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He did it again. And a third time.
She felt warm, her breaths coming quickly again.
“There’s no counter leverage,” he said. “I’m just using your strength against you. Want to try?”
She nodded before thinking of how his hands would be around her neck, strong and secure, his thumbs brushing her chin, reminding her too much of the way a guy would pull you close to kiss you.
Touch was funny like that. How one movement could choke you and kill you, but another meant nothing more than a caress and an invitation. How sex and rape were just a few motions apart.
“What are you thinking?” He’d stopped moving, his hands loose now, almost on her shoulders instead of her neck. She couldn’t figure out his expression, but she didn’t want to try too hard.
Becca shook her head and looked right back at him. “Nothing. Do it. I want to try.”
He did. She broke his hold on the first try.
She grinned, pleased. This was a bazillion times better than learning from Paul. “I did it.”
He smiled back, but his eyes were serious. “Don’t let go this time. Break free, but hold on to me.”
“Why?”
“Keep me close so you can hurt me. So you can knee me in the stomach.” Now he gave her a rakish smile. “Or lower.”
They practiced breaking choke holds until she mastered that. Then he showed her how to pin an attacker’s forearms to her chest, to control his movement so she could be the aggressor. He showed her the strength in her joints, how an elbow or a knee in the right place could cause more damage than she’d ever thought possible.
o;All right.” He paused, and she wondered if he was going to poke at her wounds, the way Chris had. But there was no curiosity in Hunter’s tone—just challenge. “In or out, Becca?”
She straightened in her seat and smiled back at him. “In.”
CHAPTER 21
Hunter kept an old blanket in the back of his jeep. They sat at the base of a hill on the east side of the park and picked at the bucket of chicken. A playground sat out of sight, and Becca occasionally heard the shrieks of overexcited children, but mostly, a peaceful stillness hung over the grass. She forgot about killers and elements and relaxed into Hunter’s quiet presence.
He was good company, too, talking about stupid things to amuse her. How he’d moved just two hours away from home, but it felt like too far to visit friends. He talked about the friends he’d left behind, who Facebooked him every night asking for pictures of girls. He mocked the movies he hated because the actors were idiots. He talked about books he’d read—and ones he’d pretended to read, just to get through a class. There were a lot of those.
“Even Pride and Prejudice?” she said.
“Please.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Wikipedia.” He stripped the skin off his chicken and fed it to Casper.
“Don’t you feel like you’re cheating?”
“I like to think of it as challenging myself more.”
That made her smile. “Do you still pass?”
“Of course.” He flung another fry for Casper. “If I failed a class because I didn’t read the book, my dad would kill me.”
His words were like a stone thrown into a pond, in flight for a moment, then sinking fast. Hunter lost the smile, as if he realized what he’d said.
Becca wanted to reach out and touch him—then wondered if that would be appropriate. The moment felt precarious, as if one small movement in any direction might throw everything off balance. He tossed another fry to the dog, not looking at her now.
“So he was strict?” she asked quietly. “Your dad?”
He looked up, and she found emotion trapped in his eyes. “No. Not really.”
“You must have been very close.”
He shrugged.
