I stand there with the water raining down on me, and it isn’t until it starts to turn lukewarm that I feel like I can finally walk again without falling over.

I’ve never been like this before—so consumed by desire for someone that I can barely function. Not with Aaron, not with anyone. It scares me a little, this power Declan has over me, how completely he occupies my thoughts. But it thrills me too, making me feel alive in a way I haven’t in years. Maybe ever.

With shaking knees, I push myself away from the wall and finish showering quickly. I’ve lost all track of time while I’ve been in here, and despite the reel that just played in my mind while I got myself off, I’m not so sure I want Declan to actually find me in here like this—mostly because I don’t trust myself not to jump him if he did.

I turn off the water and reach for the towel I left hanging on the hook just outside the shower and pause for a few seconds to listen, mentally kicking myself for not thinking to lock the studio door while I was in here. But nothing reaches my ears other than the steady drip of the last bit of water that’s still draining out of the shower head, so I pull the towel over my head and hurriedly use it to dry my hair before I work it down the rest of my body.

I don’t have time to do anything with my hair, so I tie it back up in a rushed ponytail and fight to get my tight yoga pants and sports bra back on my damp body. When I’m done, I check my reflection to make sure I didn’t miss anything and that more skin isn’t showing than is supposed to be.

“Pull yourself together, Hannah,” I mutter to myself as I check my reflection one final time. “It’s just a yoga lesson.”

But who am I kidding? Nothing with Declan has ever been “just” anything.

I take a deep breath, centering myself the way I teach my students to do before a challenging pose, then cram my towel into my bag and leave the locker room.

I can do this. I can be professional. I can⁠—

I’ve barely taken a step into the studio when I freeze, my thoughts breaking off as my eyes widen. Declan is standing right in the middle of the room with his arms crossed over his chest, his biceps bulging through the sleeves of the tight black neoprene shirt he’s wearing. Just the sight of him makes my knees start to tremble again, but anxiety floods me almost instantly when I realize I don’t know how long he’s been standing here.

Or how much he heard.