Broken Beautiful Hearts(52)

“You did great,” Owen calls after him.

After Tucker leaves, I say, “It’s really cool that you’re teaching him to defend himself.”

Owen’s eyes flicker to me. “I can teach you, too, if you want.”

“I’m good. I already know how to take care of myself.”

“Do you?” Owen shakes his head and holds up one of the padded red ropes. “Prove it.”

“This makes it kind of hard.” I tap on the top of my brace, annoyed that Owen would challenge me when he knows I can’t accept.

“You don’t have to go full force. I’ll settle for a demonstration.” He’s still holding up the rope, and he makes a ridiculous sweeping gesture with his arm. “Your stage awaits.”

Owen’s smug expression seals the deal.

“Fine.” When I walk over to the ring, Owen offers me a hand. I take it, and the moment his skin makes contact with mine, a rush of warmth starts at my fingertips and travels all the way to my toes. His hand slides around my back, and he supports my weight as I duck between the ropes. I lead with my good leg, and Owen’s grip on my waist tightens as I ease my other leg through.

“Thanks.” With both of my feet planted safely on the ground, Owen doesn’t need to hold on to me anymore, but his hand lingers a moment longer.

I step back and toss my ponytail over my shoulder. “So now I do you?”

That did not come out right. Why do I keep saying the wrong things in front of him? It’s like I’m cursed.

A slow smile spreads across Owen’s lips. He leans against the ropes and crosses his arms, raising his shirt enough to show the sexy sliver of skin. If I didn’t know better, I would swear he was doing it on purpose.

“You look cute when you’re embarrassed.”

“Cute?” I put one hand on my hip. “Puppies are cute.”

He holds up his hands in surrender. “I take it back. You’re not cute.”

“What about my knee? You could hit it by accident.”

“This is a demo, like when I was practicing with Tucker. I didn’t hit him,” he reminded me.

True. It was more like watching stunt people practicing for a fight scene.

“I’ll come straight at you, no surprises.” Owen stands in the center of the ring. “And you pretend I’m an attacker and show me how you’d get away.”

“Okay. But be careful with my knee.”

“Got it. Ready?”

I try not to think about how silly I’ll look pretending to knee him in the groin. “Whatever.”

Instead of running at me like people do in self-defense classes, Owen takes his time. He focuses on me, stone-faced, without taking his eyes off me for a second—like a predator tracking its prey.

The adorable and shameless flirt with the sexy abs is gone. It’s strange, but I’m not scared of Owen. The look in his eye is nothing like the one I saw in Reed’s eyes before he pushed me. Owen is pretending to be dangerous. Reed wasn’t acting.

A few more steps and I’ll be within his reach. I wish the circumstances were different—that I was different. And I could let him catch me.

Because I’d love to be caught.

The corner of my mouth tips up.

“This is serious, Peyton.” Without warning, Owen comes at me.

I raise my good knee, mimicking the way I’d knee a real attacker. But I don’t even get close.

Owen reaches over my shoulder and around the back of my neck, and puts his hand over my ear—almost like he’s cupping it. The next thing I know, my body is turning away from him and my balance feels off. Before I have time to panic, Owen’s arm slides up my back, like we’re on a dance floor and he’s dipping me.

He lowers me down to the mat gently, with his hand cradling my head. The sensation of his fingertips on my scalp sends a current tingling along my spine. Owen flips one of his legs over my body so that he’s straddling me, without actually sitting on me. He stays on his knees, supporting his weight. One of his hands is still behind my head, and his other hand is planted on the mat next to my cheek. He leans over me, his face hovering above mine. His gaze drops to my mouth, and I suck in the tiniest breath possible. His lips part, and I imagine reaching out and touching his full bottom lip—running my finger down the indentation in the center.

Suddenly, he sits up on his knees, my body still pinned between his legs. His hands move to my wrists, holding them against the mat. He looks down at me with a cocky smile. “Still think you know how to defend yourself? A real attacker wouldn’t break your fall.”

For a moment, I forget about the reason I’m pinned against the mat. He must feel my pulse pounding against my wrists.

Why Owen? Why now—at the worst possible time?

“Did I hurt you?” Concern flickers in Owen’s eyes.

“No. But I don’t understand what happened. I started to turn and it felt weird.”

“Like you were off balance?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“If you put your hand over someone’s ear and pull them in the opposite direction from behind, it throws your inner ear out of whack. Your inner ear is what controls your equilibrium.”

“Maybe I don’t know as much about self-defense as I thought.”