Page 79 of Whenever You Call

It wasn’t easy, grieving a man you loathed.

It wasn’t easy being around a man you’d grown to desire only to feel guilty about it.

That’s why I pounded the boxing pads Logan held up in front of me, even though I was clumsy on my feet when he turned us in a different direction, trying to rile me up when I wasn’t hitting him hard enough.

His movements were smooth. Coordinated.

Mine were a bundle of missteps, missed shots, and frustrated growls, but it made me work up a sweat. I was so out of practice and unfamiliar with this aggressive side of me that I hadn’t realized how far down I’d buried it until Logan forced me to try and pull it back to the surface.

He didn’t say a word during the movements. He didn’t let me know which way he’d go, how high he’d place his pad-covered hands, or how low he’d drop them. He didn’t tell me when he was about to bounce back suddenly or press forward and make me think about my steps. And because I had to think so much about what I was doing, my mind let go of all the shit that felt like unwanted guests in there.

“Goddammit,” I said in a rush when my glove didn’t connect properly.

“You’re fine. Keep it up.”

“I’m so out of shape.”

“Like hell you are.” His eyes drifted down to my waist for just a moment before he forced them back up to my gloves, his jaw tense again.

That little look ofsomething,whatever it had been, made a fresh dose of adrenaline rush through my veins, making my nipples harden without any way to cover them up.

“Feeling good?” Logan asked, and I wondered if he’d noticed my obvious arousal before I realized he was looking everywherebutthere. I raised my hands and threw several more punches.

“Is that what I’m meant to feel?” I asked through panting breaths as a rivulet of sweat dropped from my forehead to my nose. I wiped it away with my forearm, looking up at Logan through hooded eyes, trying not to think about the fact that every time he braced himself to take the pressure of my punch, the muscles in his arms tensed, tightening the already-tight fabric around his biceps.

I smacked my glove into the middle of the left pad before moving to do the same to the right—my eyes focused on the targets.

“Because if it is, then yeah, I guess I feel good,” I pushed out through gritted teeth before landing another punch.

“Time to turn it up a notch.” He nodded to his left pad, then to his right. “We’ll do a four-punch combination. Two uppercuts followed by two jabs on either side. We go until I say stop.”

“So bossy.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet.”

“You don’t scare me,” I wheezed, following him as he moved the pads, first aiming them down for me to hit upward, then quickly switching to placing them upright, so I could jab either side.

“Again,” he ordered, making me frown, but I did what he asked of me anyway, repeating the combination, barely taking a breath in between. “Nice,” he said as he watched me. “Again.”

He repeated his instruction another ten times, draining me of life and slowing my movements down.

“Jesus, Logan,” I huffed.

“One more.”

“Let a girl breathe, will you?”

“You’re breathing just fine. Stop whining.”

I scowled harder, my face turning murderous as I eyed him while I threw all four punches to the pads and stepped back.

“Last one.”

“You said that last time!”

“I lied.”

“Logan…”

---