by DM Davis
“Good.” He steps back. “We need to get back out there. You’ve got paperwork to fill out, and I have a class to teach.”
His in-charge demeanor is just plain hot. I don’t know how I’ll make it through this class. I doubt I’ll be able to concentrate on much of anything besides what happens after class.
WITH RESTRAINT WORTHY OF SAINTHOOD, I lead Lauren back to reception where I get her started on her paperwork. I pull myself away to converse with Brian.
“Man, what was that about?” He beats me to the punch.
“Remember the woman I told you about?”
He looks over my shoulder. “That’s her?”
“Yes.” I scan the room. No one’s paying us any mind. “When she tries to pay, tell her it’s already been taken care of.”
“You got it.” His eyes dart to her again. “You’re gonna tell me what happens, right?”
“Nope.”
“Come on.”
“No chance.”
“Ass.”
“Wanker.”
“Good talk.”
I wink at the cheeky bastard and move on to greet others as they arrive, giving them the spiel about the forms and payment. We still have a favourable ratio of women to men. Women tend to be intimidated and their participation suffers when there’s too much testosterone in the room.
My gaze lands on Lauren as she waits in line for Brian. That unexpected pull in my gut grows stronger each time I see her. My hands itch to get her back in my arms. Snug, safe, and much, much closer than before.
She. Is. Beautiful. Her long blonde curly hair cascades down her back to a point near her waist. Her piercing blue eyes are a bit darker than a clear Texas sky, the centre glowing with inner light contained in a stormy ring of navy—the same eyes that have haunted my dreams since I was a kid, far too young to be dreaming of my soulmate.
Silvy joins her at the counter. As Lauren turns to talk to her friend, I’m blessed with a better view of her voluptuous curves, so ripe for the picking, squeezing, and plundering.
Fuck.
Even in the baggy shirt she’s wearing—believing it hides her seductive curves—there’s no hiding that body. Her form-fitting workout pants accentuate her muscular legs I want wrapped around me, squeezing me tight.
She laughs at something Silvy says. It’s a great laugh, making her whole body shake. I chuckle to myself, looking away to focus on the other students, but I’m not fast enough. Lauren catches me watching her and smiles with a brow raise. I simply shrug, not even trying to excuse my ogling. At least she can’t read my mind.
After a brief discussion with Brian, I move towards the chairs where everyone is sitting. “It looks like we are ready to start. Please, follow me.”
I enter our training room, directing them to place their belongings in cubbies and join me at the front of the room, sitting in a half-circle. Once they're settled, I begin. “Welcome everyone. I’m Theo Wade, your self-defense instructor.” I motion to Brian, who’s joined me. “This is Brian House, my second. We are here to guide you in learning the skills of self-defense, to prepare you to act instead of freeze in moments of crisis and stress.
“We only have twelve classes with you. Therefore, it is imperative you arrive on time, prepared to focus and fully engage in each class. Punctuality is important. It's disrespectful, not to mention disruptive, when you arrive late. Respect the effort others have put forth to be here on time. Now, with that said, emergencies do occur. If you need to miss a class, please let myself or Brian know, and we will work to arrange a make-up session.” I pause to gauge their response and let my words settle.
“As this is our first class, I’d like to go around the room, giving you an opportunity to introduce yourself, share why you are here—if you wish—and what you want to get out of the class. Hopefully, you’ve provided this information on your paperwork, so if you don’t feel comfortable sharing with the room, that’s quite alright. Our main point in asking is to understand your goal in taking this class and help you meet it as best we can.
“Now, if you expect to leave here with the skills of Bruce Lee, then you are most definitely in the wrong class and absolutely not living in reality.” That gets the intended laugh or two.
Brian hands me the class’ paperwork. “When I call your name, identify yourself and share why you’re here.”
I call the first name, “Chris Helmsley.”
A lanky guy, maybe twenty, raises his hand.
“Welcome. Please share, if you would, why you’re here or what you would like to get out of the class.”
