20. Maxim
20
MAXIM
Three weeks later…
A ll I can focus on is Veronica. She stands in the center of the gym, dressed in tight workout leggings and a tank top, her arms crossed in an attempt to appear casual.
She’s trying not to look impressed, but her eyes keep darting to my muscles.
You’d think I’d be used to her body by now but it still drives me wild to just stare at her.
"Ready?" I ask, forcing myself to focus, leaning against the wall and folding my arms.
She narrows her eyes, her lips twitching in a challenge. "Ready to kick your ass again? Always."
I let out a low chuckle, gesturing for her to step closer. "You’ll need to do better than sarcasm if someone grabs you who isn’t pulling his punches. Remember what I taught you yesterday?"
She raises an eyebrow, stepping into the space I’ve cleared for us. "Sarcasm is my best weapon. Haven’t you heard? Words cut deeper than knives, they say."
"Not if you’re unconscious," I retort, gesturing for her to lift her hands.
I step behind her to adjust her stance, placing my hands firmly on her waist. She stiffens for a second before relaxing into the contact. "Feet shoulder-width apart,” she says. “I remember. Knees slightly bent. Keep my center of gravity low."
“Do it, don’t say it.”
She squares her stance again, adjusting her weight just enough to tell me she’s about to try something new. I keep my expression neutral, circling her slowly, waiting for her to make her move.
“You’re telegraphing,” I say, my voice even. “That’s why I keep beating you. Stop thinking so much.”
She rolls her eyes, her lips curling into that infuriatingly smug smile. “Thinking isn’t the problem,” she shoots back, her tone laced with sarcasm. “You are.”
I smirk, amused despite myself. Her wit is sharp, sharper than her punches, and it grates on me in a way I can’t quite describe. “Excuses already? You’re better than that.”
She huffs, resuming her stance, but there’s something different in the way she looks at me now. A spark of mischief flickers in her eyes, and I can’t tell if she’s plotting or just trying to get under my skin. “You’re not as unshakable as you believe, Maxim,” she says, her voice teasing.
I arch a brow, silently daring her to prove it. “Show me, then,” I say, motioning for her to attack. “If you think you can.”
She lunges forward, her movements sharper than before, but still predictable. I step to the side, dodging easily, and catch her wrist to stop her momentum. “Sloppy,” I say, releasing her. “Again.”
Her jaw tightens, but she resets her stance, determination etched across her face. “You know, you’re a lot less fun when you’re being all serious and broody like this.”
“And you’re a lot less effective when you’re talking instead of fighting,” I reply, smirking. “Focus . ”
She mumbles something under her breath but goes for another strike, this time aiming for my side. I block her again, twisting her arm just enough to force her off balance. She grumbles in frustration, resetting once more.
But then something changes. Her stance shifts slightly, and she pivots, angling her body in a way that feels deliberate—too deliberate.
My eyes follow the movement, drawn to the curve of her hips as she turns, the way her ass moves with the motion. It’s subtle, but I notice. And she knows I notice.
That’s when it happens.
Using my brief distraction, she twists sharply, hooking my arm and leveraging her weight in a way I didn’t anticipate.
Before I can react, my footing slips, and she sweeps her leg out, knocking me off balance, using my bad hip against me.
I land hard on the mat, the impact jarring, and before I can recover, she’s on me. Her knee presses into my chest as she leans over me, grinning like she’s just won the lottery.
“Gotcha,” she says, her voice breathless and triumphant.
For a moment, I can only stare up at her, stunned. Not just because she managed to take me down, but because of how she did it.
The flicker of satisfaction in her eyes, the way her lips curl into that cocky grin—it’s all calculated, deliberate. She used my distraction against me, and worse, she enjoyed it.
A low chuckle rumbles from my chest, surprising even me. “Smart,” I admit, my voice rough. “But dirty.”
Her grin widens as she shifts her weight, keeping me pinned. “Dirty wins fights,” she replies, her tone teasing. “You told me that yesterday, didn’t you?”
