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“Oh yeah. I’m a ‘self-defense stuff’ expert.” His tone was wry, but it didn’t sound like he was kidding.
“Really?”
“Nah.” He shrugged. “I know a little. You’re stalling.”
She swung. He caught. His hand was warm, wrapping around her knuckles.
“Try again,” he said.
She remembered the way he’d grabbed the paper clip out of the air, that first day. “I’ll never be faster than you.”
“The point isn’t to be faster than me. The point is to mean what you’re doing.” He took a step closer to her, until there wasn’t room for her to take a swing at him. “Try again.”
She backed away and started to swing, but he caught her wrist and took another step. “Try again.”
She took another step back. He came after her.
And then, just for an instant, she felt a flicker of fear. She didn’t even think. Her hand shot out, aiming for his eyes.
Thank god he was quick. She almost got him. But he ducked to the side and deflected her blow with his forearm.
Then his face broke into a smile. “Hey. Nice.”
She flushed, pleased despite herself.
“What else you got?” he said.
Becca had a pretty strong feeling she should quit while she was ahead. She could barely remember half the stuff Paul had shown them in class. But Hunter’s closeness left her a little breathless, a little euphoric. Her heart was still kicking like they’d been running.
She shook her hair back from her face and looked up at him. “What else you got?”
His eyes widened—just for an instant. Then they filled with resolve. He looked fierce and gentle, if such a combination was possible. He moved until he stood close enough to share secrets, to dance. To kiss.
“Choke me,” he said.
She jerked back. God, she’d been staring at his mouth.
She coughed to cover her nerves. “I’m sorry—what?”
He smiled, not fooled for a second, then reached out to take her hands and place them on his neck.
The warmth of his body reached across the space between them. She could smell whatever detergent his mom used, something fresh and soft, like baby powder and lavender. With her hands against his skin, she felt the beginnings of stubble under his jaw, the muscles in his neck flexing under her fingers.
The position reminded her of those silly dances in middle school, the way girls would hook their hands behind a guy’s neck and kind of sway to the music.
“Now what?” Her voice almost cracked.
Breathe.
“I’m going to make hooks with my hands—” He demonstrated. “—and catch your wrists to spring your hands free. Don’t let go.”
Becca nodded, gazing up at him, thinking his eyes were exactly the color of the grass here.
Now they flickered with challenge. “Don’t. Let. Go.”
She tightened her grip, but he reached into the gap between her wrists and snapped her hands free.
Hey! Her eyes narrowed. “Do that again.”
