The walk across campus was brutal. Wind whipped off the nearby lake, slicing through my thin coat. By the time I pushed through the glass doors of the college athletic facility, my face was numb.
Inside, the air conditioning always lost the fight against the humidity. Sweat and iron made the whole room smell thick and stale.
I spotted Karter right away. He was using a bench press near the far corner, all by himself.
The barbell wobbled unevenly in his hands, and his elbows flared out too wide. The steel shook as he struggled to push it up. Those expensive personal trainers back in Boston had clearly babied him. They probably never forced him to suffer.
I walked over and stopped right behind his bench. My hands hovered near the bar.
“Your form is fucking garbage,” I said.
I noticed his eyes widen as he lost his rhythm, right before his arms gave out. The steel dropped fast toward his sternum.
My fingers clamped around the metal. I caught the bar a second before it crushed him, lifting it easily before slamming it onto the uprights, causing the iron plates to rattle loudly. A second later, I stepped around to the side of the bench and looked down into his flushed face. Sweat dripped from his forehead, darkening the collar of his shirt.
“No private trainers round here, legacy,” I muttered. “They teach you to flare your elbows like that in Boston, or was that all instinct?”
Karter’s chest heaved as he frowned up at me. A sharp, stubborn glare sparked in his hazel-green eyes as he shoved himself upright on the bench. “They taught me to lift without the constant commentary.”
“Well, clearly they skipped a few chapters.” I tapped the bar with two fingers. “Another rep like that and you’ll crack your sternum.”
“Lucky you were right here to rescue me.”
“Lucky I don’t charge by the hour.”
Karter swung his leg over the bench and stood. Even upright, he had to tilt his chin to meet my eyes. “Are you done?”
“Not even close.” I settled my weight, blocking his exit. “You look a bit lost. Hesitate like that where I’m from, you’d lose your gear and your wallet.”
“Good thing we aren’t in Detroit,” Karter said, his voice flat.
I raised an eyebrow. “Been reading my roster bio, legacy?”
He didn’t answer. He brushed past me, shoulder clipping mine, reaching for his sweat towel on the nearby rack.
My hand shot out. I grabbed his wrist, squeezing the bone tight enough to bruise. I leaned in close until my mouth was right next to his ear.
“Daddy’s money can’t lift the bar for you here, princess,” I muttered.
A slight tremor vibrated through his arm. But instead of shrinking back, Karter shifted, then drove his elbow hard into my side.
“Shit.” Pain flared sharply in my ribs. It wasn’t enough to drop me, but the sheer audacity of it froze me in place. I expected him to cower, to shrink, to cry for his captain brother.
Instead, the kidactuallyhit me.
My thumb pressed into his wrist. The frantic jumping of his pulse beneath my grip wasn’t panic. It was pure, unadulterated adrenaline.
He wasn’t submitting.
“You held that bar like you’re trying to impress me, Aleksey,” Karter said. He yanked his arm, but I kept my grip firm. “It’s pathetic.”
He stepped closer instead of pulling away, locking his jaw. The utter lack of fear in his stance threw me totally off balance.
“If you wanted to hurt me, you should’ve let it drop,” Karter added. “But now you’re just wasting my time.”
My grip loosened slightly in genuine shock. My assumptions about this pampered brat were dead wrong. The kid had actual teeth, and the realization sparked a reluctant, irritating hit of respect.
My lips pulled into a grin. I let go of his arm and took a step back.
