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“Exactly. And that’s the reason I made all these grand plans to muscle up and become a ninja. All heat-of-the-moment, emotional statements. I’ll punch a bag a few times, feel better about myself, and forget the whole thing.”
Uncrossing my arms, I lift a hand to my chin. “So, you wouldn’t be interested if I offered to give you some self-defense lessons? Last night was an isolated event, so there’s no real need for you to learn to protect yourself, right?”
“Don’t be a smart ass, Bastien. Everyone should know basic defensive moves.”
Gotcha. “Then it’s settled. Three evenings a week. Right here.”
Birdie doesn’t cringe when she realizes I’ve backed her into a trap. That tells me she knew what was coming and allowed it to save face. Her next words confirm my theory. “Not that I’m agreeing to your generous demand, but tell me why you’re volunteering to train me again?”
Now, this, I wasn’t ready for. “I…uh… never thanked you.”
Birdie’s brows pinch together. “Thanked me? For what?”
“For helping me, bandaging my hands, and not giving me shit about being a caveman asshole.”
Her face softens, and then she laughs. Fucking laughs. I don’t understand her reaction, and it rubs. “What?!”
“Nothing,” she struggles to answer.
I cross my arms again and fix my eyes on her face, causing her to laugh again.
“I’m sorry. It’s just…. Have you met my friend Sadie? You know. Tall. Redhead. Kind of runs the place for Knot? Matter of fact, have you looked around much during… I don’t know… anytime you’ve been in the building?”
“Your point?” I grouse.
“Well, compared to Sadie and just about everybody else here, you’re the least caveman person in this company.”
I consider her explanation and grunt in response, unsure I accept her assessment.
“Except when you do that,” she adds with a chuckle.
At my scowl and raised brow, she waves me off and asks sarcastically, “So you’re going to teach me to kick ass, huh?”
Serious as a heart attack, I nod and say, “Not until you learn how to throw a decent punch.”
“Hey!” she yelps.
I lean down, getting in her face. “Don’t like it? Hit me.”
Birdie’s hands go right back to her hips instead of launching at my nose.
Eying the tape on the wall beyond her, I ignore Birdie’s silent tantrum and say, “I didn’t think so. Wait right here.”
I leave Birdie with her mouth hanging open, jog over to grab the tape, and return, taking one of Birdie’s hands in mine. She jumps at my touch, making me wonder if she feels the same sizzle of awareness zinging up my arm. I won’t lie. I expected to feel something but didn’t think it could be stronger than the first time she touched me.
For a moment, I forgot what it was I was planning to do. Birdie’s hands are just as soft as I remember, which is why I needed the tape in the first place. I can’t allow a punching bag to spoil her perfect skin.
I turn my hand palm up, rotating her arm as well. My big hand dwarfs Birdie’s smaller one, but her fingers rest comfortably in my grip. Why she’s letting me touch her, I’ll never know. Her smooth skin is too soft to be handled by someone like me, someone who would eventually break her.
I drop Birdie’s hand, and her brows knit together in concern. “Is there a problem, Rocky?” she teases.
Despite her playful tone, when I lift my eyes, Birdie’s are slightly dilated and unfocused. She’s just as affected as I am. Shit. Exactly what neither of us needs.
Needing to get my hands off her, I unroll a strip of the tape, tear it with my teeth, and rush through wrapping her knuckles. “Um. What’s that for?” she asks.
“Remember my hands that day in the woods?”
“Of course,” she whispers.