“It wasn’t as uncomfortable as I thought it was going to be,” I murmur, and he chuckles.
“I thought you were going to stab Gio with your knife when he asked what we had been up to.”
“God, he’s such an idiot. When did my intelligent, business savvy brother become such a fucking moron?” I grumble.
“I think it happened right around the time he looked into a pair of pretty blue eyes and fell madly in love.”
“I’m in love with you, but that hasn’t turned me into an idiot.” I lift my head to look at him, and he smiles, his eyes soft with love.
“I know, babe, but you’re amazing. Women can multitask so much better than men. Even I can admit that.” He winks, when it makes me laugh, I realize all the turmoil and guilt has seeped away. Just having him here to support and hold me while I’m being dramatic is fucking everything. I press a kiss above his heart and snuggle into him.
“I do love you, more and more each day,” I murmur and close my eyes, knowing I’m going to need a good night’s sleep to be at my best tomorrow morning.
“And I you.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head, and we fall asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.
Despite having fallen asleep holding one another, I wake to find myself just about dangling off the edge, again. I grumble as I toss the covers back and slide my feet to the floor. This is becoming an issue. Sage is spread out just like he was every day this week, and I’ve just about had enough of it. He can sleep in his own damn bed until he learns to share. I use the bathroom before putting on my workout gear and heading to the gym. I need to let Lorn and Castiel know I’m back and ready to train again. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve had a session, and I feel like a good workout.
When I get to the gym, I freeze in the doorway. Xavier is lifting weights, and I’m not quite sure how to face him after I ran from him last night. My nose wrinkles at the smell of sweatand gym equipment. No matter how often the room is cleaned, it just doesn’t lose that scent. Xavier hasn’t noticed me yet or is pretending not to, and I appreciate the effort if that’s the case. I decide to warm up on the treadmill and head straight for it, my shoes silent on the mats in the middle of the room for sparring.
Various machines are situated on either side, all designed to keep a person in peak condition if they deign to use them, and mirrors line all the walls. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Xavier tracking my path with his own eyes, but he still doesn’t say a word. Stepping up onto the machine, I put my earbuds in and program the treadmill to a speed that won’t allow for easy conversation. Selecting a playlist from my phone, I start to move my feet in time with the moving belt. This program starts off slow and gets faster, lowering and raising the incline to make the workout more strenuous. It’s perfect for my needs, and for the next twenty minutes, I focus on keeping my breathing even and not falling off the damn machine with a misstep. It’s pure bliss. All other thoughts drift away as I focus on the air in my chest and the burn in my muscles.
When my workout tapers off to a cool down walk, I’m breathing heavily, and my skin has a sheen of sweat on it. It’s been a while since I worked out, and I’m paying for it. Thank goodness my trainers aren’t here to see the sorry state I’m in.
I feel rather than see Xavier approach me. It’s like my body is attuned to his, and goosebumps erupt on my arms that have nothing to do with the air conditioner blowing across my sweaty skin.
“Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to spar.” I pull the emergency stop button on the machine, and it responds instantly. I turn to face Xavier, the machine putting me eye to eye with him. His face is carefully blank, but I can see the worry in his eyes, like he’s approaching a skittish kitten and is hoping it doesn’t lash out with its claws.
I take a big breath and exhale, trying to get my heart rate under control after the hard workout. “Ah, yeah, sure, that would be good. I haven’t called my trainers yet to let them know I’m back in town.”
He holds out a hand to assist me down, and I take it. My hand looks so dainty in his large one, and his fingers are strong but comforting. Back on solid ground, I toe off my shoes and socks and leave them next to the machine, then I move to the basket of padded fingerless gloves for protection for my hands. I don’t have time for broken knuckles or fingers, and even though we won’t be sparring full contact, accidents can happen, and sometimes, a hit lands.
I grab a large pair and hold them out for Xavier, who takes them and slips his hands into them. “Do you want to go full contact?” he asks, nodding toward the basket of shin and body pads as well as face guards.
