When she moves the ball, I shake my head. “No ball. Just me and you.”
She scoffs.
“Get lower.”
She bends her knees, facing off opposite me. We move laterally, performing a series of small shuffles.
“Square your chest.”
She repositions her shoulders.
“Good. How’s that feel?”
Carla stares at me. For a beat, I think she’s going to tell me off. But then, she nods and reluctantly admits, “I notice the difference.”
“Okay, two more shuffles.” We work through the drill.
“This time,” I say, gathering the ball, “we’ll shield with the ball. I’m the defender, you’re the attacker. Come and get it.”
She huffs and I smirk.
I crouch lower, throwing out my arms to hold her back. “Use your whole body to get it. Your hips, your shoulders, everything you got.”
She tries her best, catching me off guard a few times. But I’ve been doing this longer, not to mention I’m much bigger.
“You hold your own,” I say encouragingly, stopping the play to give her a pointer. “Square your hips.” I grasp one of her hips, flexing it slightly to reposition her. My frame shadows her back as I lean closer, tapping the inside of one of her knees. She shifts her leg slightly.
“That’s it,” I murmur.
Carla sucks in a breath.
“Does it hurt?”
Carla shakes her head, glancing at me through loose strands of hair. Sweat beads along her forehead, her cheeks are flushed, and her lips are parted.
Her lips. I avert my gaze, hating how blatantly I’m checking her out. My hands are still on her body and my fingers tighten on her hip. I rest my other hand in the center of her back, forcing myself to step away. “Let’s run it again.”
“Okay, sure,” Carla pants.
I set up. “Vamos.”
This time, she uses her body smarter, getting in my space to steal the ball. When she does it successfully, a genuine smile crosses her lips before it slips. “You didn’t let me take it, did you?”
“Carla, as much as I like you, I always play to win. Remember that.”
She grins.
“Come on, that’s enough for today.” I toss an arm around her neck as we walk back toward the bench.
“You smell,” she tells me, nudging my arm off her shoulder.
“Delicious,” I tack on, wagging my eyebrows. “I know.”
She wrinkles her nose, rolling her eyes. “Hit the showers, DiBlanco.”
Only if you come with me. The words run through my mind and I thank the fucking saints above that I didn’t mutter them aloud. “Right after I walk you home,” I say instead.
“You don’t?—”
