Ten Tiny Breaths (Ten Tiny Breaths #1)(42)

Trent mimics my stretches, his arms lifting over his head, one arm bent and pulling against the other to stretch his triceps. His shirt rises, exposing the contours of his abdomen and the dark trail of hair running down below his navel.

“Holy f**k,” I mutter under my breath, turning around to finish my stretching in blissful ignorance of the god behind me.

“Okay. Ready?” I hear Trent call out. He swings his arms back and forth, clapping as they come in front of him. “Let’s show ’em what we’ve got!”

“Do you have any idea how to hold a kick bag?”

“Of course,” He leans against it, his arms circling the entire circumference.

I don’t think Trent’s ever held a kick bag. “I said ‘hold’ not ‘hump.’ You want your ribs cracked?”

His arms drop and he moves away from the bag, gesturing at it. “Alright then, smart ass. Teach me.”

I grin as I tie my hair back into a ponytail, aware of the small crowd behind us in my peripherals. Ben’s with them and he’s got that smirk on his face. I still want to slap it off his face, even though he’s turning out to be an alright guy.

“Okay, what you need to do …” I step in front of Trent and slip my hands into his. I start explaining how he needs to distribute his weight and the best height to position his hands, all the while I’m in awe of the fact that holding his hands doesn’t bother me. In fact, I’d happily hold them through movies, long walks on the beach, and anything else that involves hand holding. And touching in general. I want to touch Trent for the rest of my life. “Put this leg here …” My fingers slide to his thigh to reposition his leg and I feel the corded muscle as he shifts. Hot, strong legs. “… and turn your body this way.” Now my hands are on his waist, gripping his sides as I turn him slightly. I notice my breathing is speeding up. Damn, how the hell am I going to work out with him here? “Most important is your balance. Got it?”

He nods as I begrudgingly drop my hands and step over to my side, getting ready for a kick. “Seriously? You’ve never done this for your friends before?”

Trent shrugs. He manages to stay straight-faced for another three seconds before a sly smile betrays him. “Yeah, tons of times. But I liked letting you feel me up.”

A loud chorus of snickers and laughter erupts. They all knew he was playing me. How did they all know and I have no clue? Probably because I’m too busy drooling over his body to notice his practiced movements. Suddenly feeling the fool, I give the bag a soft kick. Okay, maybe not so soft. It flies back under the impact and hits Trent, eliciting a low grunt as he stumbles backward and hunches over, balancing himself with his hands just above his knees.

“I thought you knew how to hold a bag?” I murmur, walking over. I get no answer. With a bit of hesitation, I rest my hand on his back as I bite my lip. “You okay?”

“Kace! You really have a thing against balls, don’t you!” Ben hollers through cupped hands so the entire place can hear.

I flush, shooting daggers at Ben as I apologize to Trent. “Shit, I’m sorry. I figured I’d get your shoulder.”

He cranes his neck to look up at me while still hunched over. “If you’re not interested in me, just tell me. You don’t have to ruin me for all women.”

“I’m more about action than words.” I’m glad he’s making jokes, but I still wince. I drop to a crouch in front of Trent and ask in a low voice, “Are you okay? Seriously?”

“Yeah, I’ll live. And by live, I mean curl up in the fetal position on my couch with a bag of ice on my nuts for the rest of the night.”

“I’ll hold the ice,” I offer in a soft whisper.

When he turns his head, I see fire alight in his eyes, and I can’t help but smile at his own frustration, which must match mine. The smile is quickly followed by a wince. “Just give me a minute. I’ll be over there, healing.”

Trent stays leaned against the wall, protecting his injured body parts while watching me run through a full set of kicks and punches, not fully into it. As I’m finishing, I sense him approach behind me. I squeal in surprise as he grips either side of my hips, pulling me back into him, into all of him. “When you said hold the ice …”

“I thought you were near death over there,” I answer, breathless. “That doesn’t feel fatal.”

“I was, but you are one hot chick when you pound on the right bag.” He jerks me back against him hard and I yelp. Not in pain. No, definitely not pain.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to take it slow?” I remind him.

He chuckles darkly. “Yeah, and I also said I have a hard time doing that when you’re around.” He leans forward and whispers in my ear, “So what do you say? I’m ready to go a few more rounds with you.”

Nothing but a strangled sound escapes my lips. I don’t know where this side of Trent is coming from. It has to be all the testosterone in the air. Or maybe this is the real Trent and he’s been adept at restraining himself. Or it’s his way of claiming his territory as the flock of guys watch me intermittently, including Ben. Whatever it is, I’d willingly hand over full possession of my body to this Trent to do with what he will.

I swallow, trying to focus on the bag of sand taunting me as all that bottled up fighting anger deflates and a new emotion rises. Desire. Raw, uninhibited desire for Trent. I’m two seconds from dragging him into the women’s locker room and ripping that shirt off. Hell, I’m ready to take him right here, on the pad, spectators be damned.