house.” I bite my lip, and he lowers his forehead. “Does that scare you?”
“The opposite.” I shake my head as I crack an egg in a bowl. “I was actually thinking I should learn how to protect myself.”
“You need to,” he says, leaning his hip against the counter and crossing his arms. I love the way his biceps look in a simple T-shirt when they’re crossed like this. “What do you want to know?”
I smile at how easily he thinks I can defend myself. I’m not sure of many people who would give me that credit. With a shrug, I suggest, “Maybe what to do if someone like Rocco tries to grab me again?”
“I’ll show you.” He unfolds his arms as he steps away from the counter.
I look back at him and realize he means, “Now?”
“No better time than the present.”
“Oh. Okay.” I wipe my hands on a towel and follow him into the living room.
He pushes the couch to one side of the room and moves the coffee table to the other.
He turns me around and grabs me by my waist. “We’ll start easy. If an attacker grabs you like this, what would you do?”
I try to wiggle free and push his arms down and around, but I can’t.
“First thing you have to do is relax,” he says, gripping me tighter. “Next, I want you to take a step forward with your right foot and use your left foot for balance. Then, with your right elbow, strike the attacker in the face.”
I lift my elbow in the air. “Anywhere?”
“Aim for the jaw, temple, or cheekbone.”
His grip gets even tighter as I take a step forward, as instructed, and then, with as much energy as I can muster, I lift my elbow and rocket it back into Jesse’s face, sending him flying.
“What the hell, Amelia!” he shouts, grabbing his cheek.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry! Did I hurt you? You told me to strike and I did what you said and—”
My words are swallowed with his kiss as he lifts me off the floor and slams me onto the couch. His hands are on my torso, making me giggle and laugh and beg for mercy.
He relents, and I hit him in the arm. “You made me think I hurt you!”
With his hand on his face, he admits, “You did actually. Not bad for a rookie.”
I’m grinning as he lifts me off the couch and back to where we were demonstrating.
“Wait,” he says with a finger in the air and then jogs down the hall. When he comes back, he’s wearing a helmet, like one for a cage fighter.
“What is that for?”
“My face is a valuable asset. I can’t have you beating me up,” he jokes, and I stick my tongue out at him.
He shows me how to trap an attacker coming for my neck, using my biceps and pivoting my body away from the attacker while lowering my elbow, making their hands come with me.
If I’m attacked from behind, I can turn my hand into a hammer fist, twist, and strike.
We practice for an hour. Many of my attempts to fend him off end poorly, but he doesn’t give up on me.
We’re still starving, so to speed up the process of preparing dinner, Jesse joins me in the kitchen, and together, we bread the cutlets and make dinner.
“Where did you learn those moves?” I ask as we eat dinner on the floor with our plates on the coffee table.
“That is basic self-defense. I’m surprised you didn’t learn that in high school.”
I laugh. “I went to a private prep school, where the only form of self-defense we were taught was how to use pepper spray and a rape whistle.” I point at the magazine next to my plate, making him nod.
“I really like cage fighting. I take classes twice a week on the island. It’s a great way to stay in shape and learn some new moves.”
I pause mid-chew. “Do you think I’m going to need to know any of those for Saturday?”
“It can’t hurt. You’ll be wearing a wire, so I’ll know everything that’s going on.” His hand finds mine across the table and entwines our fingers. “I’ll be with you the entire time. You won’t see me, but I’ll be there.”
“I know. I’m going to be a ball of nerves until then.”
“Me too,” he admits, and for the first time, I see a glimpse of nervousness in his eyes.
We finish eating and clean up together. It’s a nice dance we