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  “Van, you okay?”

  “Fuck. I’m not sure, Walt. It’s my hamstring.” Walt nods and helps me limp off the field, which is now occupied by special teams, ready to kick the extra point. At the sideline, Walt motions his assistant over as he sets me on the bench. Once more, blinding fire rips through my leg from the back of my knee to the top of my ass.

  “Fuck!”

  I scored the winning touchdown in the Super Bowl, but at what cost?

  Toby

  “COME OUT with me tonight, Toby. Pleeeeease? You haven’t left your place in days. It’s not healthy for a young, virile man such as yourself to hold in all that semen. You’ll get backed up.” My best friend, Leo, waves a hand in the general direction of my groin.

  Annoyed, I give him a hostile side-eye. “For your information, I did go out today.” Leo doesn’t need to know it was only to the grocery store and the yoga studio. “And that whole getting backed up thing is a bullshit urban myth. Don’t be so dramatic.”

  Leo doesn’t know I hooked up at his birthday party last week with the incredibly big, incredibly hot man in the club’s office. We exchanged first names and blowjobs and not much else. I don’t know why I didn’t tell Leo—we tell each other everything. It was only a hookup and only one night, but it seems like talking about the encounter with Van would cheapen it somehow, and for whatever reason, in my head, what Van and I had together didn’t feel cheap.

  Not when the looks Van gave me were so hot they could have incinerated the entire bar to ash.

  Leo huffs and literally stomps his foot. Stomps. His. Foot. Diva. A stray lock of bleached-blond hair falls in front of one of Leo’s eyes. “You know I love you, T. That’s why I push. You need to get out and have fun. Do something less… less….” He waves his hands around again, this time more theatrically. Or maniacally. Sometimes I’m not too sure. “Less boring. Ugh! You’re a disappointment to gay men everywhere, Toby.”

  I sigh, backing up from my computer to rotate the chair partially in Leo’s direction. “I’m not boring, Leo. You and me, we’re best friends so don’t take this the wrong way, but we’re just not interested in the same things. Besides, I went to a club with you last week for your birthday. Doesn’t that count for anything?” I raise an eyebrow and turn back to my computer.

  Leo loves anonymous hookups. He picks up men like it’s his life mission to blow or fuck each and every available one before he dies. Me? Not so much. My last relationship ended over a year ago, and it’s been difficult enough to learn to trust anyone after Austin. The breakup was beyond ugly, and I’ve been happily single ever since leaving my controlling ex. Unfortunately, that was also the last time I had sex. Last week’s encounter was so completely out of character for me, I still wonder why I went through with it.

  Actually, that’s not true. I know why I hooked up with a total stranger. It was Van. Van is a god. Tall, dark, and muscular, with a face any artist would kill to recreate. His looks alone are everything I could ever want in a man. Luckily, Van’s hands and mouth were talented as well. But that’s not the only reason why I did it. It was the way he treated me, his touches almost reverent. The look in Van’s dark green eyes… if I hadn’t known up-front it was a one-time thing, I would have sworn there was something more between us.

  Leo scoffs and folds his arms across his chest. “We have plenty in common, T. We both like cock. So tell me again how we don’t like the same things?”

  This time I push back from my desk and swivel the entire chair to face my temperamental best friend and neighbor, scratching my head in a nervous gesture. “I don’t want to go clubbing, Leo. I’ve told you a million times. Plus I need to finish uploading this instructional video tonight. Maybe next time.”

  “Ugh!” Leo whines. “You say that every time.” He’s right. I do. “Fine. It’s your loss, honey. Don’t complain to me that you never get laid.”

  I roll my eyes, but Leo doesn’t see it. He’s already at the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Toby.”

  “Bye!” I call to his backside as he storms out in a glittery cloud of irritation.

  The door closes and I grin. My mind goes right where it’s gone hundreds of times over the past seven days: to the office of that club and the pleasure I shared with a stranger named Van. He was so incredibly perfect. There’s no other word to describe him. Well, maybe overwhelming, because he was that too. Big, bulky, aggressive, yet sweet and tender with his touches.

