Page 31 of Choke Hold

Luca chuckles as he joins me at the closet, reaching in to pull out a pale pink and purple hoodie, holding it up to me as he tilts his head in assessment.

“Fuck no.” I push him away from me, and he just shrugs with a smile, pulling the hoodie on over his t-shirt.

“You could leave some clothes here, you know,” he says, pulling on a pair of light blue track pants. “You’re here more than your place anyway.”

My eyes meet his as they sparkle with amusement, and I don’t miss the way my heart picks up its pace a bit at that thought. But all I do is nod. “Yeah.”

His lips tilt up in a lopsided smile before he heads out to the kitchen. “I’ll make breakfast,” he calls back to me.

I grab a dark blue sweater from the closet, surprised to see something so normal in here. Except, of course, there are pastel stripes in almost every fucking color across the front of it.

“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter to myself as I pull it on anyway. It’s just until I get to the garage and can change into my work shirt.

As I make my way into the kitchen, Luca is at the stove pouring eggs into a pan.

“It’s gymnastics day today in Phys. Ed. Which means there are crash mats.” He looks over his shoulder at me with a knowing look. “And the kids will be fucking feral about it. I need all the energy I can get today, so if I can’t have dick, another source of protein will have to do.”

I huff out a laugh as I lean against the counter, watching as he stirs the eggs in the pan. And as he continues to yap about crash mats and impulse control – which is fucking ironic since it’s something he knows nothing about – my mind wanders once again to last night.

Andrew Giles. Flinching. Luca’s opponent, Manuel Rojas. Training plans.

Guilt.

“So,” I cross my arms, taking advantage of the pause in Luca’s outspoken thoughts, “what’s your plan for tonight? Sounds like you need more sparring time in the ring.”

He waves his hand dismissively in the air as he butters toast. “Yeah, I’ll figure out a plan this weekend.”

I sigh, the guilt settling in deeper. He should already have his plan and know exactly what it is he needs to focus on. And while I know he’s a strong striker as is, he’s facing another fighter whose strength is Muay Thai. He needs to drill and spar to sharpen his defense and be ready for whatever his opponent throws at him. And I should be able to support him with that, like he is supporting me.

“I… can’t give you what you need right now,” I say, watching as he scoops the eggs onto two plates.

Luca turns his head to me, eyebrows drawing together slightly. He holds my gaze for a moment before setting the pan back on the stove and turning to face me, crossing his arms as well. “We’ve had this talk. Need I remind you about the d-holes?”

I shake my head. “And what about you?”

He shrugs. “I’m also fucking up d-holes. I thought we established that.”

Another sigh escapes me as he smiles. But, as frustrating as his optimism is, it’s once again igniting determination deep within me. Because not only do I really need this… I don’t want to let him down.

“We’re moving out of body sparring and drills with feints tonight,” I say. “It’s been a week. I’m ready.”

Luca nods, his smile growing wider. “If you say so.”

“I do.” I nod back at him.

He crosses the kitchen to stand before me, placing his hands on the counter on either side of me. “We still have work to do in the cuddle department, but I’m glad you’re still a stubborn asshole in some ways. Because you know what they say…” He leans in, his lips brushing over mine. “A tiger can’t change his stripes.”

“So, it was only three minor injuries all day, which isn’t too bad. But I called it, they were all because of the crash mat.”

I huff out a laugh as I toss my clothes in my locker. No way in hell would I ever be able to do Luca’s job. Sounds like a nightmare, wrangling a bunch of kids in a wide-open gym, all while trying to teach them something? Fucking impossible.

“But the balance beam went surprisingly well,” he says thoughtfully as he pulls his shirt off. “I thought for sure we’d have some hard-core tumbles from that one.”

I shake my head, pulling out my hand wraps. “Sounds eventful.”

He doesn’t respond, and when I close my locker and turn to face him, he’s looking down at his phone with a furrowed brow. His expression morphs into one of anger for a brief moment, until he sighs and tosses his phone into his locker.

“What?” I ask.

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