Page 11 of From the Ashes
She thought I was going to hit her.
“God, I… I’m sorry, it’s…” She covers her eyes with her palms, then slowly removes them.
“Reflexes,” I say, staring at her.
She nods, her eyes getting all watery. “I’m sorry. I…I thought perhaps…”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m the one who needs to apologize.” Studying her face carefully, I notice her wide gaze, her teeth biting into her lips, and her chest moving too fast.
That’s not good.
After years of therapy, I got to deal with my PTSD, and I gather Lana might suffer from it as well. So I try to remember what I learned and apply it to the situation: hands out so she can see them, stepping back to give her space, and talking calmly to not stress her more than she already is. A drop of sweat rolls down my back at the thought that her ex must have had something to do with that. Fuck, if I get my hands on this fucker, he will regret the day he was born.
“You never have to be afraid of me,” I say, locking my gaze in hers, trying as hard as I can to mimic reassurance like I see in movies. I hope she gets what I'm trying to do. “I would never raise my hand at you, any other woman, or children, never, under no circumstances. You never have to worry about that.” She nods, and I know I did a good thing telling her that. Perhaps she knew it already, but it never hurts to be said out loud.
“He really fucked things up,” I mutter to myself. Next time I see him, he’ll be in for a special treat. My palms are strangely sweating and my heart quickens.
“Yes, he…he did, but I'm okay now, it was so stupid to?—”
“Nah, it's not, you shouldn't have to think you gotta protect yourself like that. It ain't right.”
“I know, I know.” She touches her hair with a shaky hand.
“You okay now?”
She nods. “Yes, it’s gone, sorry again?—”
I frown. Is she being polite or trying to please me because she feels guilty? I can't tell and I hate myself for it. I'm going to take the safer, more rational way.
“Have you ever taken a self-defense class?” I ask without emotions as I watch a dark veil drop on her face for a second.Shit, was that too direct?
“No, well, I wanted to try a few years back, but I never got the time to.” She shrugs, her long hair dancing on her shoulders, catching the morning light.
“I could teach you if you want.”
“Self-defense?”
“Yeah.”
“Is it a move you make to get girls in leggings fighting you in a ring?” She lifts her brows with a slight smile.
Is she testing me?
I’d never picture a self-defense class as an opportunity to get close to a woman, but hearing the words from her perfect pillow lips hit me with the image of her fighting me in workout clothes.
“I never trained a woman in self-defense,” I admit, ‘cause the only men I did train from time to time were prospects. I’m more into boxing than self-defense itself, and I enjoy my weekly session with Ash as a sparring partner, even if he’s always making fun of my lack of emotions. Fire and Ice, that’s whatMia calls us; it makes her giggle to think she has the two most opposite bodyguards in the world, and yet we make it work.
“But if you’d like, I could teach you some things, might help you feel safer.”
“Actually, yes, that’d be great,” she says before sipping the last drop of milkshake.
“Good,” I reply, cold as ice, while my mind bursts with fire. “I’m gonna stand now,” I inform her, and she smiles with a softness in her eyes she hasn’t shown me before. She nods and stares at me while I walk to the counter and pay the bill. When I look back, she’s out of the diner, waiting in front of the door, her dress floating in the air, showing her little waist as the wind brushes the fabric. What I’d give to rest my hand on her if she were mine. I step out, carefully opening the door so I don’t scare her again.
“I’m parked here,” I motion my chin to my black Harley in front of us, “but I’ll walk you to your car if that’s okay,” I offer, stopping my hand from resting on her lower back. She nods and takes the left, where a small parking lot is at the end of the street.
“Forgot to give you this,” I say, giving her the gift I had kept in the inside pocket of my cut.
“Pepper spray?” Her eyes widen.