  I shudder at the memory, then frown. I have to remember it was a one-time thing. No numbers exchanged, no last names. I’ll never see the guy again. That’s the way it’s supposed to be, right?

  So why does it feel so depressing?

  Chapter 2

  Toby

  LATE TO work, I rush around, padding barefoot into the yoga studio. I pull down the window shades and make sure everything is ready for my 10:00 a.m. class. Once I’m done prepping, I still have a few minutes before class starts, so I use the time to sit on my mat and do some deep breathing exercises. It’s good to clear my mind and prepare for the next hour. Yoga is something I love. It keeps me both flexible physically and grounded mentally.

  When I open my eyes, feeling balanced and calm, the reflection in the mirror shows my class is nearly full. Each student, both experienced and new, is either in lotus position on his or her mat or sitting and looking around the room with “clueless newbie” obvious on their faces. Ready to start, I stand and face the students, eager to begin.

  “Hello, I’m Toby, and this is CorePower Yoga, C1, which is the beginner class. If you’re looking for one of the advanced levels or the Hot Yoga room, you’re in the wrong place.” I smile and give anyone who needs it a moment to leave. No one moves. “All right, so you’re all here for—”

  The studio door bursts open, and an enormous man fills the doorway. If I didn’t have such a finely honed sense of balance, I would have fallen flat on my ass at the sight. The giant bustles in, head down, and takes a spot at the very back of the room without giving me, or anyone else, so much as a glance. Several of the other class members begin to whisper, chatting amongst themselves. The newcomer either ignores them or doesn’t notice. He simply finds an empty space and spreads out his mat. After getting settled, my new student finally lifts his head and locks gazes with me. Brilliant green eyes widen in shock. Clearly, he recognizes me, because I sure as shit recognize him.

  Van.

  My hookup from two months ago is here. In my yoga class. All gorgeous and sexy and a little bit intimidating. I gulp and stare at his spectacular body, which looks just as good as it did in the back office of that club.

  Difficult as it is, I tear my eyes away from Van’s perfection and clear my throat, attempting to act normal and not like the blushing, floundering idiot I am inside. “So, as I was saying, this is a beginner’s class. I’ll be going around the room to help correct your posture if needed. Otherwise, try to focus, keep your core muscles engaged, and if you have any questions, ask.”

  I return to my mat and glance at Van in the mirror. His eyes are down, and his chiseled cheeks are a rosy shade of red. Curiously, it also appears as if every other member of the class is staring at him. I figure they’re probably staring because he’s so much bigger than the average yoga student. The guy towers over all of us. And no doubt Van’s embarrassed to come face to face with a one-off he never expected to see again.

  I sigh. Distractions are the last thing anyone needs in a class that is supposed to keep you focused. I can’t have everyone staring at Van while I’m trying to teach.

  “Eyes up here, folks.” That works. In the mirror, I watch twenty or so heads turn my way, including the bright green eyes of the man in the back corner of the room.

  “We’ll start with our usual stretching. Everyone lie flat on your back.” I get down on my mat, watching in the mirror as the rest of the class copies me. “Okay, great. Point your toes and stretch your arms back over your head, lengthening your body. Be sure to feel it in your core.�
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  My muscles lengthen, and I feel my blood flow increasing. I continue directing the class through the other stretches, keeping an eye out for the new students. Van is doing well, except he is so tall, he doesn’t seem to have enough room to fully extend in any direction unless he wants to hit a wall or another student.

  “Great, everyone. Okay, deep breath in through your nose… out through your mouth. Now please stand.” I wait for the class to comply. Van gets up, and I’m shocked at how gracefully he moves for such a large man. “Bend over and get into downward dog.” I demonstrate the position, holding it for a few seconds.

  Now is when I make my rounds, correcting poor posture that could injure unknowing students. “Continue stretching, try to get your heels on the mat, but don’t force yourself. Keep your back flat, not curved.” I put a hand under a woman’s belly and push up. “There, Karen. Nice and flat down your spine.”

