Page 45 of 4th Degree

Skylar digs around in her bag for a second, then straightens and hands something over to Lucy. I’m close enough that I can hear their exchange.

“What’s this?” Lucy asks, turning the small vial over in her hand.

“They’re CBD drops,” Skylar explains. “My mom swore they were little miracle drops. Any time she needed something anti-inflammatory, this is what she reached for.”

Lucy’s eyes go wide, and she tries to hand them back to Skylar. “I can’t take this, they’re your mom’s. I’m sure she needs them more than I do for my silly little headaches.”

Skylar’s shaking her head before she even finishes, and she pushes the vial back toward Lucy. “She can’t take them anymore. They mess with her new meds, so they’ve just been sitting around the house. Take them. There’s still a third of it left, so use it as you finish the rest of your physical therapy.”

Lucy still looks skeptical, but she pockets the vial.

“Thank you,” she tells Skylar. “You’re a good teammate. And friend. I’m glad you’re here.”

Skylar smiles, her voice soft when she says, “Me too.”

“And I’m sorry about your mom,” Lucy adds softly. “If you ever need any help, with anything, you know we’re all here for you, right?”

I see the sheen in Skylar’s eyes even from here. She swallows roughly and nods.

Just then, Tristan calls that class is starting. As the girls take their place on the mat, I move over to the reception desk.

I work as they train. But every so often, my attention drifts over to Skylar, to where she’s paired with a new girl. It’s her very first class, and she’s clearly nervous. She’s listening intently to Max’s instructions, but she’s trying to fly through every step all at once and inevitably confusing herself more.

Skylar, who’s partnered with her, tries to talk her through the move again. I can hear her soothing voice even from here. She’s patient as she repeats the steps for the girl, as she walks her through each of them one at a time. She barely gets any reps in herself because she spends two thirds of the round letting the other girl work.

God, this girl. This wonderful, beautiful, selfless girl.

And…I’m an idiot. She knows exactly what she wants. She is unapologetically herself. So thinking she only wants me because we’re forbidden is not only a cop-out on my end, but also an insult to her.

I become mesmerized by her for the rest of the class. I watch as she helps her partner, as she buckles down and gets her own work in—as she throws everything she has into her training, while still being a kind and helpful teammate. She’s incredible.

I don’t know when it happens, but my guilt over putting a boundary between us morphs to anger that I need to. She’s incredible. She’s incredible as a student, as an athlete—as a person. I want her. I want to spend time with her, to talk to her, to be more than just her coach.

Why does she have to be everything I want?

My anger becomes directed at the universe, for taunting me with something I can’t have. Because I know it’s a bad idea to pursue anything with her. It’s just a fact. And yet…I’m fully aware that I’m not going to be able to hold this professional boundary. There’s just no way. She’s too perfect.

And that's even before I remember that today is one of the days I give Skylar a private lesson.

After classes have ended, I find her sitting on the edge of the mat, patiently waiting for me to start our lesson. As soon as she sees me toeing my shoes off, she stands from her chair and hurries to meet me in the center of the mat.

“Your passing skills need work,” I start, knowing my words are harsh but completely unable to do anything about it. I’m vibrating with the chaos that’s coming from wanting to be near her but knowing I shouldn’t, as well as needing to be near her and knowing I can’t.

The complexity makes me meaner than I intend to be.

“I’ll show you the move first, then you can practice,” I say, pointing at the mat where I want her to lie down. It isn’t until she sucks in a breath and goes down to the mat that I realize how much it looks like I just ordered her to my feet.

And if I had any hope of banishing last week from my brain, this moment makes that hope disappear in a heartbeat.

I’ve always been confused when people ask me if jiu-jitsu feels sexual. There are top and bottom positions, yes, and God knows I’ve been stuck in a position more than once where someone is just sitting on my head, but I’ve never, not once, thought about it in a sexual way. This is a sport, a violent sport, where I’m basically simulating murder in the form of a chess match. There’s nothing even remotely arousing about it.

But right now, for the first time in my twenty plus year career, I’m fighting to keep my dick from getting hard.

As Skylar settles on her back and spreads her legs to give me space to kneel between them, I make peace with the fact that there isn’t a chance in hell this couldn’t be considered sexual. Because I’m now climbing on top of the girl I can’t stop fantasizing about, the one invading every one of my dreams and making me wake in a tangle of sweaty sheets.

I mentally talk myself through the drill I intended when I walked in here. Mentally reciting the records and stats of every fighter in the gym. I do everything I can to put myself back in the professional headspace I’ve always settled into so seamlessly.

“I want you to get more comfortable putting your knee against their butt so you can break their guard,” I force out. I let her lock her legs around my waist, but try to keep my weight upright to put some distance between us. Normally, space is the last thing you want in this sport, but right now, I’m praying for it. Decided on a drill because of it.

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