Page 21 of Huge Pucking Play

"Oh yeah," Evan grins. "And that's not even the best part. She then proceeded to list, in excruciating detail, all the ways Sophie had improved my life. From my eating habits to my fashionsense. Apparently, I used to dress like, and I quote, 'a color-blind lumberjack with a grudge against style.'"

I snort, picturing the scene. "Sounds like she really laid into you."

"She did," Evan nods, his expression softening. "But you know what? She was right. I was being an idiot, too scared to commit. Cyn made me see that and now that Sophie and I live together and are getting married in less than a month, I couldn’t be happier.”

I can't stop thinking about Cyn. Days pass, and I barely catch glimpses of her at the facility. A flash of blonde hair disappearing around a corner. Her laugh echoing from the trainers' room. But never a moment alone.

I should approach her. But something holds me back. Maybe I'm hoping she'll make the first move.

One night before I go home for dinner, I head to a yoga studio not far from the training facility to try out a class.

Yoga is my secret weapon – keeps me limber, centered. My past teammates used to love to tease me about it.

I chuckle to myself as I roll out my mat, remembering some of the ribbing I've taken over the years.

"Hey Huge, careful you don't snap like a pretzel!" That was Smitty, always quick with a jab.

Or there was Jonesy, eyebrows waggling suggestively: "All those flexible ladies, eh Hughes? That's why you go, right?"

But my personal favorite was from Martinez himself, back when we were teammates. He'd caught me doing sun salutations in the locker room before a game.

"Jesus, Hughes! You trying to commune with the hockey gods or something? Maybe if you pray hard enough, they'll bless you with a hat trick tonight! Lord knows we’re going to need it to beat the Maple Leafs."

I'd just grinned and kept at it, much to his exasperation.

Then there was the time the whole team stumbled upon me in full warrior pose in the training room.

"Look at Huge!" Becker had hooted. "He's gone full Zen master on us! Quick, someone get him some prayer beads and a meditation cushion!"

The guys had a field day with that one, mimicking my pose and making exaggerated "om" sounds for weeks afterward.

But the teasing never bothered me. I knew the benefits I was getting—better flexibility, improved focus, reduced stress. Plus, there was something oddly satisfying about being the 6'3" "mountain of a man" gracefully flowing through poses.

I settle into child's pose and take a few deep breaths before sitting up to shift into cobbler’s pose.

I glance at the door and my heart stops. It's Cyn.

She looks absolutely stunning in her form-fitting yoga tights, which accentuate every curve of her body. The top clings to her breasts, highlighting the lines of her silhouette. Her hair is gathered casually in a messy bun perched atop her head, with a few loose strands escaping to frame her gorgeous face.

She doesn't see me at first, setting up a few mats over. Then our eyes meet.

I smile. She smiles back, a hint of surprise in those green eyes.

The instructor starts the class. I try to focus, but it's impossible. Cyn's right there, moving through the poses with effortless grace.

Downward dog. My mind flashes to Vegas. Her body, arched beneath me. I feel myself growing hard. Fuck, not now…

"Breathe deeply," the instructor says.

I follow her instructions, willing my body to behave. Think about hockey stats. Think about the news podcast I listened to on the way over here. Think about anything else butdon’tthink about that night.

"Warrior two," the instructor calls.

I stretch into the pose, sneaking a glance at Cyn. She catches me looking.

I look away quickly and nearly topple over.

Focus, Hughes. Come on, you can do this.

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