Actually, a lot of the time a girl just wanted to dance with a guy without involving their families and the fact that his mother once hit her mother in the face with a dodgeball in PE class. On purpose. Or the fact that his aunt was the best Sunday school teacher her sister had ever had.

As if those were reasons for her to get involved, or not get involved, with a guy.

But this was what she lived with. She couldn’t have the doctor check her for a rash without her mom and grandmother calling. She couldn’t grab a low-fat yogurt without her dad telling her she needed to worry less about her weight and that she should just have a steak or burger once in a while. And since her apartment was upstairs from her yoga studio, heaven forbid someone park their truck along the curb overnight. She’d absolutely have family members asking about who had spent the night and picking up bridal magazines from the bookstore.

This was all absolutely why she did yoga. And collected cats. And drank.

“Keep the bright and energetic lift. Focus on your foundation. Awareness in that front foot,” she encouraged, checking on the class. “Hips level. Then lift that back leg slightly.”

Why was she thinking of all of this now though? She could always push all of that out of her mind.

But it was like Mitch had wedged open the door she normally shut and locked while she practiced, and that little crack was letting all kinds of thoughts sneak in.

She couldn’t wait to see him. She almost wished that he hadn’t texted to let her know he was going to be in town again. He could have just shown up and surprised her. That probably would have been better.

She wouldn’t have spent the last couple of days cleaning her apartment and shopping for food that he could eat while they were holed up together—he did not seem like the tofu and edamame type—and juggling her schedule and coming up with lies to tell her mother and various other relatives when they wanted to know why she wouldn’t be at the Apple Festival on day three.

She wasn’t going to tell them that she intended to spend day three in bed. All day. Naked. Wrapped around a hot Louisiana boy who turned her insides to pudding and made her smile stupidly over his texts as if she were in high school again.

Without warning, she would have just rolled with it the way she usually did when a certain feeling or mood struck her. He could have put up with her dust bunnies and could have gotten food to go from downtown, and she could have just left him in bed to go teach a class or two.

Except leaving him would have been very difficult.

“Elongate from the top of your head to your tailbone,” she reminded the class. “Then reach.”

Bernie, the gray-and-white, short-haired cat, jumped up on the windowsill next to Paige and meowed before yawning widely.

She smiled at him and reached to scratch under his chin. She had to really stretch, pulling in her lower stomach, breathing, and challenging her balance to give him the love but that was one way the cats were such a fun part of the yoga classes. Just having them around also made people smile more, and it was scientifically proven that spending time with animals brought blood pressure and stress levels down.

Paige heard someone clear their throat and with her fingers still grazing Bernie’s chin, she glanced toward the door.

Her eyes went round, both arms dropped, and her back leg dropped while her supporting leg gave out. Her brain just stopped keeping her upright. All of her mental energy was immediately focused on the man in the doorway.

She fell to the mat, and the entire room gasped and dropped their poses as well.

Piper was beside her a moment later. “Paige! Oh my God, are you all right?”

Mitch is here! He’s here! Early! Already! But he’s right over there! Yay! Gimme!

But she simply pushed her hair back and gave Piper a smile. “Yes, of course. Bernie threw me off-balance.”

Piper eyed the cat who was still on the windowsill, now licking a paw and looking entirely unconcerned about, well, anything. Typical.

“Did you… hurt yourself?” Piper asked.

“Nope.”

The rest of the class was leaning in as if to hear, and Cam and Whitney moved closer.

“I just got a little distracted,” Paige said softer. She caught Whitney’s eyes, then Piper’s, then looked toward the doorway.

Mitch was leaning against the doorjamb. He was wearing faded blue jeans and an olive-green t-shirt that she knew matched his eyes. They wouldn’t be able to tell from here but it was exactly the right shade. His hair was a little shorter than the last time she’d seen him, but he still had the short beard and, even more dangerous to her libido, that smirky half smile that said he knew she’d just fallen down because of him.

He wasn’t wearing a jacket even though it was January. She assumed he had one. Though it never got all that cold in Louisiana. Not heavy-winter-coat cold anyway. And yes, she’d looked that up. She’d freaking done research about where this guy lived. That was… crazy.

He did, however, have boots on. They weren’t exactly winter snow boots. More like scuffed-up work boots. But they’d keep his feet warm while tramping through the six inches of snow that blanketed Appleby currently. One booted ankle was crossed cockily over the other as he leaned against the doorframe watching her unfold herself from her yoga mat.

His arms were also crossed as if he were settled in to watch the rest of the class.

As if their thoughts were connected, his eyes traveled over her as she stretched to her feet again. A flash of heat went through her as he took in what she was wearing.

The same outfit, essentially, that he’d stripped her out of the last time he’d been here.

I love this fucking sweatshirt. The way it hangs off your shoulder, tempting me with these sweet tits right underneath. He’d hooked his finger in the neckline of the sweatshirt and pulled it down underneath her left breast. He’d pulled her bra up and then fastened his dirty-talking, hot mouth right on her nipple.

Now that nipple tingled with the memory and the sight of that mouth just a few feet away.

Piper and Whitney both looked in the direction that Paige was clearly looking.

She grabbed them both, forcing them to look back at her before the entire class swung to look at Mitch.

“Don’t—”

But it was too late. The other twelve people in the room turned as if they’d choreographed it. Mitch didn’t even blink. All he did was lift one hand in a little wave.

Even that made her hot.

He was laid back. God, she loved that.

She needed that.

Not that she needed him. Or wanted him. Not like that. She didn’t want a man. Not long term for leaning on or anything like that. She shuddered. She was twenty-two, for God’s sake. In spite of the fact that her mother and grandmother were convinced she was going to never love anyone the way she loved cats—a fact she hadn’t disputed—she had time.

But she appreciated spending time with laid-back people. And if those people also said deliciously dirty things, and did deliciously dirty things, to her while also making her laugh, then… yeah, that was good. Really good.

Before he headed out the door and got back on the road with his truck pointed south. Very far south. Out of reach and out of you-should-bring-him-to-family-dinner-on-Sunday range.

She couldn’t help but smile as everyone turned back to face her, their eyebrows up, a mix of questioning and curiosity and oh, good for you. That mostly came from Piper and Max—the big, burly gay man who looked the exact opposite of anyone you would see in a yoga class but who had amazing core control and balance.