Page 199 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

“It’s true.” Sophia insists, tying her apron with a little more flair than strictly necessary. “Blame Ethan, Rigel, and Blake. They decided today’s ‘self-defense training’ wasn’t over until we’d all properly demonstrated our… techniques.” Her pause is deliberate, loaded with meaning that makes Jenna snort.

“And by techniques,” Rebel adds, her usually stoic expression betrayed by the slight upward curve of her lips, “she means Ethan insisted we practice escaping from various compromising positions. Multiple times.”

“Very compromising,” Mia adds softly, her blush deepening asshe adjusts her apron. “Rigel thinks I need extra help with my…form.”

“Is that what they’re calling it now?” I grin, leaning against the counter. “Form?”

Rebel gives the slightest eye roll. “The men decided to turn it into a competition. Ethan started it—he kept correcting my stance, which meant his hands were everywhere.” The slight catch in her voice when she says “everywhere” tells me exactly what kind of stance adjustment we’re talking about.

“Blake wasn’t any better,” Sophia jumps in, grabbing a cloth to wipe down the already spotless counter. “He insisted I didn’t have the proper leverage when pinned. Spent twenty minutes demonstrating exactly how I should ‘rotate my hips’ to break free.” She makes air quotes around “rotate my hips” with such exaggerated innocence that we all burst out laughing.

“So that’s why you couldn’t walk straight coming in here,” Jenna remarks, eyebrows raised.

“I was walking perfectly fine,” Sophia protests, but her smirk says otherwise.

“And Rigel?” I ask, glancing at Mia, who suddenly becomes very interested in arranging sugar packets.

“He, um,” she begins, her voice barely above a whisper, “he thought we should practice restraint techniques.”

“Restraint techniques?” Malia echoes, eyes widening.

“Wrist holds,” Mia clarifies, though her flushed face suggests there was nothing innocent about it. “And then Blake suggested they demonstrate multiple-attacker scenarios.”

“Which is code for what, exactly?” I press, enjoying the way Mia squirms under the attention.

“It means,” Rebel cuts in, saving her from answering, “that all three of them took turns demonstrating defensive techniques against multiple attackers.” She pauses, then adds with the ghost of a smile, “Though I’m pretty sure Ethan’s demonstrations were more about showing off than actual training.”

“Blake was no better,” Sophia says with a laugh. “He kept insisting he could take down both Rigel andEthan if they came at him together. Then spent twenty minutes trying to prove it while I was supposed to be observing proper technique.”

“All I learned,” Mia adds softly, “was that Rigel gets very… focused when he’s competing with the others.”

“And then,” Mia continues, finding her voice again, “they insisted on showing us proper push-up form.”

“Ah,” I say knowingly. “The kissing push-ups?”

All three women freeze, and Malia looks between us, confused.

“Kissing push-ups?” she asks. “What are those?”

“It’s when they kiss you every time they go down for a push-up,” I explain, recalling my experiences with Hank and Gabe’s competitive fitness routines. “Though I’m guessing they didn’t stop at just kissing.”

“Rigel did fifty,” Mia admits, her cheeks now blazing. “And they weren’t all on my… lips.”

“Blake beat him,” Sophia counters immediately. “Sixty-three and he wasn’t even breathing hard afterward.” Her expression turns dreamy for a moment. “Though I definitely was.”

“Ethan doesn’t play those games,” Rebel says with a hint of smugness. “He just told the others to leave so we could finish our… private instruction.”

“And that,” Mia concludes, “is why we’re late.”

“Is everything about sex with you people?” Malia asks, though her smile betrays her interest. “Getting tangled up with men who refuse to let you leave training on time?”

I smirk, stretching out lazily on the couch. “Please, Malia. If you think kissing push-ups are bad, just wait till you hear about blowie push-ups.”

A beat of silence. Then—collective intrigue.

“Blowie push-ups?” Sophia echoes, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Do I even want to know?”

“They’re exactly like kissing push-ups,” I say innocently, glancing at my nails. “Only… it’s not his lips you’re kissing.”

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