A smirk splits my face, and my chest tightens when I realize her humor is making me wish she was here even more than I already was. The song is winding down and some of the people who were dancing are starting to stream back to their seats, but I can’t peel my eyes off the screen.

ME: You mean you aren’t wishing you were here suffering with me?

HANNAH: I’m kinky, but I’m not a masochist.

My grip tightens on my phone, and I tilt the screen away from the rest of the table as some of the team sinks back to their seats. I don’t really care if they know I’m texting with someone, but I don’t want them knowing who. And I damn sure don’t want them to see the text that just came through, or the one I’m already thinking about sending back.

ME: You sure about that? The way you like your hair pulled says otherwise.

The three dots indicating she’s typing appear and vanish on the screen several times. I picture her with her phone in her hand, furiously typing and deleting her response. And I can practically hear her at war with herself in her mind so I decide to ramp it up a little more.

ME: What did you wear to class tonight?

The dots appear and vanish again, and I feel my heart pounding in my throat while I wait for an answer.

HANNAH: Can anyone see your phone screen?

Fuck, is she about to do what I think she is?

ME: I don’t think so, but give me a second.

I push back from the table a bit, trying to be inconspicuous about putting more distance between myself and everyone else just in case. I don’t know where this conversation is going, but based on the tone, I have a few guesses. And I’m not bothered by any of that, but I definitely don’t want an audience.

It takes a few seconds of unbearable tension and staring at my screen before my phone buzzes in my hand. A picture appears. It’s a selfie of Hannah standing in front of one of the tall mirrors at the studio. Her head is cut off in the picture, and I’m sure that was on purpose, but she still looks amazing in the hot pink workout top and body-hugging black yoga pants she’s wearing.

I recognize it instantly—because I haven’t been able to stop staring at her in any of her outfits, but especially this one.

Fuck, I’m completely head over heels obsessed with this woman.

ME: You look great, but I think you’d look even better without any of that on.

HANNAH: Then I guess there’s only one way to find out.