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“Ha. Got you.”
I frown.
“And we’re back to our regular setting,” she says.
“It’s important to know how to throw a punch,” I say. “We’ll work on other self-defense techniques and exercises, but I want you to know how to sock a motherfucker in the face and break his nose.”
“Mild-mannered, my ass,” Hannah whispers.
“You good with blood?”
“I—Yeah. I think so?”
“You won’t faint if you break someone’s nose?”
“That’s a scenario I’ve never been in before,” Hannah says. “But I think I’ll be fine. I mean, I’ve seen Cash and Jesse give each other bloody noses before, and Leo once broke his arm and there was a literal piece of bone sticking out, and I was okay. It was disgusting, but I didn’t pass out.”
“Good.”
“He fell out of a tree when he was, like, five. It was before he started playing rugby. You know,” Hannah says, tapping her chin and pouting those kissable lips, “I’m pretty sure he started playing rugby after that accident. Must have knocked something loose in his brain.”
She keeps talking, and while I’m not one of those men who doesn’t listen when a woman talks, I can’t help admiring her.
Her dark hair is glossy and falls around her shoulders. While she talks, she scrapes it away from the fine column of her neck and into a ponytail. Her lips are full and slightly pink, and she’s got beautiful blue eyes that shimmer gray in the right light. She’s taken off my sweater and has on a T-shirt that’s tight over her breasts but loose at the bottom, and those pink yoga pants are driving me crazy. The way they cling to her long, shapely legs is obscene.
“—throw a punch.”
I snap my gaze to her face. “Yeah. Show me how you’d throw one.”
“All right.” She puts up her fists. “But are you sure you want me to do that? I don’t want to hurt you or something.”
I smirk.
“Hey, whatever,” Hannah says. “Dynamite comes in small packages, remember?”
“Throw the punch.”
She shoots out her fist, and I catch it in my palm. I release her, angry that I touched her.
“How was that?” she asks.
“Terrible.”
“Wait, what? Why?”
“Because you tucked your thumb inside your fist, your wrist wasn’t straight, and your stance is wrong.”
“Well, damn,” she says. “Don’t hold back on the criticism or anything.”
“You’re right,” I say. “Your punch was great.”
“Thanks.”
“If you want to break your wrist and possibly your hand.”
“Ah,” Hannah says. “Fine. So then, what do I do?”
I teach her, making sure she’s got her weight adjusted and spread between her legs. I correct her form, talking her through how she should punch and where she should aim.
