Chapter 26
When Natalie dropkicks the wiry dude in the black sweats, he falls to the floor in a graceful heap.
As if he’s practiced the move before.
“See?” I say, pointing at the video playing on her phone on Monday night at the dojo, McKeon Karate. “It’s like he’s done it before. It reads like an ad rather than a real-life situation.”
We sit cross-legged on the blue mats. She finished her classes for the night and asked me to meet her here to review the videos, since I worked late at Violet’s on the kitchen remodel. This is the only chance we’ve had all day to connect.
She tightens her ponytail, tugging on the strands.
Wearing her karate uniform, she looks tough and no-nonsense in the white pants and matching shirt, as well as the black belt.
Her feet, though, are adorably cute. They’re bare, and her toenails are painted in alternating shades of mint green and bright purple.
Just like she told me in Vegas she liked to do.
“It’s too slick, you mean?” she asks.
I tap my nose. “Bingo.”
“You think it needs to feel more authentic?”
“You’re trying to reach a broader audience with these videos. Inspire women to learn self-defense. You want the videos to feel more natural, in my opinion. Like this could happen and you’d be able to whip around and knock some fucking bastard to his knees.”
She stretches forward and flops her face down on the mat. “Thank God,” she says in a long exhale. “I thought you were going to say they were dull.”
“Ha. No,” I say, brandishing the phone. “This guy is just so Karate Kid. I watch this and I don’t think self-defense. I think two karate experts doing something I can never do. It’s very . . . choreographed.”
She sits up straight, turns to face me, and grabs my arm.
“I can do this, Wyatt. I can fix them. I’ve shown them to people here, and they all say they’re great, but I knew deep down they weren’t.
” She pokes my shoulder. “Thank you for being honest with me. I needed someone outside of the world of martial arts.”
I officially decide Natalie is one of the coolest people I know. I’ve never seen someone take criticism as well as she does. She’s not defensive; she’s not annoyed. She truly wants to make her videos the best they can be.
Also, look at us rocking it in the friendship department.
Note to self: Focusing on helping your employee pursue her passion is a much more noble use of your time than planning how to screw her senseless again.
Yup. This is how I can be a good guy. This is Wyatt post-greasy salad.
She stands and paces around the studio. It’s only us now. She’s locked up for the night. “Okay, so we want this to feel real. Like some guy just came up to me on the street.”
“Absolutely.”
“I’m walking along, he tries to grab me . . .” She reaches for my arm and tugs me up from the floor. “Do it.”
I blink. “What?”
“Attack me.” Her blue eyes are wild. “I have an idea.” She runs over to her phone, sets it up on a wooden chair at the edge of the mat, and taps the screen. “Let’s do this.”
“Wait,” I say, when it fully hits me what her plan is. I point at my chest. “I’m doing this with you?”
“The videos were too slick. You’ve never done karate before, right?”
“Right.”
“And you want to help me?”
“I do.”
“Let’s make it authentic,” she says, then moves in closer to me and parks her hands on my shoulders. “Be my guinea pig.”
And there’s no way I can say no to her. No way at all, and my yes has nothing to do with wanting her underneath me and everything to do with wanting to help her chase her dreams. “Okay, ninja girl. Make me your crash-test dummy.”
She takes my arm, turns away from me, and wraps it around her throat. “You’re about to choke me.”
“Nat, I’m not into that kind of play,” I chide.
Over her shoulder, she narrows her eyes, and they are a steely blue now. “Just do it, Hammer.”
I tighten my grip, and then in a split second, the breath is knocked out of me as she jabs an elbow in my stomach and throws me to the ground.
“Oomph.”
Splayed on the floor of the karate studio, I stare up at Natalie like a dazed cartoon character. Her bare foot is parked on my belly triumphantly, a military leader conquering the enemy.
“Well, yeah. Like that,” I say dryly.
“Should we see how that looked?”
She grabs the phone, kneels next to me, and plays the video. And hot damn. The woman is a beast. “You are fucking impressive.”
“We’re a good team,” she says, nudging me playfully. “You don’t know these moves, which makes it feel more natural. Like this is what could really happen if I were defending myself. I won’t full-on attack you, but I’ll do the moves and just hold back a little. Will you do more with me?”