  I glance over at Van as I head back toward the front of the room. His position looks surprisingly good. “Next let’s move into plank.” I lower myself from downward dog, keeping my elbows straight and lowering my hips until my body is a straight line at about a thirty-degree angle from the floor. “Perfect.”

  I hop up and fix one or two students who are either sticking their butts in the air or sagging their backs in the middle. Another glance at Van, and once again, his posture is pretty much perfect… if only he had enough room around his mat.

  Rejoining the class, I drop back into plank. “Side plank. Stretch that arm up to the ceiling, feel it in your core. Hold your body in a nice straight line. Balance on the outer edge of your bottom foot. Great, everyone.”

  This one, Van is having difficulty with. As much as talking to him scares the crap out of me, it’s my job to correct his posture. “Keep holding it,” I call out as I weave my way to the back corner.

  “Here.” I put one hand on Van’s impossibly hard abs. “Use these muscles to hold yourself up.” I take the hand he has extended upward and shift it back some. He wobbles but holds the side plank.

  Bright green eyes meet mine. “Thanks,” he says quietly. I nod and return to my mat at the front. We go through the rest of the poses, me helping those who need it, including my ex-hookup from time to time. The poor guy would do much better if he had more room to move. He’s just so freaking tall and wide. Even his yoga mat can’t contain his entire body, causing him to struggle not to slip on the bare floor at times.

  “Great class, everyone,” I announce at the end. “Be sure to hydrate.” A few students chat with each other as they leave, asking questions or making small talk, but my attention is laser-focused on the man in the corner. Interestingly, it seems lots of people want to talk to Van and hang out after class to do so.

  Odd.

  Van’s expression is a combination of uncomfortable and horrified, as if he wants nothing more than to shove everyone out of his way and run from the room as fast as he can. He’s polite, though, speaking to each person until they all trickle out of the room.

  All except for Van.

  Gulp.

  Van

  WHEN THE team athletic trainer told me to take yoga to increase my flexibility for not only my recently healed hamstring, but the rest of my muscles that were overtaxed to counterbalance the injury, I laughed in his face. When I realized he was serious, I swore, whined, cajoled, and even tried to bribe my way out of it.

  No dice. Walt, trainer for the Wild Cats, is a sadistic bastard with zero sense of humor. He gave me a card for the LA Power Yoga Center and told me to get my ass into the beginner class immediately.

  So, because I’m a good little fucking minion and don’t want to reinjure the grade-one hamstring tear I suffered in the Super Bowl seven weeks ago, I get to spend my off-season doing useless girly shit in a class full of obsessed fans and middle-aged women.

  When I walk through the door, late and looking like a giant amongst the Lilliputians, I’m mortified. Every single person in the room is staring as if I were an animal at the zoo. It’s everything I dread—including the middle-aged women, fans, and whispers.

  The one thing I don’t count on is seeing my hookup and recent obsession of sorts standing in the front of the class, wearing dark blue, knee-length cotton pants that show off his tight round ass, and a skintight black tank top that clings to his perfect body. It’s nearly impossible to keep my mouth from dropping open and my tongue from rolling out at the sight of him.

  I try my damnedest to keep from ogling the man’s fine ass, but since I have to keep looking at him to do each pose, it’s nearly impossible. By the end of the class, I’m frustrated and angry, both from the fans that accost me and from the constant state of arousal I’ve been in for the last hour.

  Mercifully, the last person finally leaves, and I can get out of here. Only I find I don’t want to leave. Will he even remember me? I sure as hell remember him. Toby. Gorgeous and passionate, with icy blue eyes and an unbelievably flexible body. Though that last thought makes perfect sense now that I know the man teaches yoga.

  I wanted to get his number back at the club, against my better judgment and my usual rule of staying unattached to hookups. Toby was just too skittish afterward and bolted before I got a chance to ask for it.

