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“Yep,” I answer, not giving his curiosity anything to munch on.
Leaving Cade wondering, I sprint from the gym to the rear hallway exit. From there, I watch Birdie reach her car, ready to jump in mine to follow her. My plan changes when she grabs a duffle bag from the trunk and heads back inside.
On a hunch, I race to the training floor to wait. If Birdie doesn’t show soon, I’ll try the gym, hoping Cade has split. If it turns out that Birdie is meeting someone, I’ll back off and try again later.
At three minutes on the dot, Birdie walks into the training room dressed in Mickey Mouse leggings and a t-shirt. She looks a little intimidated and a lot lost. After a bit of deliberation, she approaches one of the punching bags tentatively and takes a few swings. She’s never done this before.
I know why she’s doing it now. Last night, whatever was going on, must have scared her. That’s a good sign, at least. She’s not used to dealing with assholes like the prick that grabbed her. So, Birdie’s either hit a string of bad luck, or whatever she’s into is new. Either way, she won’t cause much damage with the blows she’s dealing to that bag.
This begs the question, if it’s training Birdie wants, why isn’t she asking for it? She could easily get Spatch or Sadie to work with her, but she obviously hasn’t asked. It can’t be because she’s shy. Though she is, Birdie has known these people for years. Besides, at my most monstrous, she found me in the woods and didn’t hesitate to manhandle me to her car so that she could fix my bloody wounds.
My guess is she won’t ask because Birdie is into something she’s trying to keep hidden, something she managed to keep from Sadie. I plan to figure out what it is before she gets herself killed. And I have an in right now.
I step through the door and purposefully sneak up on Birdie. I know the woman doesn’t have any military training, but damn. I’ve gotten to within four feet of her, and she still hasn’t noticed. Risking a couple more steps, I lean in, calling her name sharply.
Birdie yelps and rounds on me, swinging her fist as she does. Grabbing her wrist and subduing her is too easy. Her eyes are feral at first, and her jaw grinds once she realizes who’s got her. “What the hell, Bash?”
I let her go quickly, and she begins pacing in a circle with her hand over her heart. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
“Your form needs work,” I say by way of an answer.
Birdie’s jaw drops, but then her arms cross, and she juts out a hip with a bit of flair. “There is nothing wrong with my body.”
Her words and her actions draw my eyes over the length of her, and I have to say that I agree. The flush of her cheeks in this tantrum makes me wonder if she turns the same color after an orgasm. The business clothes she always wears, even the oversized sweatshirt last night, hide a luscious body. Shapely legs flare at the hips just right. Her cropped Minnie shirt teases a sliver of a soft waist. And you’re staring, you idiot.
Overall, I’d say her body is perfect. Doing so with actual words would not be a wise move. Instead, I shake my head and drop into a proper fighting stance, gesturing with my eyes that this is what I’m talking about.
After a moment, I return to rest position and demonstrate. “Feet shoulder width apart. Slide your dominant foot straight back. You don’t want your feet to be aligned, or a surprise attacker could easily knock you down from the side.”
Birdie’s angry, suspicious posture gradually relaxes, but not to the point of being an eager participant. “Thanks for the lesson. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“No. My plans are working out pretty much like I hoped.”
The attitude and defensiveness return in full force. “What exactly does that mean?”
“I volunteered to be your bodyguard.”
“You what?!” Shock and disgust distort her pretty face before anger settles in once again. Damn. I wouldn’t have thought my presence would be so abhorrent. “To whom did you volunteer and why?” she demands. Birdie’s hands fly as she speaks, making her breasts dance in workout clothes that weren’t made to handle such ample endowments.
It’s a struggle to remain focused on her face because Birdie has brought her whole body into the argument. “To no one but myself. The why is because that asshole may decide he doesn’t want to leave things the way they went down last night. I also figure you feel the same way, or else you wouldn’t be here.”
“Pfft. For all you know, I work out here every day,” she fires back.
I chuckle and shake my head. “There’s no way. Anyone training here for more than five minutes wouldn’t still be that bad.”
Birdie stutters and stammers at the insult. “Fine. You happened to catch me working off some steam at the end of a rough day, some of which was your fault.”
She advances on me, poking a finger into my chest. “By the way, where do you get off insinuating to Sadie that I’m a prostitute or dealing drugs?”
“I didn’t. All I told Sadie was that something seemed off. Since she didn’t come back with any revelations after her talk with you, I figured either you gave a convincing act to satisfy her or there really is nothing going on. In either case, I thought it would be a good idea to—”
“What? Spy on me?”
“No. Like I said, in case that guy decided to try whatever he was trying again. And since you’re here, I know you’re worried about the same thing.”
Birdie rolls her eyes, but there’s no missing the fear she’s trying so hard to hide. “That guy rattled me, sure. Who wouldn’t feel that way after meeting a guy that turns out to be a total creep?”
“A well-trained somebody that can kick the creep’s ass.”
