Chapter Eight
Lev
My confidence drains as I grip my knees, trying not to look at Alex. She’s nagging me about what happened between us the other day—when Tomas had his hands down her pants. She’s going on about doing what she has to do, keeping her options open, trying to survive, and I’m just trying not to lose my shit.
“I’ve done everything I can,” I claim, “to convince you that I’m serious. What more can I do?”
Alex folds her fingers together and sighs, slumping into her chair. “You could prove it to me.”
“Haven’t I?”
She shakes her head. “You could have protected me from your friends, but you didn’t. You participated in their humiliation of me. And then, when you said you would protect me, you weren’t able to protect me. How can I believe you if your words are hollow, Lev?”
My brows break apart while I meet her gaze. Fuck, she looks really hurt. Maybe she has a point—and then again, maybe she doesn’t. We could just be going in circles here.
Coach Neill knocks on the door.
Fuck. How much did she just hear?
“If you two are going to argue,” she says, “you might as well do it while fencing.”
“How’s that going to help?” But I don’t challenge her suggestion. I just follow the fencing instructor into the adjoining fencing studio and grab a foil from the rack. Reluctantly, I say, “I mean if it helps Alex…”
Alex swings her foil sharply. “It’ll help.” The smirk on her lips arouses me. “Trust me on that.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.”
We equip ourselves and get into position, waiting on Coach Neill to call us into action. Once our match begins, we dance toward each other, engaging our foils with a clack that resonates through the room.
“Why don’t you compete?” Alex asks. She skips back, blocks one of my jabs, and then launches forward. “You’re actually good.”
“Maybe next semester.”
She huffs, recoils from one of my strikes, and then stands tall, pointing her weapon to the ground. She whips her helmet off and tosses it aside. “Will you still fight me without a helmet?”
“Is that what you want?”
“Why can’t you ever answer my questions?”
Humming, I calculate her next move, watching the way her muscles go rigid and waiting for the right time to strike. She’s a quick fighter, but I’m more about calculation. I might take a few hits in the process for my success to be true by the end of the match. We only have about a minute left.
When I whip off my helmet, she grins mischievously.
God, it’s good to see her eyes on me.
“Why can’t you ever answer mine?” I retort while blocking her stab. She retreats and then lunges forward to stab again. After successfully catching her foil with a block, I clasp my hand on the back of her neck and peck her lips. She groans with frustration. “And why are you always so angry?”
She shoves me off her and raises her foil. “Why are you always so grumpy?”
“Maybe it’s because I hate being at odds with you.”
“God, finally.”
She swings her foil toward me, striking me across the chest. The way she giggles triumphantly causes me to stand tall and focus a playful glare at her. “You’ll pay for that, sweetheart.”
She waves her foil confidently. “Thirty seconds, handsome.”
“Why’d you pick Tomas?”