Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
I grunt as the bar hits the rack with a solid clang.
Three hundred, up and back effortlessly.
I sit up, dragging a towel across my forehead, wiping the sweat at my hairline. My breathing evens out, falling into rhythm.
The gym used to just be about my appearance; now it is preparation.
A place to work it out of my system before it tears through me.
On the other side of the gym, Leonardo is back to helping Cassidy adjust her stance, his voice confident and precise as he corrects her form.
I stay where I am, not missing a single move.
I know she didn’t become this; she unleashed it.
That thought still weighs on me more than anything I lift.
For a fleeting moment, my mind goes there, what could’ve happened if I hadn’t found her.
The thought squeezes painfully at my chest.
“Tyler!” Leonardo barks out my name, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I’m on my feet before I can think, advancing directly to the mat.
He gestures between us. “Alright. No showing off. Nothing dirty. You both rely too much on weapons. Close range. You need to end it with your hands.”
Cassidy turns to me, that look already there. Eager, bloodthirsty, like she already knows how this is going to end.
A wolfish grin tugs at the corner of my mouth.
“Try not to cry when I take you down.” Rolling my shoulders loose.
Her lips twitch, “You’re really starting with that?”
“Just setting expectations.”
“Yeah?” she drifts closer, voice dropping. “Lower them.”
We circle. Cassidy’s eyes never leave mine.
The mat muted beneath our feet, the rest of the world disappearing until it’s just her and me, both locked into our breath, movement, and timing.
Light on our feet, measured, waiting for one of us to break first.
She feints left, fast.
Her body hits mine, driving forward, sending me down before I fully react.
I twist, break free, backing off just enough to reset.
Adrenaline spikes, my pulse kicking hard and immediately, all of my senses are in sync.
“Getting slow,” she breathes out playfully.
“Getting cocky,” I fire back.
I fake high then drop low, catching her legs and taking her down.
We slam into the mat.
I pin her for half a second, and that’s all she needs.
She shoves, rotates, breath sharp, her gaze holds mine, like she’s enjoying this way too much.
I grin, letting her think she has the upper hand.
“Alright,” she pants, chuckling, “what do I get when I win?”
“When,” I echo. “Confident.”
“Realistic.”
I lean in, my voice growing quieter, “Dinner. Anywhere you want.”
She scoffs. “Boring.”
“Alright, fine, your pick then.”
Her eyes brighten with competitive fire. No words are exchanged, but the message is clear. Challenge accepted.
She moves again, tightening around me, forcing me into her pace now.
I lunge first this time and catch her mid-step.
We roll, shifting and fighting for control.
“Come on, Chase,” she whispers near my ear, breath warm, taunting. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”
“Oh, I’ve got better.” Securing my hold, flattening her against the mat but only for a moment.
She pivots her hips, explosive and unexpected, breaking my balance just enough, and then she flips it.
“Still waiting,” she breathes.
I laugh, breathing heavier now. “You talk a lot for someone about to lose.”
“Then make me.”
She presses in, trying to stabilize control.
I brace, push, roll, and break free, still on the mat just before she can position me in place.
We split apart again, pace picking up, every move intentional.
“You’re getting predictable,” she jests.
“That ego of yours is getting bigger by the day.”
“Winning will do that.”
I tip my chin up. “You’re not winning.”
Her brow lifts slyly. “No?”
I don’t answer, instead, I move.
Low this time, I manage to throw her off guard.
I catch her legs clean and drive forward, taking her down again. She hits the mat with a sharp burst of air. I follow her down. Before she can react, I’m on top of her, pinning her shoulders to the canvas.
“Now?” I ask, my breath rougher.
Her gaze dips to my mouth, holding there, heat flashes in her eyes as she bites on her lower lip.
“Still not impressed.”
I shake my head, chuckling. “You’re impossible.”
“You love it.”
I bridge the gap between us, my voice filled with desire, “Yeah, I do.”
Without warning, she pivots hard, and her leg hooks around mine, trapping it.
Her arm slides under mine, twisting and locking me in place.
I bear down, increasing the pressure.
She counters harder.
Until pain spikes sharply through my arm, unforgiving, stealing my breath. I freeze, every muscle going rigid.
Fuck, she’s got me locked in clean with a perfect arm bar.
I exhale once, throwing my head with a quiet laugh and tap out.
She releases immediately, sitting up with a satisfied look that’s almost smug.
“You let me win!” she accuses me, regarding me with suspicion.
I push up onto my elbows. “If I let you win, you wouldn’t have had to work that hard.”
She snatches her towel, wipes her face, and throws one at me without looking. “I still think you folded.”
“I adapted.”
“You lost.”
I smirk. “Temporarily.”
She turns back to me, lifting her chin slightly. “So, my reward?”
I stand, nearing her, “You’re really not going to let that go, are you?”
“Not a chance.”
Invading her space, I reply, “You should be careful what you ask for.”
Her eyes darken, daring me, “You should be careful what you promise.”
Then she goes and gathers her things.
“I’ll think of something creative,” she quips over her shoulder, already walking to the locker room.
A chuckle rumbles through my chest despite myself.
“Don’t worry,” I yell after her. “If you don’t, I’ve got ideas.”
She glances back once, a smirk still plastered on her face, then disappears inside.
I stand there, longer than I should.
Then turn toward the men’s locker room.
I shrug it off; she earned that win.
But tonight, the way I plan on pinning her has nothing to do with training.