Page 62 of Making New Plans

Chloe: If the offer still stands, I’d love for you to teach me Taekwondo.

I’d immediately texted back.

Me: Of course. Meet me at the beach 6 a.m.

Chloe: See you there! Good night, Hunter.

Me: Good night, Chloe.

I’d fallen asleep smiling, a distinct difference from the scowl that’d been etched into my face as soon as I’d left her.

Chloe had wrecked me on that porch. Hell, I’d wrecked myself. It’d killed me to see her so upset and unlike herself after her parents’ stupid dinner. All I’d wanted to do was show her how amazing I thought she was. How sexy and beautiful and undeserving of her mother’s criticism and manipulation she was. She didn’t need her mother to set her up with some malodorous puppet from the next town over. She could probably have any man she wanted, if she let them close enough to see the real her.

But I’d gotten greedy and carried away. I couldn’t stop touching her soft skin. And the more my lips and fingers had explored her delicious body, the more I’d wanted. And she’d responded. Even telling me she wanted it, too.

That had nearly snapped my control. I’d brushed against every boundary I could find. It hadn’t been about lust so much as explicit admiration. And that someone could make her feel good without needing something from her for it.

But then she’d kissed me, and every good intention had flown out of my head on a rocket to the moon. I’d kissed her so hard we would’ve fallen if it hadn’t been for the door. I would’ve carried her inside right then and there if she hadn’t broken away and apologized. Karma’s a bitch, apparently.

I’d made her feel insecure about the concert kiss, then she’d gut-punched me with that apology. Like she couldn’t believe she’d done it. I’d been caught up in a whirlwind of desire and wanted her to get lost in that feeling, too. But that apology had brought my doubts to the forefront with a bang and a screech. Like maybe her mother had gotten to her. Maybe Chloe had too many doubts of her own.

I’d been ready for another restless night, but that text had magically wiped away my concerns and left me eager to see her again. Which was why I sprinted to the beach to beat her there.

March had turned to April before I’d even realized it, but the weather was as unpredictable as ever. Most of the snow had melted, but frost had coated the ground yesterday morning. Today, though, the sun had a bit of warmth to it, and the wind was mercifully still. The cold sand crunched and cracked under my shoes.

I did a few warm-up stretches to keep my blood flowing. Something it had no problem doing when I noticed Chloe headed my way. My mouth went dry. She wore a loose black top and black leggings that clung to her long, toned legs. Legs I’d gotten a bare glimpse of last night.

I swallowed a few times while trying to peel my eyes from the gap between her thighs. When I finally did, it was to see her smirking at me. I smirked back. She had no room to comment because she was no less guilty in the ogling department.

I thought I caught a hint of disappointment in her gaze as she took in my tee shirt paired with my usual loose pants. But we were about to get very close, and it was cold. You do the math. I didn’t want to stab her in the eye. Hence, the shirt.

“Good morning,” I said with my hands clasped behind my back.

She crossed her arms, probably chilled. “Good morning. Thanks for meeting me.”

Birds chirping filled a few seconds of silence.

She shifted her feet in the sand, her eyebrows lowering over troubled blue eyes. “Look, let’s just get this out of the way. I don’t regret kissing you last night. But I’m terrible with relationships and dating and with guys in general unless they’re my delivery guys or under my employ or good friends I’ve known for a while or—”

I held up my hand. “Chloe, the only way you’re going to make this worse is if you keep apologizing. I don’t want apologies. In fact, I’d like you to take back your apology from last night. I didn’t need it then, and I don’t need one now because I don’t regret kissing you, either.”

“Oh,” she exhaled. “Well, good. So, you’re not mad?”

What the hell had happened to this woman that she thought I’d be mad over her not wanting to take things further on her porch last night? Oh yeah, two douchey exes and terrible parents.

“I’m not mad. Things got intense, and you wanted to stop, so I did. I left a bit abruptly because, well, you know what you do to me.” I said the last bit with a self-deprecating smile, hoping she’d lighten up.

And of course, she smiled. Chloe always smiled eventually. And I loved every one of them.

“Okay,” she said, rubbing her pink hands together. “How do we start this whole becoming-a-badass thing?”

Grinning, I led her through more warm-up stretches until her cheeks flushed. Then I demonstrated a few basic techniques. How to throw a punch without breaking her fingers, how to deliver a kick with the most power, and so on. Once I was satisfied that she’d grasped those, I moved on.

“Now then,” I said, spreading my arms open. “Punch me.”

Her eyes widened. “Just like that? No more practicing, like in the air or something?”

“It’s always better to hit something. Air doesn’t teach you what impact feels like, and we don’t have a punching bag. Unless you’d rather box a tree.”

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