Page 113 of Gym Bros
“No,” he says convincingly. “Just misunderstood. There’s a difference between getting in trouble and getting into good trouble, you know?”
I nod and sort of shrug.
“But when I’d get suspended from school it was hard to explain to my parents that it was for a good cause.”
“Right,” I say, seeing him a little differently and liking this insider knowledge he’s giving me.
“I’m tougher than they think I am, but we all have our moments, right?”
“Of course,” I say, thinking of my London anxiety attack. “Everyone has a breaking point.”
He gestures to the mat behind me, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Let’s go find yours.”
My grin quirks. “Fine.” I unwrap my own hand coverings. When I look up at him again, I feel how plastered my hair is to my face. It’s hot in here. Are there no fans?
I toss my gloves where he threw his, and he gestures behind me to get moving. I head to the nearest mat, and he follows. “Shoes off,” he says in his bossiest voice.
I huff, kicking off my sneakers before I get on the mat. “Socks, too, angel kitten.”
“Don’t call me that right now. Call me Excalibur.”
He barks a laugh. “The fuck I will.”
I take off my socks and throw them at him. They fall about a foot short, but he, who’s been barefoot this whole time, charges me, making me go airborne in the tight cage of his arms before “slamming” me to the mat.
It’s noisy and has the full effect of making me feel like I’m on a roller coaster, but he’s really gentle about it. Then I don’t even know what happens. All of a sudden, he’s half underneath me and my arm is in severe danger of breaking. “Jesus fucking Christ!” I shout.
“Tap out?”
“You didn’t tell me how?”
“Safe word then.”
“Samuel!”
“Tap my skin anywhere three times.”
I flail around until I find his forearm and slap him once, hard.
He laughs, letting me go.
“That was terrifying!”
“That’s why it works. There are leg bars, too.”
“Have you ever broken someone’s arm?”
“No,” he says.
“But you could?”
He sits up on his elbows. “I don’t know. Someone my size? Depends how good of a hold I get, I guess.”
I crawl over him and straddle his lap, putting my hands on his wrists. “Guess you can get out of this hold pretty easy,” I tell him.
“I don’t know,” he says, his gaze raking over me. “I’d have to want to.”
“I thought you were gonna teach me how to grapple.”
