Hot Yoga with Mason King.

I quickly read the information, my eyes focusing, locking in on certain key words.

Deep healing.

Deep stretching.

Deep breathing.

Deep. Deep. Deep.

A throat clears. The woman behind the counter points at the flier. “You should’ve seen the guy who dropped that off. He had this accent,” she pauses, mouthing the word “wow.” I quietly laugh as she grabs a bag and drops my purchases to the bottom.

Wow is right.

The memory of Mason’s accent sends a pulsing current through my body, warming my blood with a delicious heat that pools between my hips. His voice was deep and rich, a bit husky.

Especially when he lowered it and moved his lips against my cheek.

“Don’t make me come looking for you.”

My pulse thrums below my ear. Again, I focus on certain words, maybe the only words I want him to say.

Make me come.

“I’d shove my husband in front of a bus for a man with an accent.”

I startle at the woman, my mouth falling open. Blush creeps up her face.

“Easy, Barb.” I squint at her name-tag. She laughs with a hand to her mouth. “When I hear on the news about some poor man who met his untimely death getting run over by a Greyhound, I’m going to know exactly where to point the cops.”

I hold out my credit card and she takes it.

She shakes her head through a grin. “I’m just saying. You should’ve seen him. Heard him. If I didn’t think I’d break a hip, I’d take his class.”

She swipes my card and hands it back to me with a receipt to sign. I slide my card back into my wallet. After scribbling my name, I glance once more at the flier.

The handwriting is surprisingly neat. All capital letters, evenly spaced. Most men I’ve noticed have atrocious handwriting. Joey’s penmanship looks like a person in the midst of a seizure taking a pen to paper. But not Mason’s. Even his attempt to replicate his sign on the top of the page is more than an attempt. It’s spot on in design. The letters perfectly bolded, the lines sharp.

“Here you go.”

I look up and take the bag Barb is holding out for me. “Thank you. I’ll tell your future husband you said hello at his class tonight.”

Her face burns a deep red. Stuttering, she responds with, “O-Oh, I was just kidding. Really. I would never leave my husband, let alone kill the poor man. He’s lovely. We’ve been married for seventeen wonderful years. Sure, he doesn’t always remember to take out the trash, but Lord knows he makes up for that with his grilling skills. The man could give Bobby Flay a run for his money. Have you watched his TV show? It’s very entertaining.”

I smile at how flustered poor Barb has become. Her words flying past her lips a mile a minute.

Like you’re any better. You nearly face-planted at the sight of Mason.

“Relax,” I chuckle, stepping back and ignoring my ridiculous inner thoughts.

Clearly, it was the heels, not his stellar physique that made me stumble. I was in a hurry and trying to avoid getting hit by traffic. He just happened to look back at me the exact second I lost my footing.

Coincidence. That’s all it was. Not directly related to his perfect, fuck-me face.

“Your secret is safe with me. I won’t say a word,” I reassure her.

Turning, I move past the next woman in line and make for the exit.

An animated voice calls out behind me.

“Look! This is the class I was telling you about. God, that guy. I almost vomited all over him when he spoke.”

Stopping next to a rack of water bottles, I look over my shoulder in the direction I just came from. The other chirpy blonde chimes in next.

“I’ve never been this excited to work out before. We need to get there early so we get a good spot. I want front row. Prime viewing seats.”

I laugh under my breath.

Jesus. Okay, so Mason has an effect on every woman. At least all the ones within the Chicago city limits.

Get there early? Fight other bitches off for prime viewing seats? I’m not worried about either one of those.

I’ll have the best view of Mason after class is over.

Joey approves my purchase as soon as I get back to the shop. Not that I needed him to, but it is always a nice ego boost when your fashion savvy friend announces how flawless you’re going to look in an outfit that leaves very little to the imagination. He then lamely suggests I go back to the store and return the items before they get torn from my body after he gets a look at the receipt I forgot about.

I stow the items away and pretend not to hear his rantings. Talk of creditors, addictions, and something about his car payment costing less than my yoga pants go on around me as I busy myself with work.

Dylan leaves after we close up for the night to eat dinner with Reese’s parents. I think I’m in the clear when Joey slips out of the shop and heads in the direction of his car.

Good. One less person to get rid of later.

Grabbing my bag, I head upstairs to get changed.

A nervous energy buzzes through me. My skin feels hot at the thought of Mason’s hands on my body, his lips moving over mine. Questions swirl in my head as I hastily get dressed.

Is his touch gentle? Will he use my body like he has a right to it? I’m sure he’s a disciplined guy, his physique gives that away, but does he always maintain a level of control when he fucks? Or is that the only time he allows himself to be reckless and unrestrained.

Do I want him that way? Rough and wild? His hands moving me how he wants. Taking what he needs.

As I’m securing my hair back with an elastic band, the loft door swings open, snapping my attention off the wall mirror.

Joey appears in the doorway, now dressed in workout clothes and sneakers.

I’m quickly annoyed at the sight of him, until he whistles appreciatively at my outfit and motions for me to spin.

“Well, you look ready for sex.”

I give him a sly smile. “That’s what I was going for.”

Joey moves to stand beside me. He smiles at my reflection. “There’s a line half-way down the block for his class.”

I meet his gaze in the mirror, my hands frozen in my hair. “What?”

“Yup.”

“Half-way down the block? Seriously?”

“Yup.”

Scowling, I grab his hand and head for the door. “Let’s go.”

Fuck! What if the class is already full? I knew Mason would have a crowd at this thing, but that many people? If I have to wait another fucking day to bang this guy . . .

I don’t even allow myself to finish that thought as we walk outside. I refuse to entertain that possibility.

Joey locks up and joins me on the sidewalk.

“See?” He gestures across the street at the parade of women, his palm outstretched in the air. “I almost ran over three of them when I went to park.”

“Maybe you should’ve.”

That would’ve been ideal. At this rate, if I go to the end of the line I’ll be lucky to get in on a class next week.

Joey grabs my elbow and pulls me off the sidewalk after a truck passes. “Nervous?” he murmurs, dropping his head.

I slowly look over at him. “Of?”

“I saw how flustered you were after talking to him yesterday.”

“What? No I wasn’t.”

I think back to the minutes in the shop which immediately followed that interaction.

My quick consumption of a cupcake. Hardly the breakfast of champions.

I shake my head. “You’re delusional if you think I was affected in any way by a kiss on the cheek.”

“Or an accent.”

I nod. “Right.”

“Or the body of a Greek God. No way would you have reacted to a combination of the three.”

I glare up at him. “Why are you here again?”

He smiles.

Excited chatter fills the air around us as we step up onto the sidewalk. The line forms just outside the door and continues in front of the large studio window, completely obstructing my view of the inside.