“Aww, come on, Captain. Why not?”
“Because that’s what my friends call me. And you are not my fucking friend.”
His grin crooks up on one side. My pulse stutters. I step in, a touch faster than I mean to, trying to muscle him into a standard tie-up. He flows with it too easily, hands sliding across my shoulders, fingers brushing the back of my neck.
It’s a stupidly intimate touch for a wrestling drill, and I’m not having it.
“Hands up,” I snap. “Pay attention.”
“Oh, I’m paying attention.” His eyes drop slowly, deliberately, to my hips, then lower.
A cold bolt of humiliation slices through me. “Stop that,” I hiss. “Quit looking at me like that!”
His eyebrows lift innocently. “Like what?”
“You know what.”
He chuckles. “You think a lot of yourself, huh?”
He grabs my wrist. His grip is confident and warm. He pivots effortlessly, and for one humiliating second, I stumble. I’m off balance and out of control.
He doesn’t take me down, though. He lets me recover.
And somehow, that’s even worse.
We move again. My heart is pounding too loudly. The gym lights are hot and glaring.
Brody shoots for my leg, not even at full speed, and my body reacts in the wrong way. I overcorrect, shielding my sensitive groin, and he uses the opening to pull me into a loose clinch, bodies pressed chest-to-chest.
His breath brushes my ear. “You alright there, Captain?”
White-hot fury rushes through me. At his audacity. But mostly at myself for being so damn weak.
I shove him hard, using too much force for the light drill. He stumbles, but catches himself easily, looking more amused than offended.
“Damn,” he murmurs, voice low. “Didn’t know you liked it that rough.”
My face flushes hotter than a nuclear explosion. I lunge before I can think better of it. This time I get hold of him and with a twist of my hips, I slam him onto his back harder than I meant to. The thud of his body hitting the mat echoes.
Pinning him with my body heavy across his, my knee against his thigh, forearm braced beside his head, I listen as his breath leaves him in a harsh grunt. Then he looks up at me.
And smiles.
A sly, salacious smile turns up one side of his lips. It’s cruel and knowing. Like he’s seeing something I didn’t mean to expose.
My voice is low and rough, trembling in a way I hope shows my rage but not my fear.
“I’m in charge here, Miller. I’m top dog. And I’ll damn well find a way to get you kicked off this team and sent back to whatevershithole you came from if you try to screw with me. Do you understand me?”
For the first time all practice, Brody stops smiling. Not because he’s upset, I don’t think. He looks… interested. Possibly amused, but there’s an undercurrent of fierce determination that makes my mouth go dry. I lick my lips, and his gaze flicks to my mouth.
My body goes hot. Then cold. Then hot again.
Brody hums thoughtfully. “I hear you,” he says softly. His hips shift under mine, just enough to remind me how he’s built. How close we are. How stupid my body is. “Loud and clear.”
Awareness blasts through me, rising so fast I feel dizzy, and I stumble back like I’ve been burned. My heart is a wild, frantic thing inside my chest.
I need this to stop.
