Page 2 of Double Dirty
I was relieved not to be picked, but as soon as he gave her a backpack and told her to walk by, I knew he was going to touch her. I realized I’d been biting my lip. Even while I’d soaked up every word he said, somewhere inside, I’d been noticing how handsome he was, how confident and strong. I was annoyed with myself for subtly lusting after the defense instructor. The guy was there to teach me how to keep from getting killed, and I was thinking like a thirsty teen. Way to prioritize survival, I told myself grimly.
He yanked her backward by the strap of the backpack, but she whipped around and struck him in the face with the heel of her hand. He dropped the bag and nodded, “Well done, Georgia. If she’d hit me full force, you would’ve seen my head snap back. I’d be bleeding, eyes watering, and she could get away. Here’s the other thing, and you’ll have to excuse my language here, but I can’t stress this enough. Leave the fucking bag behind. Do not fight for stuff when you can get away with your life.”
I felt like he was speaking just to me, like it was okay that I’d cut and run from Mr. Watts earlier. Like I’d donethe smart thing instead of just a cowardly one. What it reminded me of was weird—as a kid I’d loved tomato soup. Even in the summer, I’d wanted it for lunch for how delightfully smooth and comforting it was. Rafe Sullivan’s voice was better than tomato soup. I felt like someone had wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and told me it would all be okay. Which of course no one had.
2
Rafe
She came in a little late. She was new. Most of the class had been around for a few weeks, and some had come back from last year. I would’ve remembered her if I’d ever seen her before. Her eyes were wide and dark, like she was nervous or scared. She kept to the back of the room. She never volunteered for the demonstrations. Maybe she was trying to scope out the class and decide whether to come back or maybe she was just anxious. Either way, I knew it was my responsibility to make her feel welcome. If she didn’t feel comfortable in my class, there were other instructors I could refer her to in the city.
People didn’t come in for defense classes if they weren’t afraid. A very small percentage of students just wanted to be prepared. The rest had something in their past or present that spooked them into wanting to be able to fight back. I knew the look on her face, though. She didn’t hide it well. It was naked fear. I didn’t know what had happened to her, but I did know she needed help. Whether it was from me, a different instructor or a trauma counselor, I was going to put her in contact with the right people.
When class ended and some of my students came up to chat, I took a long drink from my water bottle and excused myself. She was going to slip out the door before I even got her name. I felt instinctively protective of her—professionally, of course. I quickly caught up to her in the gym, all the TV’s blaring and the thump of feet on the treadmills drowning out any possible conversation.
“Excuse me,” I said. I didn’t reach out and touch her—didn’t even raise my voice.
She turned to look at me, eyes still insanely wide and looking like she’d done something wrong.
“Are you okay?” I said.
“I’m fine. Thanks. Um, great class,” she said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
“I’m Rafe,” I said.
“Yeah, you introduced yourself to the class. I listened.”
“Of course. And you are?” I smiled and asked.
“I’m Lexi Conners.”
“Good to meet you,” I said, putting out my hand. She took it tentatively, as if she was reluctant to touch me.
“I learned a lot,” she said, “I may come back on Friday.”
“I hope you do. Listen, you looked a little freaked out in there. I’m done here and I thought I’d see if you wanted to go grab a cup of coffee. I can answer any questions you have about the class. And if this class isn’t a good fit for you, I can recommend another one about six blocks over. The teacher’s a friend of mine. It’s a woman, if you’re more comfortable with women,” I offered.
“I don’t have a problem with men,” she said, “But I’m okay. It was nice of you to be concerned.”
“The diner is right next door. They have great pie,” I said. I wanted her to say yes, but I wasn’t going to pressureher, especially if she’d been hurt or threatened, she didn’t need that. So, I stood back and waited.
“I like pie,” she agreed. “I guess I have time for one cup of coffee. I’m not in a hurry to get home just yet. I had a long day.”
“Great,” I said.
I grinned. I couldn’t help it. I knew that it was just business, that I was taking an interest in what she hoped to gain from a self-defense class, how to help her adapt her lifestyle to improve her safety. But I felt a rush of excitement, like I’d just picked up a really pretty girl.
“I’ll meet you there. I just need to run in here for a second,” she said, indicating the women’s locker room.
I went next door to Lacy’s and got a booth where I could see the door. I held the laminated menu in front of me like I was really reading it even though I’d eaten there at least twice a week for the last few years. When Lexi came through the door, I stood, lifted a hand to wave. She saw me and came to the booth. Her hair was down. That tight ponytail was gone, and in its place was a cloud of soft, shiny dark hair spilling over her shoulders. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. It seemed almost indecent, like I was seeing something so private.
She took a menu and scanned it, “I didn’t really eat lunch today so I’m starving.”
“Well, you said it was a long day. You were probably too busy to get hungry,” I said.
“Not really. I was just—not in the right frame of mind to eat anything.”
The waiter came over and took our order. I was having coffee and pie, and Lexi was having a patty melt with bacon. Extra fries. I admired her order, making conversation.
