“You wanna hit with these knuckles.” He made a fist with his right hand and pointed with his left to the first two knuckles. “And keep the middle one in line with your elbow when you strike. Otherwise, you could break the bones in your hand.”
I nodded and clenched my fist in front of me. “Now what?”
He motioned to the bag with a lopsided smile on his face, crossing his arms as he took a step back. “Have another go.”
I knew he wouldn’t make me look like an idiot, not when he knew what he was talking about, so I semi-confidently stepped up to the bag again, readying myself once more for it to hurt. I threw the punch with my right hand.
My hand connected with the leather, sending a subtle sting across my knuckles that was nowhere near as painful as before as I stumbled on my feet. I smiled to myself. When I looked to Dean to check I had done it correctly, I found him smiling a little proudly too.
“Nicely done.” Approaching me again, he pointed to my legs. “Your stance needs some work though. It’s why you wobbled over just now.”
“Okay.” I looked down at my legs, shifting on the spot.
He positioned himself beside me, facing the bag as I was. His feet were planted shoulder-width apart as he brought his fists up to guard his face, hunching his shoulders forward slightly.
I pulled my eyes from where the sleeves of his black T-shirt had pulled tight around his bicep and focused on copying what he did. While he looked like he was about to throw a punch that could knock the bag from its chain, my stance was a little less intimidating.
I laughed a little as I looked down at myself. “I don’t think I’m doing this right.”
Dean chuckled as he dropped his arms and turned to face me. His eyes tracked the shape of my body before he raised his brows, gesturing to my waist with his hand. “May I?”
A tingling raced through my body, but I nodded, quickly focusing on the punching bag as he stepped behind me. There was at least a foot of space between us. I could almost feel the warmth radiating off his body.
“You’re right-handed, yeah?” he asked.
“Mhm.”
His hands came to my waist. His fingers made the faintest of indentations in my stomach as he dragged my right hip backward, bringing my foot with it.
My insides were a fluttery mess. As if a wall of butterflies slammed into the pit of my stomach and exploded. Making even more butterflies as his calloused fingertips gently grazed the slip of exposed skin between my T-shirt and shorts.
And then his touch was gone as he stepped around in front of me, eyeing my posture before he lifted my hands between us, encasing them in his own as he curled mine into fists.
I was rendered speechless. As if someone flicked off the signal between my brain and mouth.
He gently took my wrists next, warming the skin as he lifted my fists to position them in front of me. “To protect your face...”
I looked up at him from over my knuckles and noted the way something shifted in his eyes. As if he only just noticed what his touch and closeness were doing. There was no doubt it was written all over my face as it flushed with warmth.
Suddenly we were too close.
Dean slowly released my wrists, trailing his fingers down the sides of my forearms with a featherlight touch that made me want to lean forward. His fingertips left goosebumps in their wake and my breath hitched in my throat.
I was unable to move as if my feet rooted themselves to the cement floor. But this wasn’t the same as being frozen in fear. No, this time I didn’t want to move as curiosity begged me to see what might happen.
All talk of learning how to throw a punch had long since left the building as his eyes dropped to my parted mouth. A muscle in his jaw feathered and his eyes softly darkened. His eyelashes, of all things, suddenly were the only thing I could focus on besides the heartbeat pounding in my ears.
“Lily...” My name on his tongue was barely a whisper but it sent a pleasant shiver running down my spine.
Then, as if something snapped in my head, I was suddenly flooded with anxiety-filled nausea. This was happening. I had seen that same look on Oliver’s face, but he acted on impulse. Dean, however, was waiting.
In the split seconds before anything happened, my eyes dropped to his lips. Lips that had probably kissed many girls before. Self-doubt rushed through my body at the idea that I wouldn’t be as good. The few kisses from my past, awkward and sparkless, couldn’t hold a flame to what I imagined a kiss from him might be like.
He was Italian. Weren’t they known for being great kissers? Great lovers?
Those few split seconds were suddenly up, and the panic set in.
I took a hasty step back, scooping up my bag quickly from the floor as I struggled to find words to explain myself. The look on his face only made that struggle worse as he frowned at himself.
