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“Was not.” I rest my head back, exhausted from the energy I spent shoving tacos into my mouth. “What’s even worse is I missed my workout today. I’m going to have to spend hours in the gym tomorrow to make up for all this—”
“Get up.”
“What? No. I’m hibernating. Isn’t that what you bears do after you eat a lot?”
His chest rumbles, and he lifts my legs and sets them on the ground. “Come on. Up we go.”
“Why?” I whine but get up. He guides me to the middle of my living room and grabs my hands.
“Make a fist.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.” I roll my eyes and form two fists. “No, like this. Always keep your thumb out. You tuck it in, you’re gonna break your finger. Now, bend your elbows and keep your fists about this height.” He raises my arms. “Not too high. Okay, place your feet like this. Get your arms and shoulders right and punch.”
“What?”
“Punch me.”
“I’m not going to punch you.”
“Why not? You know you want to.” His lips curl into the sexiest smile.
“Oh, I’ve never wanted anything more. But I don’t want to hurt you. Not a fan of criers.” Dammit, stop smiling at me like that. “Oh, fuck it. Your problem.” I pull back and swing. Then grunt. Punching steel isn’t fun for anyone.
“Good. Punch, pull back, set, and punch again.”
I do as he says, letting off a few more rounds to his chest. It feels good. I bounce from foot to foot while I take my swings, landing a good one to his gut.
“Shit. Calm down, Rocky. Now, if someone comes at you, say they’re stronger, bigger, what do you do?”
“Run?”
“But if they’re faster, you need to be able to protect yourself.” He grabs my arm. “What do you do when someone tries to grab you like this?”
“Scream?”
“That too. Lesson one: size matters. You need to know how to protect yourself if someone bigger attacks you.”
I laugh. “I’m pretty sure I’m SOL if that happens, but go on.”
“Let me show you. You’re the assailant, I’m the victim.” I roll my eyes. “Come from behind and grab me.” He gives me his back. “Grab my arm.” Reaching up, I clutch his bicep. Within seconds, I’m tugged forward, flipped, and put on my back.
“What the fuck?” I grunt. “And what exactly did that teach me?”
“Get up.”
“I’m fine where I’m at—”
Or not. He seizes my hand, and I fly to my feet. “Do it again.”
“Tate—”
“Do it.”
Though being tossed again is last on the list of things I want to do, I put my hand around his arm. Grasping my wrist, he turns and sweeps his leg under mine. I end up on my back but in a much slower way. “Did you see what I did there?”
“Possibly.”
