Page 109 of Mr. Edwards

“Shodan?”

“First-degree black belt.”

“Ah, I see. How long will it take me to get a black belt?”

“About five years.”

“You’re kidding?” Glancing at him, I grin instead of answering. “Damn.”

Busying myself, I start preparing for my class. Grayson hangs back, but I feel his eyes tracking my every move.I need to stay focused.How am I going to put a stop to this, especially now he has Reece on his side?

When the first kids arrive, they dash in my direction for our customary fist pump. I love these little guys, seeing their eager, sweet faces is usually the highlight of my week.

“Morning, Miss Carlee,” they each say.

“Morning,” I reply, greeting them individually.

My eyes dart in Grayson’s direction and I notice he’s already gaining a crowd. I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s a people person, everyone loves him. The kids all hover around throwing question after question his way, while the mothers stand there and gawk. It’s annoying, but I can’t blame them, he’s a gorgeous son of a bitch. It was impossible not to notice the endless attention he garnered when we were together.

“Are you new here?” I hear one of the kids ask.

“Sure am, today’s my first class.”

“Are you a teacher?”

“Nope, student.” He points down to his white belt.

“But you’re not five.” That statement comes from Marcus. He’s a cheeky little shit. I’ve had to rein in his attitude more than once.

“Who says I’m not?” Grayson replies.

“Look at you, you’re a giant. You must be like a hundred.”

I drop my chin to my chest to hide my smile. “Marcus,” his mother scolds, and I roll my lips together to hold back my laugh.

“Maybe I just eat all my veggies, kid. You should try it sometime.”

Grayson looks over at Marcus’s mother and winks, and I swear she sways on her damn feet as her face turns beet red. He’s still got it, the swoony bastard.

After we gather in a large circle and bow in, the kids assemble into four lines, spreading out so we can practice the moves we’ve been learning over the past few weeks. I have Todd, one of the teenagers from our black-belt class, walking the floor today helping everyone with their technique.

Grayson stands at the back which I’m thankful for, and I notice Todd spending a few minutes with him, showing him the proper stance. He towers over everyone and looks out of place, but that doesn’t stop him from gaining the attention of every female in the vicinity.

Unlike them, I try my best not to look at him. I’d like to say he’s doing the same with me, but I can feel his eyes burning into my flesh the entire time. It’s unnerving.

We move through the front punch, back fist strike, ridge, and knife hand strike first. We’ll be using the palm heel strike to break through the wood today. I leave that move until last so it’s fresh in their minds.

The entire class calls out “Kiai,” which is pronounced key-eye, in unison with each strike. It’s traditionally used to intimidate or startle opponents, but at this level, it’s taught to help instill confidence in harmony with their moves.

Once the practice is over the kids take a seat on the mats, taking turns to come up to the front where I’m kneeling. Each student breaks through the wood in either one or two attempts. I’m proud of them.

I grab the next piece of wood from the pile as I lookover at Timothy, or Timmy as his grandmother calls him, nodding and encouraging him to come forward.

He’s been hanging back purposely; he and Grayson are the only two left to take their test. He’s not only the smallest, but most timid and uncoordinated kid in the class, but he’s got a lot of heart.

I’m not sure what Timmy’s story is, but I know his grandmother has full custody of him. She told me he’s been getting bullied at school, and she was hoping these classes would give him some much-needed self-confidence.

Poor little guy.