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Without hesitation, Isabel hit me with a jab.
“Why don’t you want me here?”
Each strike hit the mitts with a sharp snap. “You want a list?”
What was this? It was so immediate, so unfiltered, and the exact opposite of every interaction we’d ever had. My blood screamed with something hot and pulsing, something new and furious.
“The last thing I need,” she said, chin raised and chest heaving, “is you here to see this.”
“Again.” I held up the gloves.
Snap.
Snap.
“I almost punched you in the face.”
“You didn’t almost punch me in the face,” I said calmly, which made her eyes narrow even further. “More.”
She gave me more. Three more in quick succession. But she didn’t calm. There were words brewing, and I could see them flaring hot in her eyes. But I knew she wouldn’t give them to me. Not easily.
“What happened to your advice to Casey earlier? I thought the goal was to disengage, not attack.”
Isabel lifted her chin. “For her, that is the goal.”
“And you hold yourself to a different standard?”
She didn’t answer. But watching the flash behind her eyes, like someone dropped a match into a vat of gasoline, I knew I was right. This was Isabel Ward. And she was fucking glorious.
I wanted more of it. More of this. No matter how wrong she was for me, how badly this might go, or how much I might regret it. I wanted more.
That was why I leaned in and whispered, “Lock the fucking door next time.”
Her mouth fell open.
Satisfied that I’d made my point, I nodded, lifting the mitts. “Let’s go. Whatever your problem is, get it out right now.”
Isabel eyed me carefully. “Who says I have a problem?”
“Anyone with eyes, based on how you were treating that defenseless bag.” I hit the mitts together, the sharp snapping sound echoing around the gym. She didn’t so much as flinch. “Come on, Ward.”
For a moment, she just stared at me, and I found myself holding my breath at how she would respond.
And because it was the first moment of just the two of us, it was also the first time I saw how carefully she held herself. The sharp edge of wariness in her gaze. What, exactly, did Isabel Ward think I was going to do to her to make her look at me like that?
“No,” she said. “Not tonight.”
I nodded slowly, waiting until she’d turned away from me.
“What are you afraid of?” I asked.
Her frame, tall and strong and proud, went perfectly still. It was almost like watching her turn into a statue right in front of my eyes. If an artist somewhere had carved her out of marble, those gloves tucked under her arms, hands still wrapped, she would’ve been called something like, A Warrior in Repose.
But when she slowly pivoted back in my direction, the wariness was gone, completely replaced by blade-sharp resolve. Isabel jammed her hands back in her gloves, and I held up my mitts.
“I am not scared,” she snapped.
“Prove it.” I stepped closer, and she held her ground. “I am the only person in the building you hide from, and that ends now.”
