Page 13

Thatcher

Allie stands in the doorway of my gym, her big hazel eyes full of cautious optimism, like a golden retriever expecting a treat but suspecting it might be a trip to the vet instead.

“Please, God, don’t tell me you’ve set me up with some Planet Fitness lunkhead,” she says, stepping inside and shutting the door behind her.

I blink, pausing where I was boxing the heavy punching bag.

“What?”

She plants her hands on her hips, tilting her head in confusion.

“You texted me this address and told me to dress comfortably. I assumed this was some elaborate plan to have a potential meet cute, no?”

Right.

Normally, she’d be correct.

But today’s agenda is a little different.

After watching her obliviously walking her dog the other night and nearly getting robbed, I want to leave her with more than a boyfriend after all this is done.

I want her to be able to defend herself and not have to rely on me or anyone else…

or God help her, that little ankle-biting dog of hers.

“There’s no date today,” I tell her, stepping back from the punching bag and removing my gloves.

It’s been a few days since we’ve seen each other and I hold out my hand.

“How’s your palm?”

She holds up her palm for me to see a Band-Aid across it.

“So much better! You were right. No stitches needed.”

“Good,” I say with a nod.

“So…you didn’t answer my question. What are we doing here?”

“I’m going to teach you self-defense.”

Allie stares at me like I just suggested she take up alligator wrestling.

“Excuse me?”

I cross my arms.

“You almost got mugged, Allie. You need to know how to defend yourself.”

She waves a dismissive hand.

“That was a fluke. A once-in-a-lifetime, wrong-place-wrong-time situation. It’s not like I wander around dark alleys looking for trouble. Plus, you met Logan…he’s a total sweetheart! He’s going to be the new bike messenger for the paper?—”

“Doesn’t matter. You should still know how to protect yourself.” I exhale, running a hand down my face.

This woman is impossible.

“Next time you may not get so lucky with a…” I pause and force myself not to roll my eyes.

“…total sweetheart of a criminal.”

She narrows her eyes at me.

“Tell me the truth. You’ve deemed me undateable, haven’t you? You’ve exhausted the supply of single, available men in the greater Charleston area only to discover you’re out of options?” A smile pulls at the corner of her lips, telling me she’s teasing me.

“Ha ha ,” I deadpan.

“You and I both know I’m not out of options,” I tell her, straightening.

“And if you weren’t so against dating a gym rat, there might even be a couple men here for you to meet.”

Her nose scrunches, demonstrating how little she likes that idea.

“You could do worse than my trainer Mike. He’s strong, dependable, hard-working…and wants to make sure you don’t get knocked over by the next criminal with bad intentions.”

She groans and flops dramatically onto the small bench against the wall.

“Can’t you just give me some pepper spray or something?”

I shake my head, walking across the room to where the padded mats are set up.

“Come on. Get up.”

“A deadbolt for my door?”

“ Now .”

She peeks at me from under her arm, sighs dramatically, then gets to her feet.

“Fine. But just so you know, I bruise like a peach.”

I fight back a grin.

“I’ll be gentle.”

Her eyes flicker with something I don’t want to name.

Something dangerous.

But then she shakes her head and squares her shoulders.

“Okay, Sensei, what’s first?”

I motion for her to come to me and stand on the mats.

“First, we’re going to work on getting out of someone’s grip. If someone grabs you, the goal is to break free as fast as possible and get away. Break free…and get away,” I repeat.

“Got it?”

She nods.

“Got it.”

“Okay. I’m going to grab your wrist. I want you to pull away using the weakest point of my grip.”

“Which is…?”

“I’ll show you.” For a moment, she seems nervous.

But quickly, a look of determination steels her hazel eyes and she holds out her hand.

The skin around her wrist is soft and warm, and I ignore the way it makes something in my chest tighten as I wrap my fingers around her.

“Now,” I say, voice gruffer than I intended, “yank your arm toward my thumb.”

She does.

It’s weak.

Ineffective.

And lacks conviction.

