“Oh! Am I allowed to hit you already?” She hitches a perfectly arched brow.
“Whoa.” I laugh. “Retract those claws. No one is hitting anyone today.”
Her face falls. “What? That’s the whole reason I’m here.”
I stride past to my waiting duffel bag and swap my roll of duct tape for a pair of jump ropes. “Let’s warm up. Besides, eighty percent of boxing is in the legwork.”
“You just made that statistic up, didn’t you?”
“Sure did.” I wink. “But you’ve gotta start with the basics. Based on what I saw last time, you have no clue what you’re doing.”
“I hit you, didn’t I?” She folds her arms over her form-fitting white tank, and a sliver of her stomach peeks out beneath the hem.
“Everyone gets lucky sometimes.” I didn’t mean it to come out all thick with innuendo, but the pink stain flooding her cheeks causes a stir deep in my belly. I stuff the stupid feeling back down. This whole thing was a bad idea, starting with that phone call last night.
Hearing Kate’s gravelly tone late at night—all sassy, teasing,laughingeven—it felt like coming home. But it was nothing but a mirage. An illusion that there may still be a spark of connection between us. And like the stupid, parched man that I am, I bought into it for a second.
Until she ended the call like an ice queen after my roommate, Tucker, almost interrupted my secret call. I didn’t want to have to explain the call to Tuck, because like all loyal best friends, he harbors way less forgiveness for my ex-girlfriend than I do.
I offer a terse smile and mutter to Kate, “Let’s go warm up.”
Ten minutes of jump-roping later, her obsidian eyes are bright, and she’s broken a bit of a sweat. I can practically sense her mood lifting as the endorphins kick in.
She follows me to my duffel bag and hands me the jump rope. “What’s next?”
I grin. “That’s my girl.”
The words earn me a backhand to the chest, but making Kate blush is too fun.
If I can’t have her, I’ll settle for annoying her.
Someone catches my eye over Kate’s shoulder through the window to the hall. A tattooed guy with cropped dark hair and a Pulse Fitness employee polo is watching us. Not the room.Us. His mouth is drawn tight like he might be upset.
I scan the room, my eyes landing on the perpendicular tape lines. Is he gonna come in here and tell me to take it down? I try to come upwith analternative plan for teaching Kate about stance, but the guy only backs off and disappears around the wall.
Weird.
I lead Kate over to the taped mats. “This is your stance guide.” I straddle the center line, making sure my feet are staggered in both the front and back quadrants. “Key to a good stance is balance. Feet a little wider than your hips, but not too wide, or you’ll be easy to knock over.” I shuffle forward, back, and side to side along the lines to demonstrate the feet placement.
Kate nods, and I swap places with her.
“Wait. Which squares do my feet go in?”
I cock my head. “Are you orthodox?”
Her brow furrows. “I was raised protestant. What does that have to do with boxing?”
A laugh explodes out of me, and she scowls.
“Sorry,” I say. “I mean, is your dominant side your right or your left?”
“Right.”
“So orthodox stance then.” I squat and pat one of the front squares. “Left foot forward, slightly angled out, right foot in the back opposite corner.”
She places her feet accordingly, and I reach out to position the angle of each foot. I wrap my hand around her ankle, gently tugging while the stirring heat in my belly does the same. The pink flush in her cheeks tells me she feels it too, and I don’t know what to do with that information.
If Kate is this easily affected by me like I am her, why won’t she just give us another shot? Why does she insist on hating me the way she does?