Chris nods, smiling around the room. “I heard about this class from my sister. I wanted to give it a try, see if I liked it, and maybe take more martial arts classes.”
“Excellent, thank you, Chris.” I hand the paper back to Brian and look at the next name. “Charlotte Walker.”
A small woman, probably in her sixties, raises her hand. “Hi, everyone. I’m Charlotte, and I’m here because I want to feel safe when I’m walking alone in a parking lot, or really anytime. I want to feel I can take care of myself if I need to.”
“Thank you, Charlotte. Welcome to the class.”
We continue around the room name after name, each sharing what they feel comfortable with. So far, everyone’s responses are what I had expected to hear. As I turn to the next sheet, my heart quickens as I read her name. I glance down at the section asking why she signed up for the class. The word “attacked” jumps out at me. My quickening heart plummets. Anger swells.
Fuck. Get a grip. I clear my throat and roll my shoulders to stamp it down.
“Lauren Frasier.” I look into her blue eyes, full of sadness I missed before but have seen too many times in other students. I want to make that sadness disappear.
Her hand shoots up and falls just as fast. Her lightheartedness is gone, replaced by a visceral uneasiness. Her eyes dart around the room, not focusing on any one person, especially not me. It’s obvious she’s struggling with what to share. I want to jump in and save her. Tell her she doesn’t have to share, not now, not with a bunch of strangers.
I school my reaction. I need to give her the space to find her own footing.
“Hello. I’m Lauren. I…” She looks to Silvy, who gives her an encouraging nod. “I would like to feel more comfortable in my skin.”
Her eyes flit to me. I fight my gut instinct is to snatch her from the floor and into my arms.
“Feel like I can trust my body to defend me when I need it to. I want to feel confident and know that I can survive anything,” she finishes, smiling around the room, then at Silvy, who squeezes her hand in reassurance.
Fuck. Me. Doesn’t she know? She already survived. Whatever happened to her, she already kicked its ass by being alive, breathing, and in my class, still kicking. “Welcome, Lauren.” My blood pulses in my ears, and I swear everyone can see the thudding in my neck. “We’re happy you’re here.”
Happy-as-fuck to find her again, yet devastated at the idea of what brought her to me today.
I move on to the next name. “Silvy Connors.”
She waves. “Howdy, I’m Silvy. And I’m here with my friend Lauren.” She winks at Lauren and then turns back to me. “I want to learn to kick ass!”
Laughter breaks out with cheers of agreement.
I join them, appreciating Silvy’s levity. It’s easing Lauren’s nerves; she giggles and her shoulders relax. “Thank you, Silvy, we’ll do our best to teach you, each of you, how to kick arse, when the situation calls for it,” I add.
Once everyone has introduced themselves, I ask them to stand and spread out. “We'll begin each class with stretching. You'll be using muscles you may have never used before, or perhaps not in a long time, so stretching is key to reducing your chance of injury and increasing flexibility. Forewarning, you will be sore, very sore, but I promise, keep stretching, keep moving, and you'll feel better and stronger in no time.”
Brian takes over, leading them through the war
mup. I move to the side of the room, stretching with them, but also observing, assessing their skill levels, their conditioning. This helps me to modify the training to their individual needs. No two people are alike. With this type of class there will be people who are naturally athletic and in great shape, and others who can barely put one foot in front of the other without stumbling. But each deserves the same attention and training to equip them with the skills to be the best version of themselves they can be in the limited time we have together.
And still my eyes land on Lauren like a magnet. I can’t seem to keep them off her. This is trouble with a capital T. I need to focus on the class and not the golden-haired, blue-eyed lass who romps through my dreams and kidnaps nearly every waking thought.
Bloody fucking hell, I’m buggered.
Holy smokes. He. Is. Gorgeous. I’d nearly forgotten. 6’3” or so. His body—oh my, his body—strong and muscular from top to bottom, in a swimmer’s strong, lean-athletic build kind of way. His arms are long with impressive biceps that flex with every movement. And hands—oh my god, those hands—large, strong, and sensual. A chill tightens my nipples as I remember the feel of his callused fingers on my cheek as his thumb caressed my lips.
