He squints.
I grin. “You thought I was lying to impress you?”
“I thought you took, like, a seminar at a self-defense night and spent the rest of the time eating free pizza.”
I gasp. “How dare you. It was free wings, actually. And I’ve been training twice a week since then.”
He runs a hand over his jaw. “Show me.”
I step back, plant my feet.
“Okay,” I say. “Grab me from behind.”
His eyebrows climb. “Excuse me?”
“Relax, prude. This is literally in the textbook. Someone grabs you from behind, you can’t see, your options change. So do it.”
He mutters something under his breath but moves behind me. His arms loop around my torso, pinning my arms just above the elbows, not crushing tight, just enough that I feel the restriction.
“Okay?” he asks quietly near my ear.
Too near.
My heartbeat stutters.
Focus, Lark.
“Okay,” I manage. “Common reaction is to panic. Try to pry their arms off. But if they’re stronger—which they usually are—that’s a losing game. So instead…”
I slam my heel down onto his instep.
He grunts, loosening a fraction of his hold.
At the same time, I throw my head back, connecting with his chest—would be nose if he were closer—and drop my weight, twisting my hips, cutting my arms down and out.
His hold breaks.
I spin, using his momentary off-balance state to step into his space, bring my hand up in a mock palm strike that stops a millimeter from his throat.
“If this was real,” I say, breathing a little faster, “I’d aim for soft spots. Throat, eyes, groin. Then run like hell.”
He opens his mouth.
Nothing comes out.
His hands hover like he’s still processing being reversed.
A slow grin crawls across my face. “You okay there, tough guy?”
He blinks. “Where did you learn that level of technique?”
“Juno dragged me to a women’s Krav Maga studio two years ago. I stayed. It helped with the… anxiety. Feeling like the world’s always bigger than me.” I shrug. “Figured if I’m going to hack bad guys from my couch, I should probably know how to break at least one of their knees if they ever found me.”
His gaze softens in a way that makes heat crawl up my neck.
“Okay,” he says slowly. “Again.”
We go through it a few more times. He grabs, I break, over and over until it feels like a dance. My muscles warm, my body humming with the familiar rhythm. It feels good—remembering I’m not just a brain in a hoodie. I’m a body that can do things too.