  I grab my stuff and look up to catch those crystalline eyes as they lock onto mine. Toby immediately ducks his head, his cheeks turning an alluring shade of pink. He tries to gather his own things, ready to run from me again.

  Not this time, sweetheart.

  “Toby?” I make my way toward the furiously blushing man. He whirls around, those stunning eyes darting between the door and me. “Do you remember me?” I ask, taking another step closer, desperate to see if he smells as good as he does in my memory.

  “I do,” he rasps, his voice no more than a whisper. Toby stands straight, posture perfect, chin up, but he still won’t meet my eyes.

  I glance at the door to make sure it’s closed before continuing. “I wanted to see you again, but you ran away so fast that night….” I rake a hand through my sweaty hair and stare at the beautiful man. A man I want to throw to the ground, strip naked, and taste every inch of his sweat-slicked skin.

  Toby’s posture changes subtly. His body stiffens and his jaw clenches. His eyes turn hard as he narrows his gaze. “Did you come here and find me just to try to get me into bed again?”

  My head snaps up from my perusal of Toby’s body, and I stare into those beautiful blues. “What? No. First of all, I never got you into an actual bed.” I smile, but Toby is having nothing to do with my attempts to lighten the mood. Exhausted, my shoulders sag. “I’m here for rehab. I injured my leg and….” I stop and shake my head. “I’m not stalking you, but I don’t want to let you slip through my fingers again.” I huff in frustration and just blurt it out. “I’m asking if you want to see me again.”

  Toby stands there, gaping like I sprouted a second head. He blinks several times before speaking. “So, wait. You… you want to see me? Like a date?”

  I rub the back of my neck. “Yeah, kind of like a date.” That’s as honest as I can be with him. I can’t take Toby out in public. Everyone knows it’s a career killer to come out as gay in the NFL. I’m still shocked he hasn’t recognized me yet. Does he really not know who I am?

  “Ummmm.” Toby bites his lower lip, a move that makes me want to grab him and see what that full red flesh tastes like. “I-I don’t really date, but… I guess that would be okay.” Those sculpted cheeks of his turn crimson again, and my cock begins to ache.

  Jesus.

  Does Toby have any clue how stunning he is? The man looks like he was made to capture the perfect male form. He has thick, almost black, wavy hair that seems as if he always just rolled out of bed, dark lashes framing icy blue eyes, high cheekbones that taper to a full mouth and a strong jawline—and that doesn’t even take into account his lean, lithe, muscular body.

  And I don’t even know his last name.

  I hold out a hand. “Van Archer.
”

  Toby grins shyly and shakes my hand. “Tobias Bennett.”

  “Tobias?”

  “I prefer Toby.” He shrugs and drops his gaze again.

  “Toby. I like it.”

  Those big, clear blue eyes meet mine, and my heart stutters and trips over itself. Oh shit. Tobias Bennett just might be the best, and worst, thing to ever come into my life.

  Toby

  MY INSTINCTS take over as I sprint toward the white brick wall, each stride perfectly measured out in my mind. Just before I hit the hard surface head-on, I leap off my back foot, place my front foot high on the wall, and propel upward. Using the momentum, I reach out and grab the bottom of a rickety blue fire escape and pull myself up, kicking my legs out sideways to jump over the railing.

  I keep going, running along the mesh, metal floor of the fire escape, once more taking a running jump at the corner of the building. This time I put one foot on the wall directly in front of me, then bounce to my other foot on the wall that sits at a ninety-degree angle, scaling the wall until I can hook my fingers over the edge of the roof. Using my arm strength and speed, I pull myself up onto the roof, then do a duck and roll across the gravel surface before effortlessly springing to my feet.

  I continue moving, leaping, grabbing, bouncing, ducking, dodging, using the rugged urban environment of the old Ford factory while I still can. Sadly, it’s being turned into high-priced lofts sometime next year. When I reach the far edge of the roof, I stop and sit cross-legged at the edge, watching as the city comes to life.