I shake my head. “No, it’s been a while. If we could just do some light contact, I would appreciate it. I have a morning meeting I can’t miss, and I’m assuming you have to be at college sometime today.”
He looks at the clock on the wall. “Yeah, I have a self-defense lesson to give this morning, with a class in sports psychology this afternoon.”
My eyebrows rise. “I thought you were doing a business degree like Gio,” I say, and he avoids looking at me as he pulls his gloves on.
“Yeah, I’m just auditing the class. I thought it might help with my self-defense classes,” he mumbles before gesturing to the mat. “Shall we?”
I pull my gloves on while thinking about what he just said. I guess it makes sense to know more about the mind of someone you’re training, but what would I know? I haven’t even considered college classes, since I knew what my life was goingto entail. Not all of us have the luxury of deciding what we are going to be when we grow up.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and connect it to the sound system, and a playlist heavy in eighties’ rock music starts playing. I toss my earbuds and the phone onto a weight bench and step out onto the mats, the softer surface giving way beneath my feet. Standing in front of Xavier, I hold out my gloves, and he bumps them before we both put our hands up to guard our faces. I watch him carefully as we circle each other, waiting for the minute movement of a muscle to telegraph his movements. He jabs at my face, fast and straight, and I duck just in time, but I still feel the rush of air on my cheek. I stumble back slightly, my eyebrows rising at the force he put behind it. “Okay then, I guess we aren’t going to pull our punches. That would have fucking hurt if it connected.”
He smirks, and there’s a wicked glint in his eye. “Aren’t you the angel of death? I thought that would have been easy to see coming.”
I growl and get back into position with my hands up. I guess it’s going to be like that. This time, I don’t wait for him to move, and I strike hard and fast, a jab cross combination. He manages to duck the first punch, but the second clips his cheekbone, and while he’s distracted by that, I follow with a right hammer fist toward his temple, but he ducks and quickly steps under my guard.
He counters with a sharp burst of punches to my body—left, right, left—his elbows driving into my ribs and solar plexus. I can tell by the hits that he’s not putting his full strength behind them, but it still stings. I gasp in a quick breath of air before pivoting on my front foot and firing back with a short hook to his jaw. It connects, and he stumbles back slightly, shaking his head.
It’s my turn to smirk at him and raise an eyebrow. “That all you’ve got?”
He doesn’t say a word, unleashing another volley of punches to my face and body, the blows drive me back, but I bring up my forearms, blocking high to protect my face. He follows with a low kick to my thigh that has me dropping my guard slightly, and he lunges in with an elbow strike straight to my temple. I twist so instead of knocking me out, it glances off my shoulder. I can’t stop the grunt of pain that leaves my mouth. Damn, there was some heat behind that one. If I didn’t know better, I would say he was trying to knock me out. That elbow strike certainly would have done that.
Twisting, I grab his wrist, trying to trap and counter, but he slams his forearm down on my arm and breaks free, and we stumble apart to regroup. He looks completely focused, but I’m slightly shaken by the intensity of this fight. A rush of excitement flows through me. I’m impressed with how skilled he is, and I’m getting the surge of adrenaline I’m addicted to. He comes at me fast and hard, trying to grab hold of me to use his weight as leverage against me.
My knee shoots up, aiming for his groin, but he turns his hips and absorbs the impact on his thigh. He fires a short elbow strike into my sternum, and the breath rushes out of my lungs. Still, I try to fight back despite struggling to get air into my lungs. He has me locked against him, and I try a punch to his face, but it glances off. Lifting my head, I aim a headbutt at his cheek, but all it does is make my head spin and my vision turn blurry while he remains unshakeable. I sag in his arms to get my bearings, and he hooks my shoulder, pivots, and sweeps his leg. I go down hard, my back smacking against the floor as his full weight comes down on top of me. I close my eyes and groan, knowing he handed me my ass, and try to regroup.
