“… Oh. Oh!” His mouth twitched. “That explains some things.”
“Does it?” I narrowed my eyes and dropped his wrist.
“Absolutely.”
I pursed my lips, trying to make sense of the maelstrom of emotion whirling in my chest. “Right.”
“You know,” he drawled. “You were … kinda territorial just now.”
“I was not,” I snapped, taking off at a fast clipped pace, utterly mortified.
He laughed under his breath, catching up to me in two long strides. “Mm. If you say so.”
“Don’t read into it.”
I glanced back just in time to see him grinning to himself, like he’d uncovered a secret he planned to treasure.
“Into what?”
“Anything,” I grumbled, gesturing in a circle. “There’s no reason to be happy about this, Whitaker. You’re leaving. Remember?”
Kai quietly followed in my wake but when his hand found the small of my back, I didn’t step out of his reach.
The football field stretched out in front of us, golden and quiet in the late afternoon light. In the distance, mountains loomed, hazy and steady, watching as they always did.
I climbed onto the sled and planted my feet. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Kai grinned like he’d been waiting for this all day. “Try not to fall off.”
“I won’t.” I touched the tip of my finger to his forehead and pushed him back slightly. “Push, Pretty Boy.”
And push he did, his powerful, thick legs driving him forward, his hips low and his muscles bunching as the sled propelled forward.
“Again,” I barked. “And don’t pop up. I want your hips down.”
He adjusted immediately, the movement smoother this time.
God, I loved watching him work.
We ran footwork drills next. Kai hit the boxes quickly, his cleats snapping against the turf in sharp, uneven beats. He was too eager and way too heavy on the first step.
I circled him. “You’re cheating the pivot.”
“I’m not cheating,” Kai panted, hopping back into position. “I’m improvising.”
I shoved his shoulder as he moved past me. Not that it had much of an impact on him.
“That is cheating.” I gave him a flat stare.
He laughed under his breath and tried again, feet tapping through the boxes, hips lagging just a fraction behind.
I snapped my fingers. “Hips first. You’re thinking with your legs.”
“Didn’t realize my body parts had opinions,” he shot back.
“They do.” I stepped into his space and tapped two fingers against his side. “And right now they’re wrong.”
That earned me a smug, breathless grin, his collar already darkening with sweat. This time, he finished the pattern cleaner, the pivot snapping sharply and under control at the end.
