He demonstrates a throw. Gentle, controlled. His body presses against mine as he guides me through the motion. Every point of contact sets my nerves on fire.
I should pull away.
Instead, I lean into him.
His breathing changes, becomes heavier. When he adjusts my stance, his hand slides down my thigh, lingers there. I bite back a sound that might have been a moan.
Is this some sort of trick? Some game?
But when I look into his eyes, I see something that makes my stomach drop. The same heat that’s racing through me. The same… confusion.
This isn’t a game.
Then we’re definitely not sparring anymore. We’re dancing around each other, both finding excuses to touch each other in this mad charade we’re playing. His fingers trace the line of my collarbone as he corrects my guard. I let my hand drift across his ribs when I attempt a grapple.
The gym falls away. There’s only him, only this.
He hooks his leg behind mine, sends me stumbling backward. I expect to hit the mat hard, but his hands cushion my fall. He follows me down, catches himself on his forearms.
One arm on either side of my head.
His body hovers above mine, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin. Close enough to see the way his pupils have blown wide.
Stunned, I can only stare at him.
“I win,” he whispers at me. Then he strokes a strand of sweat-slicked hair from my forehead.
I swallow. “You win, Marco.”
Then Marco’s gone. He pushes himself up and away from me like I’ve offended him, crossing to the other side of the gym without looking back.
I lie on the mat, staring up at the stone ceiling. My heart thunders, and the air feels thin, like I can’t quite catch my breath.
What the hell just happened?
“You alright?”
Andreas looms over me, a wad of bloodied cloth pressed to his nose. His voice comes out thick and nasal.
“Yeah.” I sit up slowly, and try to wink at him. “Just taking advantage of your nosebleed with a power nap.”
The session continues. Water break. More sparring. Marco barks orders and corrections, his voice carrying across the gym. I make a show of not looking at him. When he demonstrates a chokehold on Max, I study the wall. When he calls out my name to correct my stance, I fix my eyes on my own feet.
But I feel him watching me. The weight of his gaze presses against my skin.
“Right, that’s enough for today,” Marco shouts finally. “Hit the showers. All of you.”
The others file toward the exit, sweat-soaked and exhausted. Cas nudges my shoulder as he passes.
“Coming?”
“In a minute. I’ll let the queue die down.”
My legs won’t follow them. They feel like lead, rooted to the mat. The gym empties until it’s just me and Marco, the silence hanging between us like a held breath.
For a moment, it seems like he’s going to join the others. Leave me here alone without a backward glance. He takes a step toward the door.
Then he stops. Turns.
