“—But clearly, you’ve got some balls. It really isn’t right for me to train you but screw it. I’m curious. Maybe I can make a half-decent wolf out of you after all.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re welcome.” He waves away the praise he assumes is incoming as he slides out of his seat. “Whatever, don’t make a big deal out of it. And you’re paying for lunch.”
There isn’t much choice in the matter. Bane turns his sandwich into a to-go order, snatching it up and exiting, leaving me with the check.
Okay. This is good. Technically. Spending more time together will help us get to know each other. He’ll see me in a new light and realize our connection. Hopefully.
Right now, though, it’s hard to picture us ever truly getting along.
8.Sparring
Josh
Bane’s already at the gym when I arrive, leaning against the wall near the entrance, waiting for me. He’s facing the sun and wearing aviator sunglasses, which don’t hide the smirk on his face.
“Ready to get your ass kicked?”
I roll my eyes. “Very funny.”
“Who says I’m kidding?”
Huh. Very good question. “Why do I already regret this?” I wonder out loud. “This is a bad idea.”
“Yep,” he agrees. “But we’re here so we might as well give this a try.”
Starting in human form works best so we can communicate, and I figure he selected a gym at random. Bane comes from a family of the biggest, baddest alphas around, so I wouldn’t think he needs to spend much time in a gym. Yet people nod at him and he seems like a regular as he leads me to a sparring area with padded flooring.
“Alright, let’s warm up.”
My warm-up consists of psyching myself up, stealing glances at him, and mimicking his stretches without making it obvious I’m copying him. I’m nervous. I’d hate to completely humiliate myself in front of my mate, but I really am a lousy fighter.
All my nerves disappear, everything disappears, when Bane grabs the hem of his shirt and peels it over his head. My mouthgoes dry at the sight of his muscular torso. Dark hair dusts his chest, a tantalizing trail leading down beneath the waistband of his workout pants.
Maybe fate was nuts when it put us together, though it’s not all bad news. My mate is smoking hot.
“Hey, you listening?”
I blink, dragging my gaze away from his body.
“Uh-huh, yeah, sure, whatever you say,” I nod. Then I nod some more. Why am I nodding so much? Does he notice?
“Are you okay? Are you having a stroke? Can werewolves even have strokes?”
“I’m ready,” I say. “Let’s get started.”
“Whatever,” he says after a moment. “Whenever you’re ready, make the first move.”
No time like the present. I lunge forward, aiming a punch at his chest, but the skilled fighter easily dodges, sidestepping with a fluid grace that is grudgingly impressive. Even in human form, he’s a predator, all lean muscle and calculated movements.
But he isn’t ahumblepredator.
“Wow, you really do need help,” he chuckles. “Did you notice how I said make the first move, not attack me? Don’t come out swinging, not in a one-on-one fight like this.”
“Okay, let me try again—whoa!”
Suddenly, I’m in a headlock.
