Page 160 of Knot Baked Out For This
"Absolutely not," all three respond in unison.
The men move to their stations—Tank by the heavy bags, Nash on the mats, Marcus near the mirrors, Rowan by the obstacle course setup. They look like some kind of Alpha superhero team, and I'm trying very hard not to think about how this is basically my teenage fantasy come to life.
Four Alphas are teaching me to fight. Younger me would have spontaneously combusted.
Current me is barely keeping it together.
"Boss, you're drooling," Reverie stage-whispers.
"I'm not!"
"You're also still sporting that hickey like a badge of honor."
"I'm going to fire you."
"You're going to thank me when you can flip Korrin like a pancake."
The thought of actually being able to defend myself against him, of not freezing in fear if he shows up, sends a thrill through me that's part terror, part anticipation.
"Alright, ladies," Rowan calls out, and his captain's voice does things to my insides. "Let's start with basic stances. Show us what you think a fighting stance looks like."
We all attempt various poses that probably look more like confused flamingos than fighters.
"Okay," Tank says diplomatically. "We have work to do."
"Lots of work," Marcus agrees.
"So much work," Nash adds, but he's smiling at Reverie's attempt at what appears to be a kung fu movie pose.
"This is going to be fun," Rowan says, and when his eyes meet mine, heat flares between us despite the room full of people. "Ready to learn how to kick ass, sunshine?"
The nickname in front of everyone makes my face burn, but also makes my chest warm.
"Ready," I say, meaning it.
And as we move toward our first stations—me with Rowan, because of course—I catch sight of us in the mirror. Four women in workout clothes, looking nervous but determined. Four Alphas are ready to teach us to be dangerous.
This is really happening. I'm really doing this.
Rowan stands close enough that I can smell his cedar and smoke scent, feel the heat radiating from him, and when he adjusts my stance, his hands on my hips are professional but charged.
"Lower," he murmurs. "Bend your knees more."
Oh, I'm going to die. Death by attractive Alpha proximity.
"Like this?"
"Perfect." His voice drops. "The hickey's a good look on you, by the way."
"I'm going to kill Luca."
"Get in line. But maybe after class?"
He winks—actually winks—and I have to hold down my excitement that threatens to bubble over into embarrassing giggling.
Self-defense with unfairly attractive Alphas teaching us to be badass.
Best. Wednesday. Ever.