“Do they all have to be surprise attacks?”
She pouts. “Did it hurt?”
I try to be tough. “Not really.”
“Then I have faith you can handle it.” She pops up, and I follow her, unsure what the next move is. But that’s the point. “Let’s do it. Let’s make it as real as it can be.”
I shrug happily. “Promise me one thing.”
She flinches momentarily when I say promise me, but then simply nods. “What is it?”
I cup my dick. “Don’t kick me in the balls.”
With a quick move, she reaches for the jewels but doesn’t quite touch—just darts her hand near enough to tempt me. An inch away, maybe. She brings her face close to mine and whispers sexily, “I promise I won’t hurt your beautiful balls.”
A bolt of lust charges through me. And while I’m glad she won’t hurt ’em, I can’t deny I’d really like her to play with them .
. . right about now. Dip her hand into my jeans, down inside my boxer briefs, and right the fuck over the goods.
I nearly groan as my imagination cuts loose on such a simple but smoking-hot image.
She’s fired up for karate, though, so I call cut on the porn reel the movie camera in my mind wants to shoot.
Bouncing on her toes, Natalie tells me how to go after her next. She walks across the mat, her back to me, and I sneak up from behind and try to drag her away.
She’s fast and furious, moving in a blur as she kicks me and sends me crumpling to the ground. I’m down on my hands and knees. I’m not wounded; I’m just winded because I’m surprised. She came at me so fast, like a sandstorm.
“Wouldn’t want to meet you in a parking garage.” I catch my breath.
When I raise my face, she beams at me. “Ready for more?”
“Hit me with your best shot, Frisky Mittens.”
And so she does. She gives me a simple direction then takes me down. Then she does it again in a whole new way. After twenty minutes of abuse, I’m lying on the blue mat, spent from that hell of a workout. She could take me in any battle. “You win,” I say, breathing hard.
“That was amazing.” After she switches off the camera, she flops down next to me and turns on her side. “But seriously. Are you okay?” She runs her hand along my arm.
I shudder from her touch, but do my best to hide the reaction. “Now the woman asks if I’m okay,” I say to the ceiling.
“But you are, right?”
I laugh and turn to look at her. “I swear, I’m fine.”
She grabs my arm in excitement. “You’re the best. You helped me so much. It means so much to me that you did this. You didn’t have to, but you did it anyway.”
Mission accomplished. I give myself a mental pat on the back for my laser focus on building her up, not screwing her sideways. “I’m glad I could do it. I might also be a glutton for punishment.”
“Be my glutton,” she says. Her face glows, and she looks healthy, radiant, energized. She’s totally in her element. It’s also incredibly hot, which is exceedingly dangerous.
So I say nothing.
Silence descends on us, the kind of quiet that’s rich with possibilities.
Somehow, saying nothing seems to suggest something else—the other things we could do right about now.
Her smile fades, but it’s not replaced with sadness.
Instead, she studies me intently, and I do the same with her.
Taking in the way her hair falls from the ponytail holder.
Registering how her chest rises with each breath.
Noticing how her blue eyes are darker when she looks at me this way.
It’s a look I recognize. One I want desperately. It’s how she looks before she kisses me. She nibbles on the corner of her lips and tiptoes her fingers up my shoulder, then snatches them away. “Sorry. I’m trying to be good.”
“Me, too,” I say, my voice dry.
Hers is a soft whisper. “It’s hard.”
I sigh. “So hard sometimes.”
“Is it working? Being good?”
“I want to be a good guy, Natalie.”
“You are a good guy, Wyatt. You’re here.”
I park my hands under my head, as if I’m cuffing them. “And that proves I’m succeeding?
She nods. “I think so.”
“You give me more credit than I deserve,” I say, and let my gaze drift to the ceiling. If I look at her, I’ll try to touch her. If I stare into those eyes another second, I’ll be lost in all this desire.
“You deserve more credit than you give yourself.” Her tone is earnest and firm, and it hooks into me.
“I wouldn’t be so sure I deserve any credit. You have no idea . . .”
She pushes up higher on her elbow. I can see her face now as she speaks. “No idea what? What it’s like to work beside someone you want? What it’s like to be inches away from him or her? What it’s like to have that person and then fight like hell to resist that person?”