I sigh.

“You need to use more force. Like you mean it.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she says sweetly, batting her eyelashes.

I snort.

“Allie, you couldn’t hurt me if you tried.”

Her eyes gleam with mischief.

“Oh? That sounds like a challenge.”

Before I can react, she kicks me in the shin.

I grunt, more surprised than actually hurt.

“Seriously?”

She grins.

“Hey, if I was really getting attacked, I’d use whatever worked.”

I have to admit, she’s not wrong.

“Except kicking your attacker in the shin while he’s still got a hold on you will probably piss him off. You don’t want to anger him. You want him to release you so you can run. Break free?—”

“—and get away. Yeah, yeah, I heard you.”

“Okay, smartass. Let’s try again.”

We go through a few more drills—how to block a punch, how to use her knee in a very strategic way that makes me cross my legs protectively just thinking about it.

And then, I move behind her, locking my arms around her in a bear hug.

She freezes for half a second, and I feel the sharp intake of her breath against my chest.

We’re pressed close, her back to my front, the heat of her body seeping into mine.

This is supposed to be a lesson, but it feels suspiciously like an embrace.

A different time, a different setting and it might be .

“Allie,” I murmur near her ear, “you need to break free.”

She shifts, but I keep my hold firm.

“You’re supposed to be struggling,” I tease, my voice lower than I mean for it to be.

She exhales shakily.

“I was just… I mean… I’m trying .”

“Try harder.” I inhale her sweet scent, her soft hair brushing my face.

“I’m thinking. Strategizing.”

“You won’t have time to strategize when you’re in the midst of an attack. Thinking won’t get you out of an attacker’s grip.”

She tilts her head back slightly, her cheek brushing my jaw, and a slow, shivery sigh escapes her lips.

I feel it against my skin, warm and unsteady, and it sends a bolt of heat straight through me.

“Allie,” I warn.

Her breath hitches causing her breasts to press against my forearm.

“Hmm?” she moans, the sound low and sexy.

She smells like vanilla and something sweet, like cinnamon sugar and temptation, and I’m momentarily dizzy from it.

My grip tightens—not to restrain, not to teach, but because some primal part of me doesn’t want to let go.

I’m growing hard and I fight the urge to press myself against the soft swell of her ass.

But I don’t have to because she melts into me, her body pinning against me just a fraction closer, and for a second, I swear she pushes her hips back to brush my erection.

A groan escapes from my clenched jaw.

It’s just training.

Just a lesson.

But it doesn’t feel like one.

It feels like something I should not want as badly as I do.

This is dangerous.

This is reckless.

And then she moves.

Quick as a flash, she stomps on my foot, her elbow jabbing back hard enough to make me loosen my hold.

She turns in my arms, facing me now, breathless, her hands braced against my chest.

We don’t move.

Her lips part slightly, her eyes flickering to my mouth.

My pulse pounds.

This is the moment where I should step back, remind her this is just training.

But neither of us does.

“How was that?” she asks.

She beams up at me, triumphant, and God help me—I want to kiss her.

I clear my throat, willing my heartbeat to slow.

“Not bad,” I say gruffly.

Her brow lifts.

“ Not bad ? Come on. I nailed that and you know it.” She raises a triumphant fist in the air.

“Thinking and strategy for the win!”

She’s enjoying this.

And God help me, so am I.

“Fine. You were right. I guess. You’re actually not bad,” I tell her.

She beams.

“You sound surprised.”

I snort.

“That’s because I am surprised.” Because Allie is soft and sweet and belongs in warm kitchens filled with the smell of freshly baked cookies, not in situations where she has to fight.

But seeing her like this—fierce, determined—does something to me.

Something I can’t afford to feel.

I clear my throat.

“Okay, a few more things. What do you do if someone puts you in the trunk of a car?”

She presses her lips together in thought for a moment before her eyes go wide.

“Oh wait! I know this one! You kick out the taillight and wave at drivers behind you.”

