Page 5 of Broken Sins (Volkov Bratva 3)

I blush and stammer, “Uhh, no. I mean, yes, it was. But I, um—I tripped.”

“You tripped?”

“Yeah. You know me. Major klutz when my head is in the clouds.”

She wrinkles her brow and tilts her head to the side. “Mm, okay. Anyways,” she says, clapping her hands, “let’s go get our spots before those witches from Theta come and steal them. Danny is teaching today and lemme tell you, my form needs someextremelyhands-on correcting.” She grins wickedly. I can’t help but laugh.

Danny the Kickboxing Instructor has been a recurring theme in our conversations for a while now. It’s not a serious thing; he’s just a cute, ripped guy who has a penchant for helping the pretty females in the class with some cues that tend to border on—well,handsyis one way to put it.Uber creepyis more how I would describe it personally. But I do have to admit that he is very easy on the eyes. Tall, with a deep SoCal surfer’s tan, and curly blond hair that he ties up in a man bun. If that’s your kind of thing—and it is absolutely Anastasia’s kind of thing—then you’ll probably be a Dan Fan, just like her.

She’s my best friend though. So even if I don’t normally go for the “What’s up, brah?” airhead surfer types, then I’ll still come along for the ride as moral support. Plus, no matter how much I mock some of the moms and coeds who are in here doing booty-building exercises just so they can impress some lame Hollywood producer at an overcrowded cocktail party tonight, I could use a little exercise, too. It’s been a grueling semester.

I drop my duffel off in the cubbies and bring my water bottle and boxing gloves over to my punching bag. The rest of the women attending today’s class shuffle around and find their spots as well.

Anastasia and I chitchat about our respective weeks while we wait for class to get started. She’s been dodging some frat guy named Carlos who wants badly to profess his undying love for her.

“Wait, Carlos the one you were in love with, like, last month?”

She flips her long blonde hair over one shoulder and sighs dramatically. “Ugh, that was a lifetime ago. He’s a total creep now. He sent flowers to my dorm! Who does that?”

I bite back my answer, which would’ve been something along the lines of“a reasonable guy who likes you”and instead just nod my head and agree with her. Luckily, the infamous Dan comes bursting into the room from the back office moments later, saving me from having to hear more.

Dan is shirtless today. He kicks off class with some has-to-be-made-up story about spilling coffee on his only work shirt this morning. I roll my eyes, but none of the other girls in the class seem to mind his abs being on display for the next sixty minutes. Guess it’s just me, then.

We get underway shortly after that lovely opening spiel. Jabs first, mixed with a circuit of jumping rope, crunches, and burpees, which I despise with an unholy fury.

In between rounds, Anastasia starts talking about a party she wants me to come to this weekend.

“… so it’s not anofficialChi Omega bash; they’re not allowed to throw those anymore since the last incident. That’s why it’s off-site at the Ritz. But it’s gonna be lit. I saw the budget and it’s truly, like, mind-blowingly insane.”

I’m a little too out of breath to respond. School has been kicking my butt lately, which is why I’ve missed the last few weeks of Dan’s classes. But I gotta do what I gotta do. The end of the semester is coming up, which means exams and papers galore. It’s important to me to get good grades. My parents think I’m doing it to make them happy, but that’s only part of it. The real answer is that I’m doing it so I can finally be a real freaking adult. My whole life, I’ve been under their thumb. It’s like being in a gilded cage. I don’twantto have everything handed to me on a silver platter. I don’t want to be given a gun before going away to college. I just want to be normal, like Anastasia, worried only about which guy I want to talk to at the party tonight. She’s so carefree.

I’ve never been carefree.

Speaking of carefree, I hear “Good jab, girl!” from a voice that is both way too chill for the current EDM soundtrack blasting through the speakers at deafening volume and way too close to my left ear. I turn my head a quarter inch and see Dan taking up my whole field of vision. He’s got a blindingly white smile. Definitely has one of those teeth whitener things I see on Instagram ads all the time, the one the celebs use when they’re also wearing waist trainers and electronic booty-blaster machines. He’s also got a dimple in his chin like Superman.

Maybe my issue with him is that he lookstooperfect. As if he walked off the page of a GQ spread and right into this kickboxing classroom. No one is supposed to be that perfect. It unsettles me.

“Er, thanks,” I tell him, flashing a grin that’s supposed to say,“I don’t need any hands-on coaching, please.”

But he clearly doesn’t read the signals I’m giving off, because he stations himself behind me with his hips flush against my ass and takes hold of my elbows. “But try loading this hip more. If you squeeze your butt back here and rotate”—he pivots me accordingly, which has the no-doubt-unintended effect of pulling my torso closer into his embrace—“then you’ll get way more power out of your punch.”

“Thanks,” I say again, shaking myself loose and stepping away in a hurry. I pretend to be fixing my hair. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

His grin falters for just a second. He’s clearly not used to being pushed away like that. Judging by the googly eyes that four or five of the girls have been throwing his way constantly, this class is more like shooting fish in a barrel for him, sexually speaking.

But that’s not my game at all. I don’t want perfect, I don’t want flawless.

I don’t want anything, actually.

I just want to be normal.

* * *

I’m drenched in sweat by the time the class ends forty-five minutes later. I’m sure I look like a troll who just rolled around the floor of a hair salon, but when I glance over at Anastasia as we’re packing up our stuff, she still looks runway ready.

Bitch. Good thing I love her.

“So you’re gonna come to the party?” she asks brightly.

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