Page 17 of 4th Degree

“It’s the most common mistake people make and the hardest thing to adjust when you’re doing double leg takedowns,” he says as he starts down the steps. “The good news is, once you get a feel for how it should be done, it’ll feel natural.”

“I don’t think anything feels natural in this sport,” I murmur.

The corner of his lip twitches. “Hasn’t stopped you yet.”

I let out a heavy sigh. “I know but it’s incredibly irritating.”

His full grin appears. “Come on, I’ll help you fix it. Get in your stance.”

I do as he says, feeling the heat of his presence when he stops beside me on the mat.

God, I hope I don’t fall on my face again.

“You have to slow the move down. You’re trying everything too fast,” he says. “When you step forward, drop your knee down to the mat. Step, knee, then swing your other foot around the side to stand up. Focus on not leaning forward.” Taking up his own fight stance beside me, he demonstrates the move.

I suck in a deep breath. Step, knee, swing the other leg around. Got it.

Forcing myself to go slow, I do as he instructed. I step forward, then bring my knee down, trying to ignore the wobble in my leg. But by the time my other leg swings around and I stand up, I’m no longer in danger of falling on my face.

“Good. Now do it again.”

I do another rep, my movements slightly less shaky this time. On the third rep, I go a little quicker.

“Atta girl. Nice job.”

An unfamiliar tingle spreads through my body. I’m hesitant to lift my eyes and check his expression, but his words are so intoxicating that I can’t not see how he’s looking at me right now.

Sure enough, his expression is pleased. His eyes twinkle with pride, and his smile is genuine. If he’s aware of what his praise is doing to me, he doesn’t let on.

Maybe this is what every student feels when they please their coach?

The shot of confusion—and maybe some jealousy—tamps down on the heat running through my body. Slightly.

Enough that I work up the nerve to ask my question.

“Can I try one on you?”

His body goes rigid, tension lining every muscle. He glances at the door, and I wonder if he’s thinking that we’re alone in here, the gym probably close to cleared out by now.

But he nods stiffly anyway. And takes up a stance in front of me.

“Focus on your balance,” he instructs.

I nod, suddenly nervous. But I move into my stance and mentally work through it. Stepping forward, I go to my knee and reach to wrap my arms around Dominic’s legs.

“You’re too far away,” he says, his voice like gravel. “You have to be close to me to grip me up.”

God, is it always this hot in here? Why does this feel so different than when I do it during class?

Forcing myself to focus, I go through the move again: step, knee, drive my weight into him as I step up on the other side. And this time, I follow him down, determined to get the move right no matter how nervous I feel about being this close to the man.

He lets out a grunt from the impact.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” I exclaim, scrambling off. “I was trying to stay close?—”

“It’s okay, you did exactly what I said,” he says from his back. Leveling a hard look at me, he adds, “Don’t ever apologize during training. There’s no place for that here.”

I clasp my hands in my lap where I’m still kneeling on the ground. “Yes, sir.”

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