Page 21 of Their Broken Legend

I’m crushing on him.

“Xander.” The blonde is unrelenting, and he smiles at me before turning his head to acknowledge her.

“Molly,” he calls as she approaches, still relaxed in his position. “What can I do you for?”

A blush hits her neck, and she’s eschewing me. “I was wondering if you could spot me. I know you’re usually busy with your trainer, but since you’re not doing anything, I thought—”

“I am doing something, actually.” He tilts his chin at me while I study her, from her pink Sketchers to her white-gold earrings. She’s pretty. Trim. “Kaya, this is Molly. Molly, Kaya. We were about to hit the ring.”

My attention snaps to him. “We what now?”

“What’s wrong, Woman?” He flicks me that lopsided grin, and I suppress my reaction to its leg-buckling power. “Only fight when it’s a street scrap with a public servant?”

Ugh.

He’s annoying.

Wiggling his brows at me, he walks backwards with that effortless stealth before spinning around and sliding his shirt over his head.

And. I. Nearly. Stop. Breathing.

His lips may have some kind of pussy pleasing CPS technology, but that body—Fuck.That body was not created, nothing so common, but crafted instead. He’s the perfect combination of thick, defined muscles and lean, agile limbs.

I stare at him.

Gawk, actually.

Across his ribs are four tattooed sentences scrawled in parallel rows. They are in another language—Italian, I think.

Up his back, a massive, complex family tree grows from the roots up his spine to the leaves that envelop his flanks and shoulder blades.

Stop staring.

Rounding the ring, he removes everything, socks, shoes, until he’s down to those hip-hanging jeans that tease every girl in the gym with a sweeping view of the two thick Adonis belt muscles at his pelvis. They pulse when he moves…God, I didn’t know that they pulse— That seems indecent.

He ducks under the knotted rope with grace, bounce, and confidence; all the while, his skin shifts menacingly around each dense muscle. He’s stunning and predatory all at once. He’s a damn panther.

Good one, Kaya.

“On the canvas, Woman.”

Fuck.I shrug.What the hell.

I shoulder past Blondie, kick off my shoes, climb into the ring, and I’m hit immediately with a surge of endorphins. Just standing between the ropes is exhilarating and nerve-wracking.

I press my foot into the mat. “It’s not made of canvas.”

He laughs warmly. “It used to be made of canvas. I’m old school,” Xander says, fitting me with gloves. “They fit nicely.” He slides two pads on his own hands.

There is a storm of pure intensity in his gaze, which cracks with passion. That seems to be him, though. Xander Butcher—intensely passionate, passionately intense.

He claps the pads together twice before bracing them at head height for me.

His eyes lock on mine. “You’re lefthanded so—”

“How do you know I’m lefthanded?”

He smirks, boyish. “I do this for a living. So,one, is a jab with your right fist. Like this”—he demonstrates with the pad, making a perfect cut through the air. "Slow. Controlled. Two: a jab with the left. A powerful jab. Throw”—he emulates the motion for me once more— “your body into it. Three: is a hook with your right.” Jab. “Four is an uppercut with your left.” Jab. “Okay? I’m going to call, and you do as you’re told and show me how well you listen.”

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