Is that .?.?. frustration in his tone?
Dammit, focus.
As if to make up for my delay, I mirror him the second time he does it and pound my palm upward as I step forward.
“Nice. Remember, power comes from the hips. Vocalize if you need to. A good grunt goes a long way.”
I feel my cheeks flush and try again.
Step, palm, hip, strike. This time, I release a growl from the core of my chest. And even though I can’t put my finger on it, there’s something satisfying about it. Like the breath you release after finally breaking the seal of a tight-lid pickle jar.
“Now,” Travis exclaims, moving in front of me with a sort of thrill like he finally has a real opponent. “Eyes on me, full speed, no hesitation.”
My heart pounds, but with a curt nod, I square my stance.
He meets my eyes. “You’ve got one shot to show him he picked the wrong girl, Red.”
He lunges.
My gasp gets stuck in my throat. The word “girl” still lingers in the air by the time I react. With a tightened jaw, my palm slices through the air before I can control the impact. One sharp thrust against the padded helmet and he reels back with a grunt.
Shoot—forgot to vocalize.
Applause breaks out behind me but I barely hear it. My hand stings. My pulse roars. And my fake attacker—looks as stunned as I feel.
I straighten, sucking in a steady breath.No girl here.
Travis removes his helmet, giving his head a little shake. “Remind me not to cut you off in traffic,” he mutters with a grin.
I release a breath with a small smile. “How ’bout you just get my name right for now. It’s Willow.” I move back to my place in the third row.
When class is over, I grab my duffle bag and thank Travis before stepping out into the hall.
Leaning against the wall, I breathe. Really breathe like I haven’t in days.
I can totally do this. I can take care of myself.
My moment of empowerment dies fast when I check my phone.
Eric.
My ex-boyfriend of nearly two years ruining a perfectly productive Tuesday afternoon. We broke up earlier this year when I realized he was stringing me along like cheap entertainment. Not a woman he’d cherish, love, and respect for the rest of our lives like I stupidly believed.
He’s not even here and I tense everywhere. Holding my breath, I open his message.
Eric:You live like a pig.
What? No.
I read the rest.
Eric:Found the ring by the way. Grabbed a few other items too. Gifts from your admirers?
I must still be on an adrenaline rush, because I hit the dial button. He answers on the first ring.
“Youdid notbreak into my apartment. I told you I’d send back the ring.”
“Hey, who’s this pink pearl necklace from?” he asks casually.
