“Uh, Brando,” Tucker says, “Jules and I are gonna head to thecafe counter.” Tucker hangs an arm around Julia’s slender shoulders before they scuttle out of the room.
My gaze cuts back to where Brandon was sitting on the bench.
In my defense, my eyeswereaimed at the safe-zone, but Brandon has unfurled to his massive height. My eyes are practically forced across his tan, muscled torso. His eight pack is just as blocky as I remember, and that tantalizing “v” lining his hips disappears into his waistband.
My gaze collides with his green one. All remnants of mischief vanish as he watches me watch him. His somewhat-hollowed cheeks only emphasize his ridiculously perfect bone structure.
It’s a shame, really. How pretty he is. But I’ve learned from my mistakes. Sure, we might’ve aced chemistry in college, but we flunked everything else.
Brandon doesn’t break eye contact as he lifts his unlaced boxing gloves to his mouth. He catches its dangling lace between his teeth, pulling it taut. The movement is so seductive, it’s borderline obscene.
Brandon’s attention dips below the fringe of his thick lashes, as if now just noticing I’m also sporting plenty of bare skin in my black sports bra and matching shorts.
I recognize the fleeting look of hunger in his eyes, and I immediately decide I don’t like us being this near each other without being fully clothed. I take a careful step back before murdering each of my feral butterflies.
Those teasing lips of his tip into a hypnotic grin. “Say,Katie. Let’s make a little bet.”
Nope. I don’t like the sound of that. Not one bit.
“Go on,” I hear myself say, and I almost slap a hand over my mouth.
“If you want to claim Pulse as your territory, then you’ll have to earn it.”
“Earn it?”
He waves a casual hand to the boxing ring behind us. “If you can hit me three times in three minutes, I’ll never set foot in Pulse Fitness again.”
Excitement vibrates to life in my stomach, but as much as I love the sound of that, this man is a tank. We’re talking muscles on muscles. I’d be an idiot to even entertain this idea.
Brandon smirks.
The urge to hit him intensifies, and I realize he’s just given me a socially acceptable way to do so without involving the law. I mean, I did take a kickboxing class in college...
What am I even thinking? This is nothing but a ploy. I eye Brandon’s hulking six-foot-four body. Self-defense videos always talk about using someone’s body weight against them. If I can dothat, he’s a goner. Plus, he did mention something earlier about learning to box, so maybe he sucks too?
“And ifyouwin?” I hedge.
“You have to take boxing lessons from the instructor of my choosing.” The playfulness in Brandon’s expression dims. “No woman should live life without being able to protect herself.”
I shake my duffel bag at him. “Hello, pepper spray?”
“Not good enough. So what do you say,love?”
That nickname clenches my fists into rocks, and the idea of hitting him becomes far too tempting.
“Deal.”
He holds out his glove, and I awkwardly shake it. Then he deftly swings his body up and under the boxing ropes like he’s done it a million times, and a pit drops into my stomach.
Brandon drapes two arms over the ropes and leans his bare torso against them. “Gloves are at the front desk. Tell them Brandon sent ya.” He winks.
The pit in my stomach turns into a boulder.
Ten minutes later, I’m bouncing back and forth on the balls of my feet. My gloves are white and smaller than Brandon’s, which I’m not sure is fair. Actually, none of this seems fair. Brandon stands a few heads taller and has at least sixty, maybe seventy pounds on me.
His stupidly charming grin hasn’t faltered once since I stepped in this ring, and I cannotwaitto smack it off his face.
Tucker and Julia returned, helped us tie off our gloves, and plopped on the bench just beyond the ring. They chat, laughing and care-free, sipping green smoothies like they’re watching a UFC fight. In fact, I wouldn’t put it past Tucker to strut around the ring holding asign. Tucker does stand, but instead of a sign, he holds up his phone with a timer.
