Page 17 of Sunflower Persona (Classic City Romance #2)

Kori

T here isn’t a single car in Double Teep’s parking lot. Gage assured me we would have the place to ourselves since the gym isn’t open on Sunday, but I was under the assumption he would still be here. The whole self-defense lesson thing hinges on it.

Hey, I’m here.

Perfect. Be right out.

A few seconds later, the door opens up, and he steps out onto the small stoop.

The sun glistens off the sheen of sweat coating his skin.

God, he looks absolutely lickable. His posture straightens as his gaze lands on my car, and he heads in my direction, moving with a slight limp that definitely wasn’t there a few days ago.

“Hey, Kor—” he starts to say, but I cut him off.

“Are you okay?”

“It’s just an old injury acting up. I went a little too hard the other day, and I’m paying for it now. I’ll be fine, though. I’m used to it,” he says with a grimace.

“Shouldn’t you be resting it or icing it or something?”

I’m not pre-med or anything, but I know continuing to push an injury is a recipe for disaster.

“It’s not the worst it’s ever been,” he says with a shrug.

“Are you sure? We can reschedule today if you need to—”

“I’m fine. I promise if I thought I needed to, I would rest it.”

“Fine. I guess you know your body better than I do.”

“How are you? Still feeling sick?” He scans me over as if he might find the answer to his question there.

“I’m good. No lingering effects at all.”

“And you’ve been sleeping?”

“If that’s your way of trying to subtly ask if I’m traumatized, the answer is no. I’ve been sleeping like a baby. No nightmares. No anxiety.”

But plenty of dreams about him—the type that wakes me up hot and desperate with need. And now he’s here in front of me, even sexier and more unobtainable than in my fantasies. But thinking about him like that has heat rising in my cheeks.

“Good.”

“So exercise…” I can’t meet his eyes as I change the topic.

“Sure. If that’s what you want to call it,” he says with a chuckle and leads me inside.

The gym is less awful when it’s empty. There’s no cloud of humid sweat to choke on, and the stench of bleach is nothing more than the faintest hint. It’s quieter, too, almost eerily so. If the warehouse was any bigger, it would be straight up ominous.

If it bothers Gage, he doesn’t show it. He slips off his shoes and steps onto the mat, then waits for me to join him.

“All right, today we are going to focus on the basics,” he calls out once I do.

The words are louder than I expect—like a drill sergeant calling their troops to order. My spine stiffens, and a spark of electric tingles cascades through me.

“We’re going to start you with a warm-up, and I’m going to use that to assess your current level of fitness. After that, we are going to focus on awareness and assertiveness. We will see how you’re feeling after that and go from there. Any questions?”

“No, sir.” I don’t recognize the breathy tone of my voice.

“It’s Coach, not sir,” he barks out. “Understood?”

A fresh wave of tingles courses through me. Why is this whole commanding thing so freaking hot? I’m used to him being bossy, but this is on a different level, and I think I like it. Self-assured is a good look on him.

“Yes, Coach,” I rasp in that same alien way.

“Start with skips around the mat,” he says and turns away from me.

I spring into action, hating myself with each second that goes by. It fucking sucks, and things only get worse with every sharp order he issues. The torture is endless. Finally, an eternity later, he calls for me to stop, and I drop to the mat in a heap of sweat and exhausted limbs.

He doesn’t remark on my pathetic display of athleticism.

The plodding of his feet against the mat is the only sound other than my ragged breathing.

His large frame moves past my peripheral vision toward the lobby.

After a few seconds, he returns and sits beside me, then cracks open a bottle of water and hands it to me.

I sit up and snatch it from him, guzzling it down like whatever the opposite of a rabid animal is.

Stray drops dribble down my chin, dripping onto my shirt.

Once the bottle is drained, I set it to the side and wipe away the mess.

I look up and find Gage’s attention glued to my lips. His face is locked in a stony mask, but his eyes are intense. My face flushes as my chest cracks and caves in on itself. How I would love to curl up inside of it and hide from his scrutiny. I didn’t think he would judge me this hard.

He coughs to clear his throat and says, “You should carry a water bottle with you. Hydration is important.”

“Yes, Coach,” I say with a sarcastic eye roll.

“I’m serious. I don’t want you passing out on the mats.”

“What? Too much paperwork?” I tease.

“I don’t care about paperwork. We make Morgan do all that.” The stony mask cracks as a smile plays at the corner of his lips. “You ready to keep going?”

