Page 26 of Meet Me In The Dark (Skeptically In Love #3)

I don’t know why I’m surprised he’s standing there again this morning like a sinister fucking shadow.

After yesterday’s argument, I thought maybe he finally had his fill of me, that he would find someone else to antagonize at dawn.

Nope.

Anger radiates off him in waves, a perfect mirror to the fury simmering beneath my own skin. My body aches, tired from a night spent staring at my ceiling, replaying his words from yesterday over and over.

He watches me approach with arms crossed over his chest, but there’s a dangerous gleam in his eyes today that wasn’t there yesterday, and it makes my pulse spike.

I slow when I notice the passenger-side door of his SUV hanging open. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

“We’re doing something different today,” he replies coolly.

“I’m not. I’m running.”

“You’ll still get your workout.”

“Yes,” I snap back. “By running.”

With an impatient sigh, he growls, “Get in the car, Celeste.”

I plant my feet firmly on the sidewalk. “No.”

“Get. In. The. Car.”

“All this time you’ve insisted on shadowing me to protect me from ‘ big scary men ,’” I mock with air quotes. “Yet here you are, trying to shove me into your vehicle at dawn. Irony much?”

He doesn’t smile, doesn’t waver, doesn’t even flinch. “Get in the fucking car, Celeste, or so help me God, I will put you in myself.”

A thrill spikes through me at the roughness of his voice.

I lift my chin, deliberately baiting him. “I’d love to see you try.”

A heartbeat passes.

Then he moves.

Fast.

Too fast for me to process or even react.

One second, I’ve got an arrogant smirk plastered on my face, and the next, it’s gone. In two strides, he eats the distance between us, grips my waist, and hauls me effortlessly over his shoulder. My stomach hits solid muscle as air whooshes from my lungs.

“You asshole!” I shriek, but the fight evaporates the moment he tightens his grip on my thighs. I hate how perfectly I fit here, draped across him like a damn trophy. “Julian, put me down!”

He ignores me, and my entire body goes slack in resignation as he carefully lowers me into the passenger seat.

I don’t even get a chance to try and make a run for it because he’s already leaning in and pulling the seatbelt across my chest before clicking it into place.

Then, with a shit-eating grin, he taps my nose. “There’s my good girl.”

Fire scorches my cheeks, rage and something embarrassingly hotter spiraling through my veins.

His dark chuckle is all I hear as he rounds the hood and slides into the driver’s seat.

“You enjoyed that,” I bite out.

His eyes flick sideways, mouth quirking. “Not as much as you did.”

I cross my arms over my chest so I don’t reach out and strangle him. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll find out.”

“This is kidnapping, you know.”

“You dared me,” he says, all smug. “Blame yourself.”

∞∞∞

By the time Julian parks in front of a squat concrete building marked Mateo’s , my anger has cooled to a simmer.

The entire neighborhood screams trouble, yet Julian looks comfortable here.

“What are we—” I begin to ask, but he’s already out of the car, swinging around to open my door.

“Can you manage, or do I have to carry you again?”

“Touch me again, and I’ll bite.”

“Promises, promises.”

The door slams behind me, and he leads the way through a rusted metal entrance. Inside, a battered boxing ring takes center stage with heavy bags lining the walls .

A tall, broad-shouldered man approaches, his eyes flicking between us. His smile is small but genuine.

“Celeste, this is Mateo,” Julian says. “Mateo—Celeste.”

“Pleasure,” Mateo offers with a nod.

“You too.”

They exchange a look I can’t quite read before Mateo retreats, leaving us alone.

“What exactly are we doing here?” I whisper, glancing up at him.

He leads me to a quiet corner, away from prying eyes. “If you insist on running alone in the dark, you'd better know how to fight in it.”

“What?”

“I won’t always be here to run with you.”

An unwelcome knot forms in my stomach, but I hide it with a tilt of my lips. “Finally planning on giving me some peace?”

He arches a brow that says, Never . “Sometimes I have to travel for business. Some basic self-defense won’t kill you.”

“Julian, I’m not—”

“Just trust me.”

I scoff, but his eyes are suddenly serious enough that I fall silent.

Letting out a disgruntled sigh, he moves behind me.

His voice is a quiet rumble near my ear. “If someone grabs you from behind, your first instinct will be to panic. Fight that instinct. Lean into them, not away. Drop your weight, stomp their foot, then elbow their stomach.”

I swallow hard and nod once.

“Words, Celeste.”

“Okay. ”

“What do you do?”

“Drop my weight, stomp, and elbow their stomach.”

“Good.”

When his arms come around me, every muscle in my body goes rigid. His hold isn’t tight, not even close, but the feeling of being enclosed by him is too much.

