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His expression flickers. “What about it?”
“Can you, you know, teach me some moves?”
“Some moves?”
“Like…” I punch the air with each hand.
His brows rise. “Not those moves.”
I laugh, and his lips twitch. I’ve never seen him smile. Has he trained himself not to because the scar would curl his upper lip in?
But I almost made him laugh. Why does that make me feel so accomplished? I head to the door. “How about we start tonight? Meet you in the gym?”
Before I walk into the house, I look back. He hasn’t moved. His lips are in a troubled line, but he says, “See you in twenty.”
Cool relief washes through my body. I won’t have to spend the evening replaying the events of the last couple days. And learning some techniques will keep me from wondering how I’m going to get a decent night’s sleep by myself without begging Cannon to sleep in my bed again.