“Keep going? You mean there’s more?” I whine.

“That was the warm-up.”

With a groan, I sprawl back on the mat, slinging an arm over my face. If I can’t see him, he can’t see me and can’t make me do any more physical activity.

“I quit. I’m going home to play video games. This was the second worst idea I’ve had all week.”

“Come on, now, it’s not so bad. The worst of it is over.”

“That’s easy for you to say when you look like that.” I sit back up and wave my hand in front of his body.

He is pure fucking sex.

The worn Double Teep T-shirt pulls tight against his chest, and his arms fight against the restrictive sleeves.

By no means is he the bulkiest guy I’ve ever seen, or the guy with the most defined muscles, but he isn’t small either.

My mouth waters at the thought of what might be hidden underneath the confines of his clothes.

I have a feeling my dreams haven’t done him justice.

“I’ve been training for years,” he says with a shrug. “We will get you there eventually. But if it makes you feel any better, today is going to be more educational than physical.”

“So no more jumping?”

“No more jumping,” he assures me with a smile, and in a blink, the soft look is gone and his “coach face” makes another appearance. “First things first, being aware of your surroundings can help prevent you from needing to defend yourself in the first place…”

He falls into a well-rehearsed lecture, and I listen with rapt attention.

Most of it is common sense or things my mom used to tell me when I was growing up, like “don’t wear headphones when walking by yourself” and “stay off your phone, especially at night.” Regardless, I hang on to his every word.

His voice is hypnotic; he could tell me I needed to wear roller skates and sing the alphabet backward in order to stay safe, and I would do it.

That has to be why he hardly ever talks—he knows his own power.

“Any questions?” he asks, and I shake my head no. “Good. The next thing I want to cover is being assertive. Being loud and bringing attention to the situation is often enough to get someone to back off and get the attention of people who can help.”

Right, the exact opposite of what happened the other night.

“How do we practice that?”

“Stand up.”

Looks like we are doing the physical thing again.

As much as I don’t want to, I drag myself back to my feet.

“We are going to have to do a bit of role-play here. To demonstrate, I need you to be the attacker. Start to approach me, and I’ll show you what you need to do.”

I do as he says, and as I close in, he puts his hands out in front of him and shouts, “Stop. Don’t come any closer.”

I freeze.

“The important thing to remember is to not give them your back, force distance by keeping your arms between you, and be loud.”

“Sure, that might work for you, but I doubt my shouting is going to scare anyone away.”

“Maybe not. But it might get someone’s attention or make them pause. Now I’m going to approach you, and I want you to do exactly what I did, okay?”

I nod, and he starts his pursuit, slowly circling me as he inches closer. My arms go out in front of me like he instructed, but the shout lodges in my throat.

“Come on, Kori. Yell at me,” he snaps.

“Don’t come any closer…” The words are nothing more than a mousy whisper.

“You can do better than that. Get angry.”

“Stay away from me,” I try again. My voice is steadier but still lacks force.

“Again,” he growls. “It’s like you aren’t even trying.”

The condescension lacing his words causes my hackles to rise and annoyance to bubble and churn. This was his idea. It’s not my fault I’m awful at it.

“I’m trying,” I growl right back, but my anger is no more intimidating than a mewling kitten.

“Oh yeah?” he challenges. “That isn’t what it looks like to me. From where I’m standing, it looks like you’re too scared.”

“Fuck you, Gage,” I snap.

“That’s it, Low. Curse me out if you have to. Be mad.”

He starts circling me again, going back to the goddamn game and goddamn so-called training. I’m over it. Done.

“Get the fuck away from me, asshole.” This time, the shout falls past my lips with ease.

He stills for a second, and my gut clenches in anticipation of his anger, but it never comes. A larger smile than I’ve ever seen forms on his lips, and my core clenches for another reason entirely.

“That’s my girl,” he says with a proud grin.

His girl? That’s news to me, but I don’t hate the sentiment.

“I want to see that every time. And if someone is stupid enough to try to fuck with you again, you unleash all that rage. Got it?”

“Yes, Coach.”

“Good. Let’s do it again.”

My throat is raw by the time he decides we’ve done enough for the day, but half an hour of yelling will do that. Surprisingly enough, I actually had fun. Although I think that had more to do with Gage than the activity itself.

“You did good today,” he says as we walk out the door.