I grip her hips, my fingers pressing into her skin just enough to remind her who’s really in control. “There’s a difference between dirty and reckless,” I say, my tone low. “And you’re crossing the line.”
She leans closer, her breath warm against my face. “Reckless is fun,” she murmurs, her words dripping with defiance. “And it worked.”
I let her hold her victory for a beat longer before gripping her waist and flipping her off me in one fluid motion.
She lands on her back with a soft thud, and I’m over her in an instant, my arms caging her in. Her eyes widen briefly, but then that spark of mischief returns, and she smirks up at me.
“Touched a nerve, did I?” she asks, her voice lilting with amusement.
“You’re dangerous,” I say, more to myself than to her. My gaze drops to her lips for a fraction of a second before I force it back up to her eyes. “But you’re playing with fire.”
She shrugs beneath me, her smirk never faltering. “Fire’s more fun than ice.”
I push off her, standing and offering her a hand. She takes it, her grip firm as I pull her to her feet. There’s something electric in the air between us, a tension neither of us is willing to acknowledge fully.
As she grabs her water bottle, she glances over her shoulder, her tone casual but cutting. “Guess I’m not the only one who needs to stop thinking so much.”
I watch her as she walks away, the sway of her hips deliberate, knowing exactly what it’s doing to me. She’s not just learning to fight—she’s learning how to manipulate, how to distract, how to win. And she’s damn good at it. Too good.
She huffs, her smirk softening into something close to a grin as she turns to face me. “Fine, Sensei. Teach me more of your deadly ways.”
“Sensei?” I arch a brow, stepping back to motion her forward. “I like the sound of that. Now, let’s see if you can listen.”
She lunges forward, aiming a sloppy strike at my chest. I block it effortlessly, catching her wrist in midair. “Sloppy. Again.”
She rolls her eyes but resets her stance, lunging again. This time her movements are sharper, more deliberate. I block her strike once more, twisting her arm slightly and forcing her off balance.
“Again,” I say, releasing her.
By the third attempt, her movements are improving, her strikes more calculated. Sweat beads on her forehead, and her breathing quickens, but she doesn’t complain.
I stop for a drink. “Don’t think one lucky move makes you a pro,” I tell her. “You need to exude confidence—not just on the mat, but in every step you take. Your posture, your presence, even how you walk into a room. It all matters.”
“Exude confidence?” She snorts, turning to face me fully. “What am I supposed to do, walk around tossing banknotes at people?”
“Make them believe you might,” I reply, stopping in front of her. “Because if you don’t believe you’re in control, no one else will either. Now, shoulders back, chin up.”
She does as I say, mimicking my stance but exaggerating it slightly. “Do I look confident yet, or do I just look constipated?”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Better. Now try again.”
This time, she lunges with precision, her strike more controlled. I block her easily but nod in approval. “Good. Now imagine your opponent isn’t me but Marco. You’re not trying to outmuscle them—you’re using their strength against them.”
“Marco, huh?” she mutters, stepping back to reset. “Alright, Goliath, let’s try this again.”
There’s a spark in her now, a mixture of determination and defiance that reminds me of myself when I first started training. It’s... impressive.
After a particularly strong move, she steps back, hands on her hips, grinning up at me. “Not bad, huh? You might even start getting scared of me soon.”
I smirk, shaking my head. “Scared? No. Impressed? Maybe.”
She winks, her grin widening. “Good. You’d better stay impressed, because next time, I’m taking you down for real.”
“Next time?” I tilt my head, stepping closer, close enough to see the flicker of challenge in her eyes. “We’ll see about that. But for now, we’re done. Good work.”
As she grabs her water bottle, she glances over her shoulder, that familiar playful glint in her gaze. “Admit it—you’re starting to think I might be a natural.”
“Natural pain in my ass, maybe,” I call back, earning a laugh as we leave the gym together.