“Relax.” His breath brushes my skin. “You’re safe. I promise. Now, do it.”

With him so close, every rational thought becomes static. My breathing speeds up to match the rapid pounding of my heart.

“Celeste,” he says gently, fingers curling a little more firmly at my waist. “Breathe.”

“I am breathing,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Try it without holding your breath in your throat.”

I close my eyes and force myself to focus.

On three, I lean my weight back into his chest.

As I shift, his fingertips graze the sensitive skin above my hip while he adjusts his hold.

Damn him, and how my body reacts to every accidental touch.

Before I can embarrass myself further, I drop my weight down, stomp hard, and throw my elbow back until it connects with his abdomen.

He grunts and releases me.

“Shit. Sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Good girl.”

I know he doesn’t mean it sexually, but memories assault me.

Not trusting my voice completely, I motion with my hand instead. “Again.”

His mouth twitches, but he dips his chin before stepping back in .

“Ready?” he asks quietly.

“Yes.”

We practice again and again until the movements start to feel natural. Each time he restrains me, he’s just a fraction closer, holds me a little tighter, and releases a little slower.

“Don’t think so much,” he says at one point, his mouth close to my ear. “Your body knows what to do. Trust it.”

“Dangerous advice in this situation.”

He huffs out a low laugh, but it fades quickly.

Each repetition and each touch fuels the risky tension sparking between us. The air thickens, pulling us toward a boundary neither of us dares to cross.

“One more,” he murmurs roughly, breaking the silence.

When “one more” turns into three, he finally steps back, something akin to pride shining in his eyes. “Ready to have some real fun?”

My lips curve in a shaky smile. “Define fun.”

He grabs a pair of boxing gloves and holds them up.

Oh, this is fun.

“Do I get to punch you?”

“Don’t push it,” he says, grabbing my wrist.

After a moment of tense silence, I finally ask, “Did you grow up in this neighborhood?”

He straps a glove onto my right hand. “A few blocks over.”

Guilt hits me hard. I thought privilege paved his path. How hypocritical of me. I, of all people, should know that upbringing doesn’t define anyone.

“And this gym?” I push my hand into the other glove before he straps it.

“I used to be an angry little shit. I’ve been coming here since I was fourteen. It probably saved my life.”

Unexpected emotion clogs my throat when he grips my chin and tilts my face up to meet his gaze. “Ready?”

I nod. “Ready.”

“Feet shoulder-width apart,” he instructs, stepping closer. “Keep your balance. Your feet are your foundation.”

I adjust my stance until he nods.

“Now, fists up. Protect your face. Keep your elbows tucked.”

I follow his instructions, heat curling low in my stomach at the seriousness in his gaze.

“Look at you, Blackwood. Practically gentle,” Mateo calls as he passes us.

“Fuck off,” Julian growls, eyes never leaving mine.

Mateo laughs, clearly enjoying himself. “Don’t worry, Celeste. He only bites when he’s scared.”

A soft laugh escapes me, and the tension relaxes just a little from my shoulders.

With Mateo out of sight, Julian raises two padded palms. “Punch my hands. Left, then right. Put your weight behind it.”

When I follow his instructions, he shakes his head. “Harder. Like you’re actually angry.”

My arms fall to my sides. “My anger’s kinda gone now.”

His lips curl into a smirk as his eyes sparkle with pure mischief. “Remember what I said to you yest—”

I don’t let him finish. Fury reignites as I slam my fists into the pads so hard Julian almost stumbles backward.

Almost.

With the sight of his smile widening, satisfaction blooms in my veins .

“Better,” he breathes. “Again.”

I clench my teeth and throw a harder punch.

“Use your hips. Power comes from your core.”

I unleash everything, each punch landing with satisfying force. The anger, the confusion, the months of frustration, it all pours out of me until my lungs are burning for air.

“There she is,” he says, brushing his knuckles against my chin.

By the time we’re finished, the sweat is slick on my skin and my breath is rasping from my lungs, but I’m already asking if he’ll bring me back next week.

He nods without a word, eyes lingering on my flushed cheeks.

On the drive home, the soft sounds of “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaak fill the silence.

“Thank you,” I say out of nowhere.

Julian’s brows flick up. “For what?”

“For bringing me there. To Mateo’s. It’s obviously personal to you.” I shrug, staring out the window. “I had fun.”

There’s a low laugh from his side of the car. “Why am I not surprised the biggest smile I’ve seen from you is after you’ve been punching something?”

“Some people do yoga. I hit things,” I say, grinning wider.

His gaze cuts to me briefly, then back to the road. “Okay, I’ve given you something personal. Your turn.”

“Pass.”

“Not how this works.”