“Correct.” Color me surprised again.

“Thank you, Olivia Benson and Elliot Stabler!”

Now I’m confused.

“Who? ”

“The gospel according to Law & Order SVU,” she says, seeming stunned that I don’t know what she’s talking about.

I groan.

Of course .

Of course she got her information from some TV show.

“Okay…but more than just kicking out the taillight and waving, you want to leave breadcrumbs for people searching for you. Toss things out the taillight that are personal effects…a ring, your sock, etc. If it has your DNA on it, even better. The goal is to help authorities find you as fast as possible.

She nods. “Kick out taillight.

Wave at cars behind me.

Leave breadcrumbs.

Got it.

”

“What do I do if I’m the person tracking down someone else who’s kidnapped?”

I freeze and turn my head slowly to look at her.

“What?”

“What do I do if, say, you get kidnapped? How do I find you?”

I snort.

“I won’t get kidnapped.”

“Okay, but hypothetically, what if you do?”

“But I won’t.”

“You could .”

“No…I couldn’t.”

She huffs a sigh.

“Fine. What do I do if my sister gets kidnapped? How do I track her down?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, a headache starting to bloom behind my eyes.

“You don’t. You call the police or me and let the trained professionals do the dirty work.”

“Okay, but what if I’m there and I witness the kidnapping. Like…do I hop in a car and follow it so I can see where they’re taking her?”

I clamp my hands to my hips and roll my eyes to the ceiling.

This fucking girl.

She’s going to be the death of me.

“Fine…because I know you’re not going to rest until I give yo u some sort of answer…yes. If you are safely able to follow the car kidnapping your sister, do so. Try to stay far enough behind them so they don’t know you’re following. Keep at least one car between yours and theirs so they can’t shoot out your tires. Take copious notes on the make and model of the car and the license plate number. And for the love of God, call the cops, or call me or Griffin or someone with authority to take over.”

Insulted, her eyes narrow.

“You don’t think I can handle it?”

“No, Allie! I don’t. I don’t think you can handle following a fucking kidnapper. Have you ever fired a gun? No, scratch that…have you even ever held a gun?”

She stomps over to where she left her purse discarded on the bench and pulls out a small glock, about the size of her fist.

“Oh my God!” I immediately duck when she swings the gun around to point it at me.

“What are you doing with that?” Staying out of the line of fire, I rush over to her and take it from her to make sure the safety is on when I realize it’s far too light to be a real gun.

“It’s a lighter.” She smiles, taking the gun from me and when she pulls the trigger, a flame comes out the tip of the barrel.

“ Bang .”

I’m not sure if I’m more relieved or annoyed at the fact that it’s not a real gun.

Jaw clenched, I shove the lighter back in her bag.

“It’s like a freaking Mary Poppins magic bag. What else do you have in here?”

“Oh, it’s a whole bag of tricks! Go on! Look around. I’m an open book.”

I snort and reach inside, pulling out the personal alarm she’d showed me the other night.

A pack of gum.

I pull out something squishy at the bottom and hold up a dog- shaped stress ball.

“Isn’t he cute? I call him my fisty frenchie!”

I blink at her, certain I did not hear that correctly.

“Your… you know what? I don’t want to know.” Instead of arguing with her on the insanity of that name, I drop the stress ball back inside and hold up a small, sleek pink object that was nestled at the bottom of her bag.

Her face immediately turns scarlet and my stomach drops.

“Is that what I think it is?—?”

“Ignore that!” She lunges at me, but I hold the object high above my head where she can’t reach it.

“You carry a vibrator in your purse ?” There are a lot of things I would expect to find in Allie’s purse—gum, pens, maybe some candy because she’s perpetually snacky—but not this.

Definitely not this .

“Don’t judge! My sister gave it to me as a gift. A joke gift.”

Cool.

Cool cool cool.

So I’m holding Allie’s vibrator in my hand.

Casual.

Totally fine.

I am absolutely not wondering what she looks like when she uses it.

Or what sounds she makes.

