Page 8 of 4th Degree

It’s the beard and facial hair, yes, but mostly it’s the wisdom in his eyes and the patience in his expression. He’s not attacking Kane in the same desperate way that his fighter is coming after him. He’s clearly relying on his experience and technical knowledge, and beating Kane with his smarts rather than his physical abilities.

And he is beating Kane. It’s slight, but Coach is edging out Kane with the number of shots landed.

I don’t know how long I stand there and stare. Normally, I’d be fascinated by the fight itself, analyzing the techniques and trying to see the strategy behind them, but for the life of me I can’t tear my gaze away from him. From his rippling muscles, the sweat sliding down his skin, the primal feel of his movements. I’m so mesmerized by the sight before me that my body heats and my breaths come quicker, and?—

The shrill sound of the bell snaps me out of my haze. I’m essentially stuck in quicksand as the guys bump gloves, because I haven’t moved an inch by the time they notice me.

Coach’s brow furrows. “Skylar? What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. I feel like a deer caught in the headlights—if the deer felt true attraction for the first time in its life. “I didn't mean to interrupt. I know I’m early, and that the gym isn’t technically open, but the door was unlocked, and I was coming in to ask if it was okay to?—”

“Skylar,” he interrupts. “It’s okay, we’re done. I didn’t realize I had left the door unlocked. Not your fault.” Turning toward Kane, he tells his fighter, “I want you to finish up with ten minutes with the weighted jump rope and fifty sit-ups on the incline bench. You'll spar again on Saturday, but after that, we're doing bag work and conditioning only until the fight. Got it?”

Kane nods his acknowledgement, then turns and stalks toward the heavy bag room.

Leaving me with a shirtless and sweaty coach.

“I really am sorry for interrupting.” Where on earth is this nervousness coming from?

Dominic—Coach—turns to me as he starts to unwrap his gloves, holding my gaze. And when he lifts one of them to his mouth and bites into the leather so he can pull it off, I swear my heart stops beating.

“Skylar, it's fine.” He tugs the other glove off. “Excited to train again?”

I’m too flustered by the sight of him to do anything but nod.

Tossing his gloves to the side, he moves over to the sidelines where his water bottle is. I try not to watch as he chugs it, but that becomes next to impossible when some of it drips from his lips. My attention zeroes in on the water drop as it slides down his neck and chest.

“Which class do you like better?” he asks, reaching into his gym bag again. “Muay Thai or jiu-jitsu?”

“Uh…I don’t know. I can’t pick.”

When he straightens, his expression is amused. “You’re not even trying to pick a favorite.”

“Of course I’m not trying. That’s like picking a favorite kid.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. And I shouldn’t feel as bummed as I do when I realize he’s pulled a shirt out of his bag.

I bid a silent farewell to his beautifully toned, sweat-drenched muscles as he quickly tugs it over his head.

“Seeing you excited makes me remember why I started coaching,” he muses.

I focus back on his face, hoping he didn’t catch me ogling. “Why’s that?”

His eyes lock with mine. “To make people love the sport as much as I do and to help them achieve all of their goals within it.”

Admiration twines with attraction. I knew when I signed up that I was going to be learning from someone with a lot of knowledge, but seeing that Coach cares just as much about his students’ successes as they do is special.

Our eye contact snaps when the sound of leather hitting a heavy bag starts up. Coach's attention travels to the other room, then back to me. “If you want to get started early, you can warm up out here. I'm teaching class tonight.”

He waits for my nod of affirmation, then walks to the other side of the room to grab a foam roller. Lying down on the mat, he starts to massage his muscles, effectively ending our conversation.

Which is just as well, because the sight of him flipping onto his front and rolling out his quads, his hips moving in a thrusting motion, has my mouth drying and any coherent thoughts leaving my mind.

4

COACH

I don’t let myself talk to her, but I still watch Skylar out of the corner of my eye.

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