eye.
“Keep your eye closed. I’m just remembering the word for silly.”
“Sí, Bobo. Are you trying to learn Spanish now?”
“Actually, I think I should start taking it seriously. I don’t want Mateo to keep translating shit when he’s talking to you guys or the doctor. I live in Madrid now. Spain is my home. I need to assimilate.”
“Spain is your home,” he repeats, a slow smile spreading on his face. “I like the sound of that. Do you need any help?” He opens his eyes to look at me.
“Keep your eyes closed.”
“?Por qué? That means why. Are they too pretty for you?”
I giggle. Like a fucking schoolgirl.
“Yes. I mean, no. You’re supposed to find deep peace and search your body inch by inch.”
He licks his lips. “Isn’t that your job?”
“I mean internally. Like concentrate and—"
“I can’t concentrate,” he says. “I’m waiting for an answer.”
“About what?”
“Your Spanish.”
My mind goes to Sergio’s offer, his name and number in my phone.
And I know I’m never going to call him.
“Sure,” I tell him. “I would like that.”
God, what are you doing? This is a terrible idea.
I push that voice somewhere in the back of my mind, where I can’t hear it anymore.
“So,” he says. “Let’s start. You work on me every day, I work on you.”
“Seems fair.”
“It’s about as fair as it will get between us.”
I frown, not really understanding that. “What does that mean?”
His gaze turns serious. “Maybe I’ll tell you some other time. For now, Spanish lesson number one. The swear words. Very important. Or muy importantes.”
“Muy importantes,” I repeat.
“Like, eres muy importante para mí.”
“What does that mean?”
“You are very important to me.”
I stare at him.
I can’t not stare at him, caught up in those eyes like I’ve stepped into a snare.
If I struggle, it would make it worse.
And I’m struggling.
I manage to look away, my eyes searching the room, trying to regain the easy charm and professional decorum we had earlier.
He sits up and places his hand very close to mine. He lowers his head, trying to see my face. “Why did that upset you? Don’t you see how important you are to me?”
“I’m not upset,” I say softly.
But I am upset.
Upset that my stomach is filled with butterflies, that my heart is aching, that the heat inside me keeps building and building with no release. All of these feelings, these visceral, palpable feelings are swirling around in me like the perfect storm just waiting to unleash.
He reaches out and touches the tip of my chin with warm, strong fingers, bringing my face level with his.
Oh god.
My eyes widen.
But he doesn’t make the move.
He just holds my chin in place and gazes at me, his naturally arched brows coming together in confusion. “I don’t want to upset you when I tell you the truth. I upset you the other night. I’ve upset you now.”
“I wasn’t upset,” I whisper.
I wanted you to kiss me.
I want you to kiss me again.
But the words, the traitorous thoughts, stay behind my lips and his gaze drops to my mouth as if he knows I’m holding back.
“Thalia?”
I hear my name being called.
Alejo immediately drops his hand seconds before Mateo walks into the warm-up room.
“Ah, there you are,” Mateo says, strolling inside. “Luka said you were in here teaching Alejo yoga?”
“Uh, yeah,” I say, hoping my voice sounds strong and not shaky, hoping he can’t hear my thundering heart.
Holy shit, I don’t know how that would have looked to someone walking in on that scene. And we weren’t even doing anything.
“I have to say, this is an odd one,” Mateo muses, stroking his chin. “I don’t think any trainer has used yoga before.”
“Yeah, well they should,” I say, getting to my feet. “It does athletes a lot of good. Keeps their muscles long and lean and flexible. Prevents injuries.”
Mateo looks skeptical. What is it with men and yoga?
“It’s true,” Alejo says, getting up. “I already feel better.”
I know that’s a lie but I really appreciate it.
Mateo shrugs. “Okay. Whatever works.” He gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Keep up the good work. Maybe we’ll have the whole team doing yoga. Might help them win some fucking games.”
Mateo is smiling and his tone is light, but there’s a tightness in his eyes. The more games they lose, the more his job may be on the chopping block.
And the more his job is on it, the more mine is too.
“Maybe that’s not a bad idea,” I tell him.
But he’s already walking away, waving for Alejo to follow. “Come, Alejo. I need