The cold air hits my skin as I cross the lot.
I climb into my truck and start the engine.
The moment the door shuts, it feels like stepping into another world. Practice fades. Coach Petrov fades.
And I find myself thinking about a different Petrov.
Talia.
Blue eyes. Blonde hair. Curves my hands still remember too well.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel.
Somehow, I can’t wait to get home.
Maybe she’ll show me what she worked on today. Maybe we’ll have dinner together again.
Or maybe—my dick twitches in my pants at the thought—we’ll go for a swim in the pool together.
No. That wouldn’t be smart.
Just because we’re living under the same roof doesn’t mean we should complicate this any further.
From now on, we keep things professional. No more touching or kissing or making her scream my name.
I pull into the garage in record time and grab my bag from the back seat.
When I step inside, soft music drifts through the house, and the faint scent of lavender wraps around me.
She’s in the living room.
On the floor.
Doing yoga.
Her back is to me, bent forward in some position I don’t know the name of, palms flat on the mat, legs straight, hips angled upward. Herhair is pulled into a loose knot at the base of her neck, exposing the clean line of her spine.
And she’s wearing tight black leggings.
My throat goes dry.
Because those leggings leave nothing to the imagination.
Every curve.
Every line.
Her ass—
I swallow hard and look away immediately, dragging a hand over the back of my neck like that’ll somehow erase the reaction.
Get it together.
She hasn’t noticed me yet.
She flows smoothly into another position, lowering her hips and stretching forward, every movement controlled and graceful in a way that makes my cock twitch again.
My gaze drifts past her to the fireplace.
