as she circles me; her eyes study me as if she’s calculating where to strike first.
Her legs step with practiced fluidity; they’re short but toned and lead from a pair of long MMA training shorts to end with bare feet and bright red toe nails—umph!
Her shoulder hits my gut and arms wrap around my middle. Her leg sweeps at my feet, but I step back to avoid her kick.
No matter how many times we train together, it always amazes me how much power she can pack in her small frame. The guys call from all around us, taunting and cheering, which is ridiculous. The girl weighs next to nothing, so I fold over her, reach around her waist, and lift her off the ground.
“Gah!” Her legs kick, and in one swift move, I flip her to her back and hold her arms above her head.
She digs her heel into the mat to try and flip me, which makes me laugh.
A weak growl rumbles in her throat as I tangle my legs in hers and lock her down with my hips.
“I win.”
Her eyes narrow, but I see something else there. It’s in the way her pupils dilate and her lips part. Even under her loose T-shirt, I can feel her back arch to press her breasts against me. I hiss out a breath and drop my chin, pretending it’s exhaustion and not the uninvited rush of lust that’s heating through me.
Shit! I don’t want this.
I shove off of her and hop to my feet, more than a little troubled by my body’s reaction to her.
Not that it shouldn’t react. I mean the girl is gorgeous and the soft curves of her body pressed to mine would elicit a reaction out of a dead man, which is basically what I am—dead—at least on the inside.
The slow clap from Caleb calls my attention.
“Very nice, Killer. You’ve managed to takedown a hundred-pound female. Now let’s see if we can work you up to a one-hundred-seventy-pound professional fighter, m’kay?”
His teasing tone is just what I need to clear my head. “Then let’s stop standing around bullshitting and train.”
I reach out to help Fleur to her feet and she laughs. “I have to give it to you; those were some impressive moves, Killian.” She used my real name, and genuine admiration fills her voice.
“Thanks.”
“Do you have plans tonight?”
My eyes dart around to the guys, but they’re all huddled together, talking fight-night strategy. “No.” Unless a date with my e-reader counts.
Her eyes light up and her expression goes soft. “There’s a place I want to show you.”
I shake my head. “Oh, I don’t know. The last time I went out drinking with you I was hungover for three days.”
She cocks a hip and crosses her arms at her chest. “And that was my fault?”
“I don’t remember much, but what I do involved you dancing on the bar—”
She slaps my gut. “Enough, please, don’t remind me. Anyway, it’s not a pub; it’s a place for dinner. You’ll love it, I promise.”
The excitement in her expression is hard to say no to, so I simply nod. It’s dinner. I can do dinner.
“Great. I have my car, so we can go straight from here.”
“Killian!” Caleb motions to the center of the mats. “Let’s try this again.”
Fleur slaps me on the upper arm. “Have fun. I’ll see you later.”
Dinner with a friend is doable. Granted she’s female and gorgeous, but this is strictly platonic. And besides, I have one year in London, and I’m soaking it up for all it’s worth.
~~~
We finish up training around five, and I shower and throw on some clean clothes. For a second, I wish I had something a little nicer to wear. After all, I have no idea where Fleur is taking me, and the last thing I want to do is show up looking like a hillbilly. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my short time in London, it’s that appearances are important.
With no other choice but to go in my Adidas workout pants and UFL sweatshirt, I push out of the locker room with my bag slung over my shoulder.
Fleur must’ve been waiting because she jumps up from one of the modern red chairs that sit in a formal lobby between the men’s and women’s locker rooms. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see her in a pair of black leggings, a red UFL sweatshirt, and bright red rain boots. She’s obviously showered, her hair falling down around her shoulders,