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What pisses me off the most is that nothing has changed. I trust the people here with my life. There’s never been a reason to question any of these men or women, and there isn’t one now. Except that there is. Damn Maxen.
An hour later, I’m flat on my back, breathing hard, while Brock stands over me, grinning like a fool. That had been too easy. “What the hell, Sadie? Have you lost your mojo?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Spatch growls.
I turn my head to avoid the glare of the strict instructor to find Knot’s gaze on me. One eyebrow lifts, and the man turns to leave. Great. I’ve managed to humiliate myself twice in two days. Sitting up, I roll over to my knees and swear loudly, hitting my fists on the mat.
Several feet over, Maxen and Aaron are going at it, neither one of them having any trouble focusing on their efforts to best their opponent. Aaron seems to be especially motivated.
Aaron’s fighting is vicious but fluid. The man’s powerful body moves with a grace that defies logic. And apparently, I’m not the only one that notices. From my left, a group of women whisper about the match going on.
“God, I think I just got pregnant watching this. After today, I think men should always be required to spar shirtless.”
“Which one would you pick? I’d take Maxen… as often as I could get him.”
“Uh uh. He looks like he’d be high maintenance. I want Aaron. He’s got that laid back sexy. You know. The kind that could be ready at a moment’s notice and wouldn’t mind getting a little dirty.”
I watch the two men battle for a moment longer, drawn by the show of strength and skill. Then I lower my eyes to the mat, tuning out the women and the match. Spatch will bust my ass eventually, but for now, he’s leaving me to my own misery.
I remain on the mat long after everyone else has cleared out for the showers. Thankfully, no one attempted to talk to me as they left. Usually, at this point in the day, I’d be gearing up for shooting drills, but my head is too screwed up. I’m angry. Angry that I let Maxen’s words get to me, angry that he got in my head, and angry… because, fuck, I do want him.
Most of all, I’m angry that he wasn’t wrong about me. Regardless, he’s upset my world, which had been running smoothly before yesterday. And today was no better. And it will continue to get worse unless you get a handle on your shit.
Just this once, my inner bitch is right. I run a hand over my face and head for the range. At my equipment locker, I ignore all my usual loadout gear. All I want is my pistol, a target, and four full magazines.
The outer chamber of the range is dark as usual since I’m always the first one in. I slam my hand against the light panel and flinch at seeing the unexpected, lone figure leaning against the wall. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Maxen, still in his gym clothes, pushes off the wall and stalks forward. “Waiting for you.”
“Why? Is it not enough that I’m fucking up on the floor that you want to see how much you can throw off my aim?”
The man with the wolfish grin stops his advance and has the decency to look contrite. “You were frustrated on the floor today because of what I said. I apologize for that, but I wouldn’t take back the words even if I could. I meant them. You want me. I want you. You need to stop being so surprised by that.”
I close the distance between us and shove him against the wall with a firm hand on his sternum. “What I need is for you to get out of my head.”
Maxen keeps his gaze trained on me and says, “No, you should try getting out of yours.”
The heat from his skin seeps into my hand, which is still pressed against his hard chest. I should stop touching him. I should back away. I definitely shouldn’t just stand here watching as he lowers his head and brushes full lips against mine.
Maxen lingers for the briefest moment, his blue eyes still locked onto my shocked hazel ones. His breath whispers over my lips when he says, “I’m not trying to weaken you, Sadie. Actually, if we could ever stop dancing around this insane attraction we have, I’m convinced we could sharpen each other. But I’m not one to take from an unwilling woman. When you’re ready to stop pretending, you know where to find me.”
Maxen walks around me to exit the range door, and I sag forward as though I had been drawing strength from our brief connection. I’m frozen in place and don’t know if I’m angry still, turned on, or some strange combination of the two, and I don’t get much time to figure it out. Moments after Maxen leaves, the range door opens again, and the worst possible person walks in to see my flushed face. Aaron.
My best friend takes in my stunned features and glances back at the door. When he turns around again, a fire burns behind his eyes, painting strong emotion on his face.
Of course, I can’t read him. In a fight, I have no trouble gauging anger, menace, and hate. I often use an opponent’s body language and facial expressions to anticipate their next move. However, anything on the friendly side of the spectrum is like a foreign language to me. I’m absolutely clueless. As Maxen so confidently pointed out.
Unfortunately, Aaron doesn’t suffer such a handicap. He reads me like a book and knows me better than anyone else. Wanting to avoid the questions I see brewing, I set down my bag and start loading several magazines with nine-millimeter cartridges. I keep my eyes down and ask, “Is Brock still gloating over beating me?”
Aaron walks over and picks up one of the empty mags. After inspecting it for a moment, he pushes down the follower and inserts a round. “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him.”
He loads two more rounds and adds, “Are you having a problem with Gates?”
I focus hard on keeping my voice even and answer, “No. Why do you ask?”
“Because you looked like a new recruit out there the last two days.”
Feigning indifference, I shrug my shoulders, still keeping my eyes on my loader. “Maxen sparred with me because he thinks I rely too heavily on a presumed bias in fighting. He figured that if he didn’t act as I expected, I’d be paralyzed and lose. It turned out that he was right.”
