I get out a mat and start doing my yoga poses, keeping one eye on Dante. He sets the weights down, watching me as I move through them fluidly. I tell myself I’m imagining the gleam in his eye, but my heart races anyway. Out of all the men, Dante is the one I’m least sure about. Maybe he wants me, maybe he doesn’t. And my own heart and body are a mess. I need to hold on to my self-control.