Or if she bites her lip the same way she does when she’s thinking about taking one of my chocolate chip cookies.

“So you just…carry it around? Like lip balm?”

“She said I always need to be prepared. Like…a sexy Girl Scout.”

“Do Girl Scouts get badges for…that?” I hand it over to her like it’s radioactive and she quickly takes it from me, shoving it back into her purse.

“They should. I’d have earned the whole damn sash by now.” A cough sputters out of me.

This girl.

This fucking girl.

“You okay there, Sir ? You’re looking a little flushed.”

I’ve jumped out of planes.

I’ve defused bombs.

But nothing has prepared me for the casual way she has claimed her vibrator like a damn queen and made me feel like I am the one being scandalous.

I need to get out more.

Or maybe I just need to kiss her.

Nope.

Bad idea.

Terrible idea.

I take a step back and gesture to the mats.

“Can we finish this lesson please?”

“There’s more?” she asks, genuinely sounding surprised.

“When it comes to self-defense, there’s always more. But for today, only one final test.” I make the mistake of taking her hand to pull her back to the mats.

Her fingers slip into mine, soft and warm, and the moment stretches just a little too long.

Her palm fits against mine, her skin delicate but steady, and there’s something grounding about it.

I should let go.

But I don’t—not right away.

I clear my throat and finally release her, ignoring the way my palm suddenly feels empty.

“I’m going to come at you, and you need to get away. No rules. Just escape.”

She nods, bouncing slightly on her feet.

“Ready.”

I lunge.

She gasps and darts to the side, but I catch her arm, careful not to grip her bad hand, spinning her back toward me.

When she twists, trying to break free with the maneuver I taught her earlier, I tighten my hold just enough to keep her from escaping.

Her breath is fast, her eyes wide, her body close.

Too close.

Her chest brushes mine, and I swear I can hear my own heartbeat in my ears.

I have both her wrists in my hands, holding her firmly but not too tight to leave a mark.

“Allie—”

She moves before I can finish, stepping on my foot and twisting her wrists toward my thumbs like I taught her.

I let go out of instinct, and she stumbles away, triumphant.

“Ha!” She pumps a fist in the air.

“I win!”

I exhale sharply, rubbing a hand over my jaw.

“Not bad.”

She grins, chest rising and falling with exertion.

“Admit it. You’re impressed.”

I don’t admit anything.

Instead, I shake my head, stepping back.

“Keep practicing.”

She groans.

“You’re relentless.”

“Pretty much.”

“So...does being good at self-defense make me more dateable?”

I huff out a laugh, shaking my head.

“You were already dateable, Allie. Too damn dateable. That’s the problem.”

She snorts.

“Sounds like a good problem to have. Although based on the gala, your evidence doesn’t line up, Thatcher.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…you got the date with the gala guy.”

“Only because you intervened to make him jealous.”

The way her good-natured smile falters cracks my heart.

I hate that a man—any man—makes her doubt how incredible she is.

“That’s because most men are idiots.”

She tilts her head, eyes glinting with curiosity.

“And you? Are you an idiot?”

I exhale slowly, my gaze locking with hers.

“The biggest.”

She laughs, that soft, bright sound that always hits me in the chest like a sucker punch.

The kind of laugh a man could fall in love with—if he were stupid enough to let himself.

I glance at the clock, needing an excuse to break the moment before I do something I’ll regret.

“All right, lesson’s over. And we both survived.”

She places a dramatic hand over her heart.

“Thanks to my incredible sensei.”

I roll my eyes.

“Go home, Allie.”

She winks.

“Bye, Thatcher.”

I watch her walk out, the scent of vanilla and sugar lingering behind, messing with my head.

This should be my easiest case ever.

Find Allie a guy.

Set her up.

Step aside.

But somehow, she’s turning out to be the hardest.

Because the real question isn’t why she needs help finding someone.

It’s why the hell any man in his right mind hasn’t already claimed her.

And why the only man who really wants to…

can’t.