He rubs his chin. “What if I kick you?”
“Then I can officially drop you as a client.” I smirk. “There’s a clause in my contract about assault, which relieves me of all coaching duties.”
“So, would you like me to kick you? Is that what you’re getting at?”
“You caught me. Now stop being a baby and try it.”
“Fine.” He rubs his hands together again. Where does he think they are going? He’s not about to attempt the uneven bars or something.
He huffs out a breath then drops his hands to the floor and chucks his feet in the air.
His feet hit the wall so hard and fast I barely catch his shins.
“K, now push up.” I try to focus on his face and not his exposed abdomen.
He really should have tucked his shirt in. All those muscles? Bleh. Seen one, seen them all. It’s just getting old at this point. Like who even cares about six-packs these days?
His first push-up is shaky, but the second is much better. So is the third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and yep, he’s going for another one to beat me.
So annoying.
He makes it to ten.
“How do I get down?” he wheezes.
I pull my eyes away from his abs again. The little traitors keep jumping the fence to steal another peek.
“Just drop,” I say.
His left arm caves, and then he’s falling. On me.
I can’t react fast enough. My shoe catches on a seam in the mat, causing my knees to buckle, and I’m attacked by his hairy legs. My head hits the floor, and a giant shoe slams into my cheek.
He must have taken my advice literally.
“Ow.”
“I’m so sorry, Maddie.” Now Connor’s face is hovering over mine instead of his giant shoes. It’s definitely an upgrade.
Oh no, did I get a concussion?
“My arm gave out. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” One hand gently cradles the back of my head while he brushes the hair out of my face with the other. His eyes rake over me, slowly, deliberately.
I blink back the stars in my vision. “Just enough to set me free.” And then willingly, and unbidden, a smile escapes me like I’ve never known.
I erase it the second I realize what happened, but he saw it. I can tell by the twinkle in his eyes and by his grin.
I press a hand to my forehead. “I think I need to get checked for a head injury.”
“Is it that bad?” His smile morphs into concern. “Should I take you to the hospital? Why does this keep happening to me?”
“What are you talking about?”
He ignores my question. “How many fingers am I holding up?” He holds a peace sign in front of my face.
“One less and you’d be flipping me off.”
His face relaxes. “You’re okay.”