His hint-of-curl dark brown hair matches the color of his almond-shaped eyes, framed by strong, expressive eyebrows that only add to his intensity. His lips. I could suck on that bottom lip. For. Days.
I’m a little jealous of them. I’ve always been self-conscious of my barely-there top lip overshadowed by my fuller bottom lip. My sister says my mouth looks like a heart. I think I look like I bypassed the top-lip department when God was making me. But the way Theo was staring at my lips earlier, like he wanted to eat me up, makes me feel like I didn’t miss out on anything at all. Maybe, he has a thing for one-lipped women.
I can only hope.
I follow Brian’s lead in stretching, taking every opportunity to glance at Theo when he’s not looking, sometimes even when he is. Silvy keeps trying to mouth something to me, but she’s too far away and in a weird position for me to get it all, but I gather it’s about Theo and Brian being hawt. She cracks me up, and I’m really glad she’s here.
I tried to pay attention to everything Theo was saying at the beginning of class, but I really was distracted by his accent and voice that would drop lower, gruffer-sounding at times. He has the kind of voice that he could read ingredients on any packaged food, and I would find it endlessly fascinating. That is, if I wasn’t too busy fantasizing about his lips to pay attention.
My heart nearly leaped out of my chest when he said my name. I believe I saw a little reaction when he looked at the section on my paperwork about why I’m here, but I’m not sure. He has to be used to it, teaching this kind of class. I was as upbeat as possible and didn’t elaborate. I hate sounding like a victim, but in reality, that’s what I was—am—a victim of a brutal attack.
V-I-C-T-I-M. Jeez, how I despise that word.
I was honest in what I shared. I want to feel in control of my body and know that I have the skills, the strength to protect myself if I need to. But I also want to believe in myself again and not feel betrayed by my body.
Please, God, let this work.
I focus back on the class. This is the last stretch. I bend, reaching for my toes but strive to touch the floor, pulling my hamstrings to their limit. Boy, am I going to be sore tomorrow.
Theo is back in the front of the class, breaking us up into two groups. He calls six names, including Silvy, and tells them to go with Brian to another training room.
I glance at Silvy, giving her an exaggerated sad face as she leaves.
I can do this.
The remaining six of us move closer to Theo.
I’m not alone. Theo’s here, and though I have no reason to believe it, I know I’m safe in his hands. I shouldn’t need that safety crutch, but I do—oh, God—I do.
When I first arrived and he took my hand, I felt a soothing warmth. It wasn’t a zap this time. It was a warming glow, radiating out from his body until it encapsulated mine. I didn’t want to release him. As soon as I did, I felt the loss instantly, physically, and emotionally. It’s like I’d found someone I’d been searching for my whole life, and then suddenly, I’d lost him. My sorrow was palpable. For a beat of my heart, I felt deep loss. Then it was gone when he laid his hand on my cheek. It was the most bizarre thing I’ve ever experienced, and yet it felt so right.
I’m drawn to him—I can’t deny it—but there is no way a man like him would feel the same way for me. Is there something there? Yes, though I fear I will only be hurt.
He’s out of my league. Yet it feels like we’re in a league of our own—a league only meant for the two of us—no one else.
Shit, Lauren. Get a grip!
His voice brings my racing thoughts back to class. “Breaking the class up into smaller groups will give us a chance to have more individual instruction where I can focus on your current skill level.”
He lines us up, facing the mirror. “Let’s begin with some basic moves. I’ll demonstrate a few times and then ask you do it with me. Lastly, you’ll do it together, whilst I come around and adjust your technique as needed. Let’s get started.”
Oh, God! Oh, God! He’s gonna watch me do it.
