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“He’s harmless, just annoying.” She taps her bottom lip, maybe considering it.
“It won’t take long. We can run through them once, real quick. I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.”
She hesitates, but finally says, “Okay. We could do that. Should I change into something less constrictive?”
“Sure. Yeah. That works. I’ll get the living room set up for us.”
“I’ll be right back.”
She steps out of the bathroom, giving me room to leave, then disappears into her bedroom. I move the living room furniture around so we have space to practice the moves without knocking lamps over or shoving breakable things off the tables.
I pull my hoodie off and drape it over the couch cushion. I don’t have any kind of junk protection, but I can improvise.
Clover appears a minute later wearing a pair of capri yoga pants and aStranger ThingsT-shirt that slides off her right shoulder as she sets her glasses on the coffee table. She adjusts it, but it falls again almost immediately, so she leaves it where it is. Her long hair is pulled up in a ponytail that hangs down her back. Her feet are bare, her toes painted a pale green. I’m thinking that’s her favorite color.
“You ready to kick my ass, Clover?”
She chuckles. “Never in my life did I think I’d hear those words leave one of my student’s mouths.”
“You’re my student now.” I wink just as I remember I’m supposed to ease off on the flirting. “Never thought I’d look forward to having my professor hand me my ass. Should we start from the top? Review the first moves and go through them a couple of times?” This I can deal with—teaching her things, keeping it light, not bogging it down with all my shit.
She rubs her hands together and nods. “Sounds good.”
We run through the first move, which is the arm grab, and it only takes two tries for her to get it right. The next one we spend time fine tuning, with me showing her how to get out of the hold faster, depending on the position.
When I lift her off her feet, her head whips back. I don’t manage to give her my cheek in time, which means her skull connects with my nose. I stumble back a step, and her heel connects with my groin. I can handle the headbutt to the nose, but the foot to the groin at the same time is a lot. So I land on my ass, still gripping her around the waist. That means I get another shot in the face, compliments of the back of her head.
We land on the floor in a heap, Clover sprawled on top of me. When she flips over, she ends up straddling my waist. “Is this some new move—oh! Oh my God! You’re bleeding!”
I bring my hand to my nose and feel the wet, warm trickle of blood on my fingers, seeping out and dripping down my cheek. “Tissue would be good.”
“Let me see! How bad is it?” She pries at my fingers, but stops when hers come away smeared with red. She looks around the room, maybe searching for a tissue. “Shit.” She whips her top over her head, balls it up and shoves it into my hand. “Use this.”
I don’t argue. It’s black, so at least the blood won’t show, and this seems like a nice rug, and not one she’d like covered in my blood. I should sit up, so the blood doesn’t run down my throat, but she’s still straddling my torso, one hand splayed on my chest.
In that moment, the pain dulls enough for me to register that she’s in nothing but yoga pants and a sports bra. And not one of those basic sports bras—not that there’s anything wrong with basic. But this one has a thin, mesh-looking overlay on top of lime green cups.
It’s fucking sexy, as far as sports bras go.
And her cleavage is right there, in front of my face.
I don’t even feel the throb in my nose anymore. But I feel it below the waist as other parts of my body react to the visual stimulus.
“I’m so sorry. Is it slowing down? What can I do?” Her fingers drift along my cheek. Her face is only inches from mine. Her warm breath smells like citrus and cinnamon. Her ponytail brushes over my arm, and her hand hovers near my face.
“I should sit up.” My voice is muffled by her shirt.
“Right. Yes. Of course.” She moves back, except the way she shifts causes her to bump against my erection.
She shoots to her feet and launches herself across the room. “Oh God! Oh my God! What the hell, Maverick!” Her eyes are wide with shock as they bounce from my face to my very obvious erection. “How can you be . . .” She doesn’t finish the question. Instead, she squeezes her eyes shut and covers them with her hands.
I bark out a laugh. “Are you serious? You weren’t afraid of my dick the last time I poked you in the butt with it.”
She purses her lips, and makes a small gap between her fingers, revealing one glaring eyeball. “That was before! When I didn’t know you were going to be a student in my class.”
I roll up into a sitting position, smiling behind her shirt. “I’m bleeding over here. Help a dude out.”
“I don’t even get how you can be—” She flails a hand in my direction. “That!”
