Page 24 of A New Days Don

My chest twists with unresolved craving, and I step back into the shadows as she enters a small building with a glowing sign that says “Fergusen’s Martial Arts.”

As if I would let her train with anyone else. A wry chuckle works its way out of me at the very thought. She can train at her precious Fergusen’s Martial Arts, but she would be smart to ensure I am always her partner while she is there. I would hate for the gym to lose all its loyal members.

Chapter 10

Mila

The second I step foot into the gym, the soft foam mats under my bare feet and the scent of sweat and adrenaline welcome me into the space. I remember when I first signed up at Fergusen’s. I had done so with the understanding that this boutique gym was the least popular martial arts gym in Las Vegas, while still maintaining a high standard at the various tournaments across the city. It took me months to stop panicking mid-class and running out of the gym with my tail between my legs, but the coaches here are patient and understanding. Once I had enough exposure therapy to the adrenaline that would pump through my veins every time someone would get close and try to trap me, I could make it through classes. That was five years ago.

Today, I hold a purple belt in jiu-jitsu and a blue armband, optional to wear, in muay Thai. I have participated in many other self-defence classes, but those are the two I focused most of my time and energy on. Jiu jitsu, to understand how to grapple and get away from someone when they try to trap me in their hold and muay Thai, so I can protect myself offensively without having to wrestle someone to the ground like I would in jiu jitsu.

Today’s class for jiu jitsu is no-Gi, meaning we come in spandex and shorts and work on submitting people without sleeves, collars, or pants to grab onto. It’s about manipulating the body. Still to this day, this style of jiu-jitsu sends little electric pulses of panic through my veins. With the lack of clothing and the strong grips directly on my limbs and body, it makes my mind whir, and it’s hard to stay focused.

I close my eyes, focusing on my breathing to calm my racing heart, and flow through a few stretches to warm my muscles and open my joints. Partway through my cat-cow stretches, I feel it. The same sensation crawling up my spine that I had outside the gym tingles and pulses inside me again. Unease coils in my gut, and I open my eyes, searching the room for whoever is staring at me.

Half a dozen people have started on their pre-workout routine, but none of them are the cause of the unsettling weight. It isn’t until I look toward the door that a gasp—my gasp—fills the air around me. In the doorway stands the daunting Massimo Bianchi with his dark, intense eyes pinning me where I stretch. He is dressed for jiu-jitsu, wearing his own rash guard and shorts. Each drool-worthy cord of muscle on his calves and thighs is on full display while his biceps and thick shoulders threaten to shred the shirt painted on him.

What the hell is he doing here?

I haven’t seen or spoken to him in over a week. Not that I was expecting to see or speak with him, although when Anita showed up at the station with an SUV full of confidential files, I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. The last time we spoke, we had parted ways at the small cafe where I was having brunch with Karmin.

My mind keeps playing tricks on me. No matter where I am or what I’m doing, he continues to infiltrate my thoughts, and I swear I could feel his heavy gaze on me all week. Even if he hasn’t been around.

Now, seeing him standing here, in my gym, it's almost too much. My body wars with the way my mind wants to throw up a protective wall. I don’t know what the rest of me wants from him, but all these new feelings are overwhelming at best. At worst, they are another panic attack waiting to happen.

The awful part is, I don’t even care. Each new emotion and feeling bombarding me is so addictive that I want more of them. I want to slip into the insanity and drown in how good they seem to feel buzzing through my veins and making my stomach dip and flip just by looking at Massimo.

Gus Fergusen rushes in behind him, hair awry and looking winded from whatever held him up. Massimo’s eyes glaring at the man as he brushes past, but he doesn’t say a thing as his gaze returns to me. His tongue runs along his teeth gently as he wets his lips. Locked on his prey, he strides towards me with a glint in his eye that makes me shift, but not in an unsettling way.

No, instead of the chill that usually rushes my veins, warmth coats my body. Before I can question him, Fergusen speaks, “Sorry, I’m late. Let’s get right into warming up. I want you all to find a partner and flow through moves. Nothing intense. One person starts in a dominant position, the other tries to sweep them and take their dominant position, then the other will fight for it.”

I can feel Massimo’s intense gaze, the same one that has haunted my waking and dream life, burning into me from beside me as I look around the room for my typical partners. Juliet has already partnered with Darrio, and when I make eye contact with Elyssa, I am about to call her over, but a warm, strong hand stops me from raising my hand.

“I don’t think so, Mila.” The low voice murmurs from beside me, sending little shockwaves of something I can’t quite identify down my spine. My eyes widen on his hand, then trail down to my lap where the buzz is slowly pulsing—weak, but alive. I don’t know whether to panic or lean into the feeling, so I fight it, forcing my body to stop whatever weird reaction it’s having despite how badly I want more of it.

“What?” I look up to his analytical eyes, and he tilts his head.

“Get on top.” His voice is rough, gravelly, and sends little, wild sparks through me. My mouth opens as he reclines, his back pressing into the red and blue mats.

He smirks something sinful at me, and I slowly back away from him. This wouldn’t be the first time I rolled with a man, but I am selective with who I trust. Gus, Lourenzo, and Matt are the only three, and only because each of them has proven themselves to be respectful and careful with how they handle me.

I don’t know Massimo. I only just met him.

Something in the daring glint in his eye catches my attention, drawing my focus in on him as a burst of agitation with myself spikes through me. Before I can stop myself, I kick a leg out over him, letting it rest on top of his strong washboard abs. My heart rate threatens to spike as it skitters in my chest. Massimo pulls my leg, balancing me on top of him, his warmth beneath me making my core light up.

I gasp, my cheeks turning scarlet as I look away from him toward the coach. He presses play on the stereo, and a remix I am not familiar with begins, dampening the quiet rumble of chatter in the room.

Coach looks to us, everyone eying him and awaiting the start of our warmup, “Five minutes on the clock, starting… Now.”

Massimo pulls my arm down, my hand landing flat beside his head. Dark, demanding eyes pulling me into their orbit and threatening me to stay. My arms feel weak as I try to hold myself above him, a sign that usually suggests impending panic, but as I wait, panting above him, nothing comes.

“Ready?” Massimo hums from below me, his lilting voice teasing yet also slightly breathless. A part of me is relieved that he feels even an ounce of what is going on inside of me right now.

I furrow my brows as I force my body to calm and still. Not from panic, no, a foreign feeling that I can’t quite place. An anxious pit forms in my stomach.

Wary. Unsure. Tumultuous.

I press myself forward, the moves coming to me like second nature, and I make myself as heavy as I can. Massimo gives me a look I can’t read, I don’t have time to question it before his knee is trying to get between us with a smooth, effortless buck of his hips. I would usually hook my feet in to keep myself solid, but a zing runs up my spine, shocking me and making me quietly yelp a sound only heard between the two of us.