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“Because when I’m done showing you up, your pride is going to need a connecting flight to find its way back to you.”

My lips roll together, holding back a laugh. A few women are still whispering to each other—their eyes rove over him like he’s a piece of meat.

“Seriously, why are you here? This feels oddly coincidental.”

Casper doesn’t respond, too busy diligently listening—or at least pretending.

“You’re just going to ignore me?”

He finally turns his head toward me, a serious expression painted on. “Excuse me. Some of us are here to learn,” he says, louder than necessary.

I give him a paused blink.

Fern clears her throat, aiming a threatening glance in our direction.

He reaches to touch his ankles and turns his head toward me. “Yikes, I think she hates you,” he whispers.

His commitment to the bit earns him a small smile and my shoulders tremble with restrained laughter. I glimpse at him in the mirror’s reflection and find him locked on me. He winks and I roll my eyes while finishing up my stretches.

After the introduction is finished, we all go around and say our names; Casper’s deep voice sticks out among the other female voices and a few giggles echo, but he seems to pay them no mind, and then Fern starts the playlist. Her gaze pauses on Casper for an extra second, giving a chastising look. She points at him. “You’re going to need some leg skin in order to do some of the pole techniques, we have shorts you can purchase or you can sit those out.”

He nods. “I’ll sit those out, thanks, Fern.”

She nods at him. He seemingly has her convinced he’s not here to be a creep. I decide at that moment that Fern has terrible judgment.

Bass thumps through the floor and I wait for Casper to choose a pole first so that I can pick the one the farthest away from him. After a stalemate, I give in and choose one at random, unsurprised when he selects the pole next to mine. So much for that. I shimmy out of my leggings so I’m down to my shorts and toss them aside. I’m here for my workout, not his . . . whatever this is.

Fern shouts over the music while leading us in a routine. “Let’s start with some pole walks before we get into it. For the beginners, make sure to not grip the pole too hard . . . Good. Add in two pole pirouettes.” She twists around her pole and we follow suit.

I steal a glance, unable to resist seeing my six-foot-seven tattoo artist pole dancing. Whatever the opposite of graceful is, that’s him. But he’s giving it his all regardless, without any hesitation. Embarrassment? He’s never met her.

“Around the world, don’t forget to extend your arm. Casper, loosen your grip,” she calls to him. “Move into a fan kick.”

With every ounce of strength I watch the mirror, focusing on my form, and swinging my leg up high the way I’ve been practicing.

“Beginners, you are welcome to try a back hook spin or you can do another around the world. Then close it out with a reverse body wave. Go.”

The class has fun with Casper; a few women give him some openings to flirt and my brows lift when he doesn’t reciprocate.

“Pole walks into a chair spin,” Fern shouts.

In my peripheral, he fights for his life to keep up with the choreography from the instructor. Ignore him, ignore him. Casper Carrows, world-renowned—and my personal—tattoo artist, is definitely not a couple arm lengths away from me, I assure myself.

“On your knees, and crawl.”

The movement to my right stops and I make the mistake of glancing at him in the mirror. Instantly, my cheeks heat when I see the way he’s frozen on his knees, staring back at me as I crawl on all fours. His tongue flicks to wet his bottom lip and my pulse quickens. I immediately break eye contact. What the hell was that?

The rush starts in my chest, flooding up my neck and into my shoulders, down my arms that suddenly feel heavy and tingly. What is happening to me? It takes me several seconds to realize that this rush of adrenaline and heat is . . . attraction.

I haven’t experienced that sensation in years, and this may be the first time I’ve felt it this intensely, likely because I’m sober this time. For a split second the thrill has me seeing colors brighter and more vibrant. I feel good. Really good.

After my brain finally connects that the elation washing over me is tied to Casper, I push it from my mind. Far, far from my thoughts because it’s completely inappropriate, especially here.

For the rest of the lesson, I ignore him and feel shame settle in my stomach. This is for sure going to be brought up with my therapist at our next appointment. It’s only a physical attraction. It’s biological, there’s no motive behind it. Relax. Millions of people walk down the sidewalk every day and experience brief attraction to strangers, this is the same. Be cool.

My thoughts home in on the beat of the music and my steps, doing well to ignore Casper for the rest of the class.

After the session wraps up, my muscles are tired and I blot myself off with a towel before tugging on my leggings and wiping down my pole. A few of the women ask me out for drinks; I turn them down like usual, but it’s considerate of them to invite me all the same.