"You're small," he said at last, looking at the floor. "That makes you harder to hit."
He lifted his eyes and we stared at one another.
"Well, that's something," I whispered.
He stared at me for three more beats of my racing heart...and then he sighed and glanced away. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s start with your stance.”
He came around to stand behind me, so close that I could feel the heat of his breath on my neck. His big, warm hands landed on my shoulders and he started to guide me into the position he wanted me in.
The position he wanted me in.A shudder went through me.Oh, quit that you moron! He doesn’t even like you!Or if he did, he was shying away from it for some reason.
None of which stopped his hands feeling absolutely amazing.
“You’re right-handed, yeah?” he asked. I nodded. “Okay. Turn sideways a little. Makes you a smaller target. Left hand up like this—no, other way around.” He gently turned my forearm. His big paws encircled it completely. “Other hand up likethis.”Then his hands were sweeping down my sides to my hips. “The power has to come from here—understand?Twist.”
He left his hands there, the heat of him throbbing into me. I realized he was waiting for me to try it. I twisted, lashing out with my right hand, and felt my muscles move under his palms. Much like I was riding him and he was holding onto me as I writhed.
I nodded. “Got it,” I said shakily.
He released his hands. But he seemed to do it almost reluctantly.
We practiced the boxer’s shuffle, dancing back and forth with myweight over my back foot in case someone tried to kick the front one out from under me. I quickly learned how tiring just moving around the ring non-stop is—all those fast little movements add up. Then he put gloves on me for the very first time. I stared down at my hands with their huge, comedy padding. I felt like a mascot at Disneyland who’d forgotten the rest of her costume.
He showed me how to jab and cross and hook. After an hour, I felt like it was actually beginning to come together. I looked, if you squinted hard, kind of like a boxer. But he was looking at me with concern. It started to drive me crazy.
“What?” I demanded at last.
“You’re too mechanical. Like a puppet with someone yanking your strings. You’re just repeating what I’ve shown you.”
“Of course I am! That’s what you said to do!”
“But it’s too...stilted.You’re punching and moving. You’re notfighting.”
I looked at the bag we were hitting. “That’s because I’m hitting a bag,” I said, a little defensively.
“But in your head, you’re not fighting. It’s not coming from the heart.”
I’d had enough. I was hot. I was exhausted. I was irrationally pissed off with him because I’d mistakenly thought I’d felt something between us. I remembered how I’d agonized over my clothes that morning and I wanted to shoot myself in the head. As if he’d even notice what I was wearing.
My hands were sweating in the gloves. I went to take one of them off so that I could hurl it down on the mat in frustration and discovered that it’s almost impossible to un-velcro one glove while the other one’s still on. “Goddamnit!” I yelled. “I’m trying! How about some positivity?”
His foot suddenly hooked under my ankle—I’d forgotten to keep my weight off of it. I fell backwards onto the mat for the second time that day, landing with a surprised grunt. Then he was on top of me, his hands pinning my shoulders to the mat.
“Do you thinkshe’sgoing to go easy on you?”he yelled. “Do youthink she’s going to care that you’re a girl and a rookie? She’s going to treat you like any other fighter!”
I looked up at him with huge eyes. It suddenly clicked that I hadn’t been the only one getting frustrated over the last hour. He’d just been hiding it better. And now I could see the worry in his eyes. That was where the frustration was coming from: concern.
Concern forme.
“Sorry,” I said quietly.
We stared at each other for a moment longer, and then the reality of our situation sank in. His knee was between my legs, pushing up against my groin through a few layers of cotton. His palms were resting on my bare shoulders and my breasts were heaving from the shock of falling. The air seemed as thick as honey. I could feel the sweat on my skin, making it glossy and slick under his hands.
I saw his eyes flick down to...my lips?God, is he about to—
15
AEDAN
