I angle my body toward her.She doesn't move a muscle."Sure it did, Tiger.You're just too stubborn to admit it."
"I have multiple ways to prove it didn’t mean anything."
I'll bet.
"Show me."
In the moonlight, her eyebrow hitches."No."
"Why not?"
She sighs."You’ll get hurt, and you still need to ride."
I scratch my nose."Come on, Tiger.Show me some of those Krav Maga moves Nolan told me about."
With a half-suppressed eye roll, she spins on her heel and starts walking toward the road.
I reach out and grab her arm.
Mistake.
She pivots, breaks my grip with a sharp downward strike, and before I can recover she twists my wrist and blows my balance.I try to counter, hook her leg, but she shifts and we both hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath out of my lungs.
We’re grappling before the air’s back in my chest.She’s fast.Efficient.No wasted motion.Every counter is clean, every shift precise.I could muscle her—I outweigh her by at least fifty pounds—but I’m holding back, testing her technique instead of steamrolling it.
I angle my hips, use my weight, roll her.Pin her shoulders to the grass.
For a heartbeat, everything goes still.
Her chest rises against mine, breath sharp and uneven.My hands bracket her wrists to the ground.Her eyes lock on mine—sharp, unwavering, cutting straight through every thought I shouldn’t be thinking.
I can feel her assessing the angles.She’s got a hip escape, an elbow strike, a knee to my ribs—all loaded, all viable.
But she doesn’t move.And neither do I.
The air between us shifts—tightens—sparks.
Then the corner of her mouth lifts.“You done proving your point?”
“Just appreciating good technique.”
“Another lie.”
She bucks her hips, plants a foot, and flips us in one seamless motion.In seconds, I’m on my back with her forearm across my throat with just enough pressure to remind me she’s got the advantage.
“Nice moves,” I say.
She smiles, satisfied.“You let me get the upper hand.You shouldn’t.”
To make sure I get the message, she drives her knee into my thigh—hard, right above the quad.Pain lights up my leg like a live wire.
“Ow—” I grunt.
She releases me and stands, brushing dirt off her jeans.“Next time I won’t be so gentle.”
I roll onto my side, testing my leg.It's going to bruise.Badly.
“Next time I won’t lie to you,” I mutter, wincing as I stand.My leg protests immediately.
