Edge of the Water

Belle was happy Zoey had been in the class with her. That was one class she wouldn't have been able to teach very well by herself. Not because they were complainers, but simply because they were that bad at yoga. It seemed as if each man had no centre of gravity, which, she guessed was partially true. Most of their muscle was accumulated in one place: their thighs and glutes. She almost wished she could be their personal trainer at the same time as their yoga instructor. Having an accumulation of muscle in your legs was all fine and dandy, but having an accumulation of muscle everywhere else on their bodies would improve their skating, their shooting and their stick handling. But she needed to put that out of her mind. The class had been over for about three minutes, and she had to clean up and Skype Oliver. Probably at the same time.

She pulled her laptop out of her office, placed the call and stripped off the polo she had on. Teaching yoga class actually worked her up into a bit of a sweat, and the less she had on, the better. Sports bra and tiny running shorts was what she was reduced to. Moving to spray down all of the mats, she listened to the ringing on her laptop. She didn't want the mats to get all gross from any sweat the boys may have left. And they did sweat. Those boys didn't know how to use their muscles for flexibility and balance at all.

“Belle?” the voice rang out in the room and she spun around, walking to her laptop and smiling.

“Hey!” she grinned at the boy on the other end. Oliver, her boyfriend of two years and friend since her freshman year of college, smiled back at her. He was shirtless, hair ruffled and a toothbrush stuck out of his mouth.

“Hey, babe!” he chuckled at her. “You look smokin'!” He winked.

Belle let out a giggle. “I just finished teaching a class of uncoordinated men the basics of yoga. It was entertaining to say the least. What are you doing today?” she asked him.

“Landscaping Mrs. Tarren's rock garden with Phil. She brings us cookies and lemonade. Which, surprisingly, taste good together. What are your plans, sexy?” he asked still grinning at her and pointedly staring at her exposed skin.

“I figured I'd head to the workout room after I cleaned up, get a bit of a jog in, then help Karl in the kitchen. There's this girl on board, Jenna, who's on a raw food diet. Don't even ask me why. Anyways, Karl just doesn't understand why he can't steam her vegetables,” Belle rolled her eyes, then moved from the computer to continue cleaning the room.

“Isn't Karl a trained chef?” Oliver asked from over at the monitor. Belle let out a giggle, projecting her voice to the source of her conversation.

“Yes, he is. Graduated last year. Maybe they didn't teach him about raw food diets?” she suggested.

Oliver groaned from the monitor. “I'm running behind, babe. Can I call you once I get back from work?” he asked.

“Sure!” she jumped over to the monitor. “Have a glass of lemonade for me!” she smiled at him.

“Sure, babe. I love you. Talk to you later,” he smiled at her and she felt that familiar pull in the centre of her chest that told her that she loved him too. And he smiled that sad smile that told her he didn't want to let her go.

“You too,” she said, touching the screen. Giving a half smile, the screen went dead and she sighed, going back to work.

She had hardly shut her laptop when a faint knock was on the door.

Standing up, her head shot in the direction of the noise. One of the hockey players from earlier stood at the door. He had brown hair and a baby face that made him look much younger than she suspected he was. She did, after all, have an entire list of the players plus their age, diet and allergies.

“Hi! Can I help you with something?” she pushed her hair out of her face and smiled at him.

“Umm,” he fumbled with his words, staring at her openly. She was painfully aware that she was in significantly less clothing than he had originally seen her in. But, she reminded herself, she had worn this exact outfit to the gym many times. That was her summer workout gear.

“What's your name?” she asked him when he continued to stare.

“Jon,” he finally said. “Jonathan Toews, I was in your last class.”

“Right.” She nodded. “What can I do for you Mr. Toews? Because if you're just going to stare at my breasts, I have a studio to clean up and a chef to educate,” she said pointedly.

A red tint started at his ears then moved up through his neck and eventually made it to his cheeks.

“I, uhh, I actually left my phone in here?” He asked it as a question rather than told her.

Belle spun around, scanning the room, then jogged over to the office where she had placed the lost and found phone.

“This it?” she asked, holding it up in the air for him to see. The slick, black device shone at him as she walked closer to him, stopping about a foot away and holding it out to him. He could smell her. After working out like she'd made them, he was sure he smelt like sweat and exhaustion, but she somehow smelt like tropical fruit and vanilla.

“Mr. Toews?” she asked, shoving the phone at him. “Have a nice day.”

“Oh! Thanks...” he paused, staring at her. “Did you, uh, need any help?”

She sighed, trying to hold it together. She just wanted him to leave. She had finished teaching the class, she wasn't supposed to see or even speak to any of them until the next day. Deep breath.

“No thanks.” She smiled at him. “See you tomorrow!” She spun from him, hurrying to grab the spray bottle and spray down the mats.

“Thanks again!” he called after her and finally left the room.

He felt like an idiot. She obviously wanted to be left alone, and he had kept stammering on like an idiot. He didn't even take his phone at first when she held it out to him. She was just so beautiful and confident. And she was standing there in practically nothing. It was like a sign from God, telling him that she was his silver lining after such a hard loss in the Stanley Cup finals. She was his gift. The one thing that would get him out of his funk. If only he could have pushed her down and taken her right there in the yoga studio. But she was proving harder to get than that. Subtly making fun of him, hurriedly ushering him from the room.

Normally girls fell into his lap. That's what came with fame. But this girl didn't even seem to particularly like him. She didn't seem to particularly like any of them. He was going to make it his mission for her to like at least one of them—him.