Page 40 of 4th Degree

I nod in answer, hearing her age in the comment for the first time since I met her. But it’s an innocent kind of reminder—one that makes me think more about giving her that kind of opportunity, rather than highlighting that she hasn’t had it before.

“I guess that’s one of the benefits of fighting in the big leagues, huh?” she wonders out loud. Then she gives me a mischievous grin. “Or at least, it is when you’re competing during a decade when fighting is popular enough to warrant being sent to London instead of the city with the world’s largest teapot.”

Since I’m currently stopped at a stoplight, I make it a point to unlock the passenger door with a loud click. “Guess we’re not even making it to the prison.”

She chuckles. “I’m up here on the right.”

The mood in the car sobers at that. It’s late enough that the streets are packed with cars parked in for the night, so I have to pull over into the crosswalk.

“Thanks for letting me drive you,” I say hesitantly. “I know you’re capable of getting home by yourself, and of smacking down anyone who tries to start something”—she huffs a laugh, giving me the courage to continue—“but it makes me feel better to see you get home safe and sound.”

Skylar glances at the townhouse we’re parked in front of. I want to look at her place, maybe get a little more insight into Skylar’s life outside of the gym, but I can’t take my attention off of her long enough to do that.

After a moment, she turns to face me fully. “Thanks for the ride. You didn’t have to, but I really do appreciate it.”

I hold her gaze and try to get a read on what she’s thinking. Does she hate that I know where she lives now? Did I overstep? Did I just become the creepy coach who pushed for something he shouldn’t have?

But when she continues to look at me, giving me the chance to memorize her expression, I know she’s not uncomfortable. Not even a little bit.

That’s not fear in her eyes—there are no nerves or discomfort. There’s no desperation to get out of my car and out of this situation that shouldn't happen for so many reasons.

She's giving me the same look I remember so clearly.

The look that had me touching her.

Her chest is rapidly rising and falling, and her pupils have blown wide. She's staring so intently into my eyes that I have a sneaking suspicion she's really just trying not to look elsewhere. And when her focus drops to my lips, I know I'm right.

Fuck.

My own gaze travels over every inch of her face. From her striking green eyes, to her freckled cheeks, to her plush pink lips that are parted slightly.

As my grip tightens on the steering wheel, it suddenly feels like it's a thousand degrees in the car. I can't breathe, can't look away from this untouchable girl who's sitting inches away from me. Not just because she's half my age, but also because she's my student, and basically my employee, and this is so. fucking. wrong.

And yet, when I start to lean forward—because I'm mesmerized, and I want to taste her, or, fuck, maybe just be closer to her—there isn't a chance in hell I can fight this charge between us.

I think she’s moving closer, too. And now neither of us are breathing, and there's barely an inch between our lips, and I can practically taste her?—

The sound of a dog barking just outside of my car startles us apart.

Skylar jumps from fright, then looks around for the close sound. I can see the owner over her shoulder, the woman who’s walking a tiny little dog that noticed Brutus drooling out of my back window.

The older lady pulls her dog away, embarrassed at the incessant yipping. But when she looks into the car to wave her apology, and she notices Skylar and me—alone, parked on the street at 11:30 p.m., sitting way too close together—a look of confusion, and then disapproval, crosses her face.

With a judgmental huff, she pulls on her dog's leash and keeps walking down the street.

The car feels heavy with our silence. I can't think of a single thing to say right now. I'm confused and disappointed in my lack of control, yet so fucking annoyed at the interruption. All I can do is grip my steering wheel with both hands and grind my teeth in frustration.

“I should probably get going,” comes Skylar's quiet voice after a moment. I hear her shuffling her jacket in her lap, but I can't bring myself to look at her.

After another second, she pulls on the door handle to get out. That sound is what snaps me out of my frozen state, and what reminds me that I shouldn't be a total dick.

I'm out of my car and opening the trunk before she can round the back. Pulling her gym bag out, I finally lift my gaze to hers.

She looks… uncertain. Just as confused as I am. But there isn't a hint of embarrassment or regret on her face.

“Thanks again,” she says, holding my eyes.

“You're welcome,” I force out, my voice like gravel.

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