Page 21 of Sunflower Persona (Classic City Romance #2)

Gage

K ori’s late.

Twenty-three minutes late, to be exact—not that I’m counting.

Who am I trying to fool? Of course I’m counting. With every minute that’s ticked by, the barbed grip on my lungs has grown tighter. I’m surprised my feet haven’t worn a path in the floor from how many times I’ve paced the perimeter of the mats.

She hasn’t even responded to my text checking in. Logically, I know that means she’s probably driving or doesn’t have her phone on her, but the gloom can smell my worry and is using those seeds to plant worst-case scenarios in my head.

As I turn to restart the path, the bell over the door rings out through the air.

My whole body whips around to the source of the sound, and all my tension melts away at the sight of Yellow dressed in her normal vibrant hues.

The matching set looks good on her, and the tight spandex doesn’t leave much to the imagination.

She gives me a sheepish smile and lets the door fall shut behind her.

“Sorry I’m late,” she says as she drops her things on a bench in her rush to the mat.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yeah.” She bites on her bottom lip as she grimaces, drawing my gaze straight to her mouth. “I got distracted and lost track of time.”

“And you didn’t think to text?” The question comes out tinged with annoyance.

She shrugs and drops her eyes to the mat.

“Phone’s dead. It’s the main reason time got away from me. I didn’t have my alarms to remind me, and by the time I noticed, I didn’t have time to charge it.”

“Aren’t kids your age supposed to be glued to their phones,” I tease.

“I’m not a kid,” she huffs.

Don’t I know it . My cock has been half hard from the moment she walked through the door.

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t attached to your phone.”

“I take offense to that,” she snaps, placing her hands on her hips for extra emphasis.

Her sass does nothing to help the situation in my pants.

If anything, I think I like her feisty almost as much as I like it when she calls me coach.

The breathy way she says those words goes straight to my dick every time, and it plays on repeat in my head whenever I let my mind wander.

Hell, I’ve heard it in my fucking dreams.

Goddamnit, this is not the time for that. I’m not even into the whole submissive thing, but something about those words coming from her lips in that voice makes me question that. I should not be questioning that, though. Not here. Not with her.

“Do you really think you can pigeonhole me in with everyone else my age? I’m wired too wrong for that.” She continues on, unaware of my internal battle.

“No, you’re right. You are something special.”

“Are we going to do this self-defense thing or what?” she grumbles, looking anywhere but at me.

“If that’s what you want. Go ahead and give me five laps around the mat.” The words come out harsher than I mean them too.

She follows my orders without complaint—not even a grumble under her breath—even though I know I sound like an ass.

There’s a difference between authoritative and angry, and I’m blurring the line.

She doesn’t deserve that from me; she isn’t the one who’s done anything wrong.

I’m the one I’m frustrated at. I’m the coach, and I should be able to control my reactions to her better.

These thoughts and this setting don’t mix.

I use the warm-up time to get my body back in control. Thankfully, my dick stops acting like an asshole when I refocus on the task at hand. By the end of the ten-minute warm-up routine we normally run the fundamentals classes through, Kori is panting and drenched in sweat.

“Okay, I take that back. Go back to making fun of me for being a kid. That was way less torturous than this.” She braces her hands on her thighs, but this time, she doesn’t end up on the floor.

We take improvement where we can get it.

“That was good.”

“It didn’t feel like it.”

“Grab some water, and we can get started for real.”

“What’s on the agenda today, Coach ?”

She looks my body over with heat sparkling in her eyes.

I get this type of look from both women and men alike when I’m at Cutter’s, and normally the brazenly lusty gazes do nothing more than make the skin on the back of my neck crawl.

From Yellow, though, the look sets my skin alight in a different way.

My body shouldn’t be reacting to her like this; it’s wrong.

She’s trusting me to be her coach, goddamnit, and I’m taking that trust, chewing it up, and spitting it in her face by thinking of her like that.

I’m the authority here; it’s my responsibility to enforce these lines.

This isn’t the first time a student has expressed interest in me.

But it is the first time I feel something in return.

It’s the first time I’ve felt anything in a long time.

