All the Way (Hot Jocks #2)(48)

By the time I lead her into the gym, there’s already half a dozen others already stationed on the mats, waiting for the instructor. Becca and I settle onto a mat in the back of the room, and she immediately begins stretching.

I shoot her a curious look. “Do you really think that’s necessary?”

“I’m going to kick your ass, Parrish.”

She grins, and I can’t help but laugh.

The instructor appears at the front of the room, and silence falls around us. He’s a middle-aged guy with short hair, dark on top and gray at the temples. He looks like he’s in damn good shape, wiry but strong.

“Welcome to Self-Defense 101. Today we’re going to work on real-world situations and fighting techniques that will allow you to confidently confront and overcome an attacker. We will focus on both defense and counterattack strategies.” He claps his hands together once. “It should be a fun hour. Are you ready to get started?”

Becca gives me an uneasy look.

“Thought you were going to kick my ass.” I wink.

She smiles. “Oh, I am.”

The instructor begins with a brief warmup, so we rise to our feet and follow his lead with some basic moves to get us limber and warm.

“Okay, everyone, partner up,” the instructor says, and I motion for Becca to stand before me.

The instructor demonstrates with a volunteer the first move we’ll be tackling, which is how to get out of a hold if an attacker grabs you.

Suddenly, I’m worried that this may trigger something for her, and I feel like a complete, thoughtless asshole. “Think you can handle this?”

Straightening her posture, she gives me a determined nod. “Definitely.”

We cover a variety of positions and moves, learning where to strike on the most vulnerable places on the human body—the throat, eyes, and groin. Becca hangs on every word of the instructor, her mind working, and her body breaking out in a fine sheen of sweat.

With her shoulders back and chin up, Becca tackles each obstacle and scenario with determination. It’s fascinating to watch. I can’t help but wonder if she had taken a class like this a long time ago, maybe things might have turned out differently for her.

But I don’t get the chance to dwell on it long because Becca strikes my throat and I stumble back a step, breathless and surprised, but utterly proud.

While we practice takedowns and holds, I try desperately not to get an erection in front of the class. Because, let’s face it, these athletic shorts would do jack shit to hide it, and Becca in those damn leggings, working her ass off, is inspiring some very dirty fantasies.

The last thing we do is practice getting out of a hold if an attacker has you in a prone position.

At the instructor’s command, Becca lowers herself to the mat, and I crouch over her, ready to pin her to the mat. At first, I feel a little uneasy about this, but her expression is one hundred percent focused determination, and so I decide to just roll with it. When I pin her down, she thrusts her body up and over, freeing herself easily despite my hundred-pound advantage.

Breathing hard through her nose, she sits back on her heels, a faraway expression in her eyes and her mouth pressed in a tight line. Something inside me clenches.

I want to ask if she’s okay, or what she’s thinking about, but the instructor stands at the front of the room and begins recapping the lesson. As he thanks everyone for coming, I settle for sitting quietly beside her, rubbing her back in small circles while her breathing slows.

After we leave the gym, Becca’s quiet, and I’m unsure what she’s thinking. Teddy’s comments about women needing to talk things out pops into my head, and I suggest we stop at the coffee shop next door. By the time we place our order at the counter, she still hasn’t said a word.

I’m not sure if I made the wrong call taking her to the self-defense lesson, or if she’s upset about me seeing her be vulnerable in there, or if it’s something else entirely. I kind of wish I could consult Teddy again right now, since I’m pretty clueless when it comes to women and reading their emotions. Unfortunately for me, phoning a friend during a date is frowned upon.

We settle at a table by the windows with two iced coffees.

“Are you all right?” I ask after a moment of tense silence.

Hell, for all I know, our little agreed-upon arrangement is done. We’ve had sex, she’s conquered that, and maybe she’s just trying to find a way to let me down easy since this has clearly turned into more than either of us bargained for.

Becca takes a sip of her drink, her eyes focused out the window, on the parking lot—pretty much anywhere but directly at me.

Regret churns inside me, and I’m starting to feel really unsure about bringing her to the gym.

“I’m fine, Owen.”

She certainly doesn’t seem fine, but I merely frown, still watching her.

“Becca . . .” I reach for her hand, and she lets me take it. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you there. It was thoughtless of me. I was hoping it might empower you or something. I should have asked first.”

When she finally meets my gaze, I expect her eyes to hold all the answers I need, but instead I’m only left with more questions. Her normally clear blue eyes are stormy, and it’s obvious she’s got something on her mind.

“Honestly, I’m glad I went. Thank you.” Then she pushes her chair back and rises to her feet. “But I forgot that I had something else I needed to do today.”