In my group, I have three woman and three blokes. I kept Lauren, as I want to ensure she gets what she needs. I feel responsible for her. It’s obvious she has demons she’s still fighting. What she shared—the part about being able to trust her body and act with confidence—touched me. It’s the key as to why I started teaching these classes in the first place. She was open about her needs, and I want to ensure they get met.
There was no bloody way I could not put her in my class.
I demonstrate the first kick move a few times and then ask them to do it with me. As expected, they’re clumsy and self-conscious. “These aren’t moves you would naturally have done before. It will feel awkward at first, but slowly, with repetition, you’ll begin to feel more comfortable, more natural in your movements. Let’s try that again.”
We do it together a few more times. “Good. Now, on your own.”
I move to each person, watching, reminding them to hold their core tight to keep their centre of gravity and give power to their strikes.
My eyes on Lauren, she smiles sheepishly as she practices. I try not to smile back. I don’t succeed.
“Again,” I say to all of them, but internally I’m speaking only to her.
She has good form—strong—but lacks confidence. I lean in, catching her scent, locking eyes with her reflection in the mirror. “Believe in yourself. You can do this.”
The protector in me despises the reason she’s here, why she even needs this type of training. Though illogical, I hate that I wasn’t there to protect her. Why hadn’t I met her sooner? It’s a futile question, but one I cannot help but ask.
I step back and watch her do it again. “Good. Better…again.”
“Next move.” I demonstrate the second part and then the third before putting it all together.
We continue like this for forty-five minutes.
Tired and sweaty, I release the class for a short break.
Lauren heads to the water cooler, dabbing her glistening body with a towel. She’s smart to bring it. Many don’t believe they’ll work hard enough to break a sweat. I quickly prove them wrong.
I follow her to get a drink, although I have a water bottle in the room.
She fills a cup with water from the cooler, turns, and runs into me. “Oh, sorry!” Her hand lands on my chest, steadying herself.
My hand covers hers, and that contact sizzles up my arm. “No apology needed. You didn’t know I was behind you.” Though a part of me believes she could sense my presence.
I reach around to fill my cup, blocking her from moving away. I like her close. But common decency has me stepping back to allow others access—to the water, not Lauren.
She refills her cup and leans a
gainst the wall, closing her eyes.
Does she believe that’ll stop me from talking to her? “What do you think of the class so far?”
Her eyes open, glancing around like I might be speaking to someone else. Realizing my question was directed towards her, she leans in. “I wasn’t sure what to expect, really. It’s better than I thought it would be.” She frowns. “I mean, it’s not as uncomfortable as I feared it would be.”
Feared it would be? The idea of her fearing anything sets me on edge. “You’re doing great. You’re athletic, a natural. You’ll feel more confident in no time.”
I fill my cup as she laughs. “Thanks, but a natural? I’m not sure about that.” She smiles, making light of her doubt.
“I’ve been doing this long enough to tell in the first few minutes who’s athletic and who’s not. You are.” I speak the truth. She’ll come to trust my word in time.
She contemplates my response as she refreshes her cup and finishes it off in one long swallow.
Other students talk and mill around the family area. Though I shouldn’t, my sole focus is on her—her oval face, high cheekbones, rosy heart-shaped lips, and those eyes.
“You’re staring.”
I step closer. “I can’t help myself.” I scan her face, diving into the bluest blues I’ve ever encountered.
“No?” she whispers, her twinkling eyes searching for truth.
“No, not even if I wanted to.”
“Oh.”
I chuckle at her astonishment and motion to the door. “Break time’s over. Come on.” I take her hand and relish the gasp that escapes my vision’s lips.
She feels the electricity when we touch. I know she does.
As we enter the class, I break our connection before anyone notices. Not that I give a fuck about what anyone thinks, but she might. And that I do give fucks about.
MY HAND PRESSES TO THE SMALL of her back as we’re shown to a secluded table in one of my favourite neighborhood bars. This place isn’t big enough for live music, but there’s a bloke rasping classic rock, plucking away at his guitar in a corner where the table has been pushed aside to make room for a stool, a mic, a small amp, and a tip jar that is painfully barren.
