

“I’ll have what you’re having,” I reply, putting the menu down. I really can’t think about food right now. I’m not even sure if I’m going to be able to eat anything.

“Okay, then. We’ll both have the meatloaf and mashed potatoes.”

The waitress jots that down on her pad and leaves us to put our order in.

We look at each other and he looks as uncomfortable as I feel.

"This is weird, right?" I blurt out. "I mean, not bad weird, just..."

Garrett chuckles, a warm sound that eases some of the tension. "Yeah, it's definitely weird. Good weird, though. It was such a nice surprise to see you at that first Blades meeting. Couldn’t believe my eyes actually."

I nod, fidgeting with my napkin. "I mean, who would've thought we’d meet again after…”

"Vegas," he finishes, his voice low.

"Right. Vegas." I take a deep breath. "Listen, Garrett. About that night..."

He leans forward, his eyes intent on mine. "I'm all ears."

"I think...I think it's best if we keep it between us." The words tumble out in a rush. "I mean, it was amazing. Truly. But if anyone found out..."

Garrett's brow furrows. "More than amazing. But you're worried about work."

My heart soars when he agrees with the “amazing” part but it dips back down again, knowing nothing can come of it.

"Exactly." I glance around, lowering my voice. "If Marjorie got wind of this, she'd have my head on a platter."

"Marjorie?" He looks confused.

"My boss? The she-devil in Louboutins?" I explain, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Trust me, she's a nightmare."

Garrett leans back, surprise evident on his face. "I haven't had any interactions with her yet. Is she really that bad?"

I let out a humorless laugh. "Bad doesn't even begin to cover it. Last year, she fired an intern for bringing her the wrong type of sparkling water.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. And then last week, Barnesy—you know who I’m talking about, right?—was flirting with me during his PT session. He’s a pain in the ass but it was just some harmless banter. But Marjorie saw and pulled me aside later."

Garrett leans in, his brow furrowed. "What did she say?"

"She accused me of flirting with him," I say, rolling my eyes in disbelief. "Said I was 'compromising team dynamics' with my 'inappropriate behavior.' Can you believe that bullshit?"

"That's ridiculous," Garrett scoffs.

"Tell me about it. I tried to explain, but she wouldn't even let me talk. Threatened to fire me if it happened again."

The waitress arrives with our food, momentarily halting our conversation. The aroma of home-cooked comfort food fills the air, but I’m so amped up at this point, my appetite has vanished.

"This whole situation is so crazy," I say taking a small bite of mashed potatoes.

Garrett nods, his fork paused midway to his mouth. "You're not kidding. One minute we're meeting in Vegas, the next we're colleagues in Chicago. It's like some cosmic joke."

"A joke that could cost me my job if anyone finds out," I add grimly.

"I get it," Garrett says softly. "Your career is important to you. And clearly, Marjorie needs to know nothing about our past.”

"Right," I agree, shifting in my seat. The silence stretches between us filled with unspoken questions and the echoes of what can't be pursued.

"So..." I begin.

"Friends?" Garrett suggests, a hint of regret in his voice.

"Friends," I echo, forcing a smile. The word feels hollow, but it's the only safe option.

We fall into a comfortable silence, focusing on our meals. The meatloaf is indeed delicious, just as Garrett promised. My appetite has rebounded now that the difficult conversation is out of the way. I take a bite, savoring the rich flavors.

"You weren't kidding about this meatloaf," I say, breaking the quiet.

Garrett grins, a playful glint in his eye. "I never kid about good food, Cyn. It's a serious matter."

I laugh. "Oh really? What other culinary gems are you hiding up your sleeve, Coach Hughes?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he teases, waggling his eyebrows.

"Maybe I would," I shoot back, surprising myself with my boldness.

“Stick with me and I’ll take you to all the finest diners in Chicago,” he teases.

Our eyes lock, and for a moment, the air crackles with electricity. I clear my throat, looking away first.

"So, tell me about your yoga practice," Garrett says, smoothly changing the subject. "You looked like a pro in there."

I snort, nearly choking on my potatoes. "Hardly. I'm still learning. But it helps with the stress, you know?"

"I can imagine," he nods. "Dealing with Marjorie sounds like it requires some serious zen."

"You have no idea,” I say shaking my head. “And how long have you been practicing yoga? There are so few men that come to class.”

“For quite awhile actually. It’s the only thing that keeps me sane sometimes.”

I nod, wishing we could take yoga classes together as a couple. I’ve always wanted a man in my life who shares my love of yoga.

"Hey, speaking of stress relief," Garrett says, leaning in conspiratorially. "Have you tried the new virtual reality arcade downtown? It's incredible."

I shake my head, intrigued. "No, I haven't. What's it like?"

His eyes light up with boyish excitement. "It's like stepping into another world. They have this one game where you're floating through space, surrounded by stars and nebulae. It's breathtaking."

"Sounds amazing," I murmur, caught up in his enthusiasm.

"We should check it out sometime," he suggests, then quickly adds, "As friends, of course."

"Of course," I echo, ignoring the flutter in my stomach.

We both reach for the ketchup bottle at the same time, our fingers brushing. A jolt of electricity shoots through me at the contact. I pull back, cheeks flushing.

"Sorry," we say in unison, then laugh.

Garrett winks at me, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Great minds think alike, huh?"

I roll my eyes, but can't help smiling. "Clearly. We're both connoisseurs of fine condiments."

He chuckles, a warm, rich sound that makes me want to lean in closer. "Among other things."

The tension between us has shifted, morphing into something lighter, more playful. We're both more relaxed now that we've laid our cards on the table.

We finish eating and reluctantly agree it’s time to go. Outside, Garrett hesitates.

"See you around?" It's Garrett's turn to break the tension, his question holding a note of hope that doesn't escape me.

"Sure," I reply, though my insides twist with the thought. Seeing him isn't the problem—it's keeping her distance that will be the real challenge.

"Take care, Cyn," he says, and with a final nod, he's gone, leaving me to grapple with the unfair reality of desires denied and rules that bind tightly.

I watch Garrett's retreating form, my mind racing. I chew my lip, debating whether to call out to him. But I decide not to. What’s the point? We can’t be anything more than friends.

I grab my phone, dialing Sophie. We’d talked all about Garrett being the Blades’ new coach as soon as I found out. She’s been bugging me for days to talk to him and clear the air.

I had texted her while we were at the diner, telling her I was with Garrett and I was freaking out. I told her I’d call her later.

"Spill," Sophie demands when she answers the phone.

I sigh. "We decided to be friends."

"What? Why?"

"My job, Sophie. I can't risk it."

Sophie scoffs. "There's always a way around rules."

"Not these rules," I insist.

"Maybe he's worth the risk," Sophie muses. "Remember me and Evan?"

I roll my eyes even though she can’t see me. "How could I forget?"

"Exactly! Now look at us. Engaged and happy."

"That's different," I argue.

"Is it?" Sophie challenges. "I mean, love's always worth fighting for."

I’m at home now and let myself into my place. I’m silent, torn between desire and practicality.

"Just think about it," Sophie urges. "Don't give up so easily."

After we hang up, I stare at the ceiling, Garrett's smile lingering in my thoughts.