Page 42 of Allure

I stare up at him, trying not to notice how flushed he is, how handsome he is, how his lips are so close to mine.

But then he draws away and stands. “I should get going. I have stuff to do, and since I… Yeah.”

“Of course. Thanks. I thought I made more progress than I did, but without someone to test the moves on, I don’t know what works and what doesn’t, and if it doesn’t work because I suck or if it could work.”

He grunts. “If you can do the adult class tomorrow night and have time to stay after, we can work on it some more.”

“Thanks.”

He says nothing, doesn’t even nod, just walks off the mat, leaving me alone with my thoughts and having to contemplate with the fact that maybe I’m just not good enough.

Maybe I’m delusional. Maybe Sensei even is. Who am I to even attempt this?

And for all of my careful planning, who says I’ll be able to turn my father’s business legitimate, let alone double the profits. I have so many lofty goals, and who knows if even one of them is actually doable.

But I’m going to try. Nothing and no one can stop me from trying.

I owe it to myself, at least this self-defense class, for the sake of the old me, the victim of that mugger.

I will try.

CHAPTER15

Iwalk back to campus, in desperate need of a shower, trying to find a way to relieve the growing pressure in my chest.

And the growing itch between my legs.

But instead of heading straight for Orchid House, I walk to the fountain and sit on a bench. Plenty of students are wandering about, so I don’t feel alone, and I try to breathe in and out and find a sense of peace.

It doesn’t come.

And you know what I do, me with my infinite wisdom?

I get out my phone and start to look at local news articles.

It doesn’t take me long to find something that boils my blood.

There was another mugging just last night. This time, the woman reported the crime, but considering it happened at the same grocery store, I don't need to read the details to know it was the same guy.

Fuck that mugger!

Before I can think twice about it, I rush over to my car. I’ve applied for a new copy of my driver’s license, but it hasn’t come in yet. So be it.

I toss my karate clothes onto the backseat and drive to the local police department. My palms are sweaty and my throat dry as I push the door open. A cop walks out, and I move to the side and try not to feel out of place as I glance around.

A harassed-looking male stands behind the counter.

“Hi, I need to speak—”

“To someone else,” he says, and he walks away, carrying a case file.

I nod slowly and wait a few minutes before another guy comes over.

“What do you need?” he asks.

“I’m here to report about a crime.”

“What crime?”

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