“Trust me, Scott. With my luck, I just might.”
I stroll into class, and even though I’m ten minutes early, there are already fifteen people inside, chatting to each other and swapping class-related advice while guarding their favorite spots.
They obviously know one another and are comfortable as a group, and they all have boxing gloves, mouth guards and kickboxing gear. Being the newbie, I keep to myself. Which is easy, since no one talks to me. A pang of excitement pierces through me. I've always been the sporty one, Izzy being the delicate, girly twin. Me? I climbed trees, rolled around the mud and even played soccer. This could actually be fun, I try telling myself.
Five minutes later, the door swings open and Jesse walks in, hands on his waist. I sheepishly wave to him, grateful for his welcoming smile. He looks surprised to see me. I'd be surprised to see me too. But the truth is, Dawson pushed me to participate in a class, and I definitely don't want to piss him off. I need to nail this baby down if I'm ever going to get my degree.
Jesse hands me an old pair of boxing gloves. They match my lazy attire of black yoga pants and pink, loose crop top I borrowed from Izzy's closet. I listen patiently when he explains what we’re going to work on today, and nod along with everyone else, even though he might as well be speaking in tongues.
He is using kickboxing lingo, and I pretty much understand only every fourth word. My mind drifts and I’m zoning out.
I want an ice cream sandwich.
I should probably stop eating so much sugar.
Is the new Arctic Monkeys album out? I need to buy it.
Hey, whatever happened to that kid from The Shining?
My grave contemplations are interrupted when the door flings wide again. Ty swings it with force, testosterone pouring from every cell in his body. Behind him is a large group of students wearing head and knee guards.
My mouth turns dry just from seeing him. He’s wearing a wifebeater, black fight shorts and a baseball cap. The chatter stops, and all the women stare at him like he’s a red velvet brownie.
His hawk eyes are scanning the faces, searching, until they land on little ol’ me.
His gaze narrows and he shoots me a hard-edged smile.
He found what he was looking for.
“A word, bro?” he asks Jesse in an even voice, but his dark eyes are still trained on me.
They huddle in the corner for less than a minute, bobbing their heads in agreement before Jesse claps his hands and announces, “Okay, class. Change of plans. Today we’ll have a special class. We’ll mash and mix up the techniques and do both traditional kickboxing and jiu jitsu. You will be paired with the other class, and you’ll work together. Both Tyler and I will be instructing this class, so this should be pretty damn good.”
Yup, that’s definitely it for me.
Trying kickboxing with Jesse might have been okay, but there’s no way I’m chancing public humiliation under Ty’s watchful eye. Every time I’m around him I feel like my limbs don’t belong to me. I can’t use them when he’s watching my every move. I’m leaving.
I casually start for the door, resisting the urge to tiptoe, and I’m about to reach for the knob when a big warm hand snakes around me and grasps my wrist.
Goddammit.
“And where do you think you’re going?” It’s Ty, his voice filled with amusement. The asshat.
“Me? Oh, I think I’m going to pass today. I'm not really into...jiu jitsu.” I try to sound cool.
“You don’t know what it is,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Hence I’m not into it,” I deadpan. He shakes his head no and moves closer to me. I notice he does it a lot, invading people’s personal space. I guess it comes with the territory of the occupation. You know, like thigh-hugging a guy’s head in your crotch to cut off his blood supply until he passes out. That kind of thing.
“You’re staying.”
“Thanks for the offer, but no.”
“Was there a question mark in my voice? It wasn’t an offer.”
Douchebag much?
“I'm sorry, okay, but I really don't want to do this now. I thought we'd be punching bags or something. I don't think I fit in here at all. I hate violence. Please get out of my way.” My eyes are furious, and I hope they are shooting lava darts at his silky black pupils.
“Bullshit.” He smirks, his dimples deepening. “You love violence. Every women does.”
“Excuse me?” I huff.
He circles closer, like a predator zeroing in on its prey. The air freezes. Everyone around us seems to disappear. I have his undivided attention, and I have no clue what to do with it.
“Are you calling me a liar?” I try to keep my voice steady. He's pissing me off. I have a feeling he is assuming that I see whatever other girls find alluring in him. Watch him through the same veil of lusty desire. Well, he's wrong.