Page 42 of Mr. Big Shot

“A little light boxing. You attack, I’ll parry. I don’t have my gloves with me so we can’t get too carried away.”

Is that warning for him or for me?

This sort of game is nothing I haven’t done with Jake. It’s usually the last thing we do at the end of our sessions, mostly just to goof around. It’s really fun though, and not only is it good exercise, it’s also a good lesson in self-defense.

I’m no expert when it comes to actual boxing strategy. I’m not like a secret black belt, but I’ve memorized the key areas my trainer has drilled into me, so I go for those places. The thing is, though, for such a big guy, Hudson’s faster than I thought he would be.

He blocks my first punch and my second, and on my third, he grabs my wrist and twists me around so my back is flat against his broad chest. My arm is wedged between us, and if I try to finagle my way out of the hold, my shoulder screams at me. Worse, he doesn’t let me go right away. “Okay! You’ve made your point.”

He lets go and I shake out my arm as I turn around. My eyes are narrowed suspiciously now.

“You’ve clearly trained in the ring before.”

He shrugs. “I’ve done a bit of boxing over the years.”

‘A bit’, my ass.

I would love nothing more than to sweep his legs out from under him and take him down to his back. Oh my god, I’d be so satisfied I doubt I’d be able to wipe the smile off my lips for months.

“You going to just stand there?” he taunts with a lift of his chin.

“I’m trying to decide if I want to go for your face. It’d be a shame to wreck your pretty boy image.”

He frowns like he’s seriously worried I’m about to deliver on that promise. “No faces, Elwood. We don’t have mouth guards in.”

“So you are worried about your face…trying to impress someone?”

I strike while he’s distracted, going for a jab to his lower stomach, but he swipes it away easily. The odds are not in my favor.

“You aren’t using your size to your advantage,” he tells me gruffly, like he’s annoyed I’m not beating him up harder.

“I’m trying!” I groan.

“Stop circling around me. You’re wasting your energy.”

Fine. I reach out to try for a one-two punch to his chest, but it’s no use. In the process, Hudson leg-sweeps me. In a flash, I end up flat on my back, the air whooshing out of my lungs in a painful gasp.

Like the arrogant ass he is, he leans over me so his handsome, sweaty face blocks out the bright fluorescent lights. I stare at his full lips, those sharp cheekbones, those perpetually angry brows, and I feel lit up like a live wire. It’s the adrenaline.

“Is that all you’ve got?” he asks deviously.

His reaches his hand down so he can help me back to my feet.

Before he can blink, I hike my legs up and bring them around the back of his, taking him out at the knees so he crumbles to the ground beside me. We lie flat on the mat together, breathing hard. My right leg is pressed against his.

“Is that all you’ve got?” I tease right back before rolling over and purposefully grinding my elbow into his stomach as I push to stand up.

Now that was a satisfying workout.

Chapter Fifteen

Hudson

I’m a man in my thirties with a crush.

It’s embarrassing. I’m obsessed. And I don’t get obsessed with anything outside of maxing out my billable hours. Ever.

I’ve been looking into how to get rid of these inconvenient feelings, but apparently, there’s no over-the-counter pill or cream for that. Maybe I need a shaman? I’m so desperate to go back to the way I was before Scarlett Elwood walked into this office, and if that means paying a back-alley priest $200 to spritz me with “holy water” out of a Gatorade bottle, so be it.

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