As much as I hate to admit it, Kori is a beautiful woman.

This goes beyond that, though. There are millions of beautiful women in the world, and they don’t all get my cock hard with only a few breathy words.

Yellow is different. I want to get to know her beyond that, and that alone is enough for me to know I need to keep my distance.

She doesn’t need someone like me in her life—not when she has so much potential ahead of her. All I would do is hold her back.

She bites on the inside of her lip in a way that should be criminal as her eyes continue to climb toward my face. I don’t flinch when her gaze meets mine; Kori does, though. Her brows jump almost comically on her forehead, and those wide eyes of hers drop to the mat.

“That’s up to you.” I cough to clear away the raspy edge clinging to my words. “We can keep practicing assertiveness or move on to something more physical. I know you don’t like to be touched, so the choice is yours.”

“We can get physical,” she says, and starts to sing off-key as she dances around the mat.

“Was that an ’80s music reference?” I ask, still caught off guard by her display.

She stills, her face going completely blank.

“I figured it would be easier if I spoke in terms from your era,” she says with a solemn nod.

It takes a moment for the teasing to register. Her sincere mask is too good. It’s only when a smile turns the corner of her lips, breaking the facade, that it hits me.

“I’m old, but I’m not that old,” I say with a bark of laughter. “But that was probably deserved.”

“Probably,” she scoffs with a playful eye roll.

“Okay, I definitely deserved it.”

“That’s more like it.” Her smile breaks through completely as she sasses me.

Like a fucking sharpshooter, that look pierces straight into my chest, making my heart ache in a way that isn’t actually unpleasant. I cough away the feeling and focus on the wall over her head. There is no way I’ll be able to get through today otherwise.

“Do you have any experience with self-defense outside of our lesson last week?” I take the topic back to the reason we’re here. Maybe, if luck desires to be kind, we can get through this without me making a fool of myself.

She shakes her head no, which is exactly what I assumed. That’s good. I won’t have to unteach bad habits like I’ve had to do with others.

“In that case, we are going to focus on two things today. Simple strikes and basic escapes.”

Slipping into coach mode is like putting on a leather boot that has been properly broken in; it feels so natural that I sometimes wonder if this is the state I was meant to be in.

Kori’s demeanor shifts with the change. The spark of mischief leaves her eyes as her spine straightens, and she watches me with rapt attention, clinging to every word.

“The most important thing to remember is that fighting should be your last resort. Prevention is key in keeping yourself safe, and that starts with your awareness, but we went over that last time. If the situation does require you to fight back, I’m going to make sure you have every tool possible at your disposal. Let’s start with a jab.”

I demonstrate the simple punch and correct her posture as she tries to mirror my motion. A spark of pride shimmers in my chest when she doesn’t tuck her thumb like I’ve seen so many novices do.

“Very good. Now drop your shoulder a little.” I run my hand along the tense muscle, easing it into the right form.

Her exposed skin pebbles under my fingers as a small quiver runs through her.

Goddamnit. I should have asked her to wear a T-shirt today.

The thick straps of her tank top don’t cover nearly enough skin.

How am I supposed to focus on teaching when she reacts like this every time I get close?

Not that I’m any better. Every fucking interaction adds sparks to the already electric air.

There has to be a breaking point eventually; static can only build so long before it has to discharge.

After she gets comfortable with the movement, I grab a set of pads so she can practice on the real thing. I hope she never has to use what she’s learned, because some of the kids in my toddler class hit harder than her…and have more coordination.

“That was great,” I tell her, and she beams. “In the moment, striking with the heel of your hand may be a better option, but we will focus on that next time. If you do have to hit someone, do you know where you should target?”

“Their groin?”

“That’s right. Along with their eyes, nose, or throat. Sometimes your hands might be restrained—like if they grab you in a bear hug—and you won’t be able to punch your way out of it. Normally, I would demonstrate with a partner, but it’s just us. Stand behind me and grab me.”

Her hands barely close around the width of my arms and chest.

“Like this?” she breathes against my shoulder blades.

“Perfect. Now watch what I do.”