“Uhm…” My cheeks flame hotter when my voice trembles, so I clear my throat and try again. “I’m assuming we start with diet.”
Falco’s eyes slowly move down me, moving so slowly that I can almost feel the heat of his gaze sweeping from head to toe. “Why?”
“Why? What do you mean ‘why?’ Look at me.”
Falco nods. “I’m looking. I don’t understand.”
Hotter and hotter my cheeks burn as humiliation tears through me.
How can he stand there and look at me, yet not understand?
I’m far from fit.
My body curves and rolls in places someone like he would never understand.
Surely he’s heard enough of my mom’s snidey comments about my weight and build to understand, as if looking at me isn’t obvious enough.
Holding out my arms, I motion to myself. “Hello? Are you seriously going to make me talk about my weight when it’s pretty freaking obvious to both of us?”
Falco’s brows twitch and he shakes his head. “Aerin. There is nothing wrong with how you look. Strength? The ability to defend yourself? That doesn’t come from body shape or weight. It comes from skill and determination. Strength is in here.” He lightly taps his chest. “Then it moves into your muscles. Being beautiful doesn’t prevent you from building muscle. Anyone can be strong, Aerin. Don’t you dare let anyone ever tell you otherwise.”
Did he just call me beautiful?
My heart races even faster as I stare at him and the humiliating warmth slowly cools from my cheeks.
It’s always strange to hear him say so much at one time, but in one conversation he’s almost soothed my decades of pain at being compared to my stick-thin mother.
“Do you have better clothes than jeans?” He nods down at my legs. “You’re going to need something light and flexible.”
Two hours later, we stand across from one another, panting heavily.
The waistband of my leggings digs into my middle slightly from how much footwork we’ve been practicing.
Never have I been more thankful for a sports bra that sticks to me like glue.
“Again,” Falco demands, his voice low as he wipes sweat from his brow. “You’ve almost got it.” He’s barely finished speaking when he lunges at me with a punch.
Unfortunately, I’m struggling to keep up with the various footwork techniques he’s been teaching me.
Since each punch comes with a different dodge, by the time I’ve realized what he’s doing and worked out where to step, his fist is already glancing off my shoulder.
“Again.”
Another punch, another misstep, and his knuckles lightly graze my ribs.
“Again.”
This punch catches me on the jaw.
“Again.”
The next three hit my arm, my shoulder, and my thigh. “Enough!” Throwing my hands up in frustration, I wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my wrist. “I can’t do it. It’s too complicated.”
“It’s not,” Falco replies with a sigh. “You know what to do. You’re not trusting yourself to do it. I see it in your eyes. You’re thinking.”
“Of course I’m thinking!” I snap heatedly.
Sparring with Falco like this is a dream.
