The cute guy had come to my previous class, and placed his mat directly across from mine. He had hooded lids, a football team captain’s smile and a strong athletic build. Not my type, but still. He looked so familiar, actually, that I accidentally made meaningful eye contact while we held cobbler’s pose—heels of the feet touching, knees out to the side. I became aware that I was staring, and then tried to stare at other people, just to even the score.

I know women are supposed to be excited when a cute guy joins their yoga class. I’ve seen that Sex & the City episode. But the yoga studio where I have a monthly pass has attracted its share of strapping, tattooed straight dudes, and I can tell you, it is a nuisance. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for breaking gender stereotypes; just, can you guys go watch football or something while I try my shoulder stand?

I convinced myself to take the class with the cute guy anyway, and I managed to learn a lot about him: He was recovering from an injury; he had trouble in his right ankle. I don’t know why I was so interested. Maybe he was a convenient anchor for my wandering thoughts. You have to think of something during your fifth plank pose. But I did an excellent job of not looking at him the entire class. My crow is getting there, too.

Both our shirts were soaked with sweat as we walked to put away the mats. I wondered if I should ask him if we’d met before, and decided there was no way that line didn’t sound corny. He looked at me, and I looked up at him, and in that moment the air was electric with possibility. Then I said, “Can I just get past you? I have to go to the bathroom.”

Because that is the kind of charmer I am.

Credit: Matia M.