Page 20 of Cross Check Hearts

“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?

Chapter10

Declan

I roll to a stop outside a building at the end of a modest strip mall, with large windows that bathe the interior in natural light. I’m early, but that was intentional—I wanted to scout the place out. Rows of yoga mats line the floors with about a dozen people inside, all of them moving in synchronized motion. Hannah is at the front, bent over with her hands holding her ankles just like the rest of them.

I park and climb off my bike to watch from the parking lot as Hannah slowly starts to lift her torso, her arms spreading out to her sides and eventually linking together above her head as she straightens with fluid grace. Then she brings her hands down to her chest in a prayer position and starts to lift one foot, eventually resting it against her opposite knee.

Each movement flows into the next with a precision that speaks of years of practice, and I can’t stop myself from staring. But like she can sense my eyes on her, her gaze snaps up and she spots me through the glass.

As soon as she sees me, her balance wobbles a little, and I feel a rush of satisfaction. She can try to deny that there’s something between us all she wants, but she can’t hide the truth. Her body’s giving her away, saying all the things she won’t let herself say.

I like that I affect her the way she affects me—because ever since I ran into her in the locker room and realized who she was, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. It’s gotten so bad that I’ve even had trouble focusing on hockey lately, and that’s saying something because that’s been my north star for as long as I can remember.

Hockey has always been my constant, my clarity—it’s never been a problem for me to lose myself in the game, so I don’t know what to make of this. But as into Hannah as I am, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little worried about how much she’s getting into my head.

Part of me wonders if the slow pivots that Coach Dunaway is picking up on have less to do with my physical ability and more to do with my mind being elsewhere thanks to his daughter.

But it’s not like I can say that to him, and I wasn’t about to pass up an excuse to spend more time alone with Hannah, so here I am.

The class she’s teaching appears to be wrapping up as the people inside are rolling up their mats and filing out of the building. I wait until everyone’s gone before I step in and make my way toward Hannah.

“You’re early,” she says as she drags a towel across her forehead. A light sheen of sweat highlights the curve of her collarbone, and her already tight spandex seems to be hugging her toned frame even tighter. I force my gaze to remain on her eyes, although it takes more restraint than I’d like to admit.

I shrug. “Since you were a little on the fence about giving me lessons, I didn’t want to be late. Besides, I like watching you.” She rolls her eyes at me, and I laugh softly. “Please, you clearly like watching me too. I felt your eyes on me the entire time during the preseason game.”

Her face flushes, a soft pink blooming across her cheekbones that somehow makes her look even more gorgeous—and gives her away.

“I was watching closely enough that I saw how slow you are on direction changes,” she fires back, and I wince because I know she’s right. But there’s something endearing about her noticing these details, about the fact that her eyes were following me that closely across the ice.

“It’s always been a weak spot for me. I’ve been working on it, but I still have some room for improvement.”

“I think I can help,” she says, although she doesn’t look me in the eye when she says it, her gaze focusing somewhere just past my shoulder. “Honestly, I think all athletes should do yoga.”

“Really? Why’s that?”

“Every sport is physical, obviously. And strength training and cardio and all that is great and necessary, but none of it really addresses an athlete’s flexibility. That’s arguably just as important as their strength and endurance. More so, in my opinion.”

I nod, caught off guard by the passion in her voice. This isn’t just a side job for her—it’s something she truly believes in.

“What even is yoga?” I ask her, genuinely curious to hear her perspective. “I mean, obviously it’s stretching and stuff, but what’s the actual point of it? Besides flexibility.”

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