“Are you okay?” Without thinking, I reach both hands up and grab his face to get a better look.
Shit.
I jerk them away and take a giant step back before he can snap at me about boundaries. It’s not like I haven’t heard that one before. Everyone from my parents to my therapists have tried to instill that in me, but every so often, I slip up. Like now, for instance.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, moving even farther away.
Warmth spreads along my arm when he reaches out and curls his fingers around my wrist. The barest hint of a smile plays at the edge of his lips, dulling some of his sharper edges.
“It’s fine. Really. I’m pretty used to having hands all over me.”
The seagulls dive into the sea of dread in my gut, raising the tide of the toxic liquid and letting it course through me. It’s no surprise that he’s used to having hands on him. I’m sure he has endless opportunities to hook up with women looking for a little danger. Not like I care. It’s not my business, anyway.
Pinpricks of heat radiate from where his hand is still flush against my skin.Holy shit, his hands are big. His palm nearly encircles my wrist on its own. If it wasn’t for that grip, I wouldtake off like a bat out of hell. My face tightens as I glare at the shackle—like that will do any good.
“Not like that.” That ghost of a smile vanishes as his face twists into a grimace, but he doesn’t release me. “Goddamnit. My brain isn’t working right today. I coach at an MMA gym down the street. Jiu-jitsu destroyed my personal bubble years ago, especially once I took over the kids’ program. Those little hellions love to climb all over me. Who needs a jungle gym when you have Coach Gage, right? I…I’m going to stop talking now.”
Pleasant pressure builds in my chest as he rambles. It’s adorable, and my teeth bite into my bottom lip to keep the dopey smile off my face.
“Good to know. My bubble is pretty big, but I’m bad about remembering other people’s exist.”
“Shit, sorry,” he hisses and drops his hold on me.
The loss of contact sends a visceral wave of bitter-cold disappointment through me. I didn’t mean that he was in my space.
“It’s fine.” My cheeks heat as I wave off his concern.
There I go, making things awkward again. That’s the Kori special. What would a normal person do in this situation? Small talk, probably, but I’ve never been able to figure that one out. I think we are past the point of talking about the weather.
“So, kids?” I ask. “That doesn’t exactly mesh with the whole ‘big scary man’ vibes you’ve got going.”
He huffs, which I think was supposed to be laughter, and shrugs.
“It’s something that was thrust upon me back when the gym opened, and as the years went by, I never stopped.”
“So you enjoy it, then?”
“Honestly, yeah. More than I ever thought I would.”
I start to ask him more, but he lets out a large yawn, reminding me of the question he conveniently never answered before.
“Seriously, are you okay? You look like shit.”
Weariness overtakes his features, his shoulders slumping as he lets out a deep sigh. It only lasts for a moment before his face returns to its neutral mask, but in that split second, he lets me see more than words could ever express. He’s not okay.
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
If tired means bone-deep exhaustion, then sure, I guess he’s just tired.
“Gage—”
“I have to get back inside,” he interrupts. “I’m glad I ran into you.”
He doesn’t wait for my reply before turning and jogging back toward the shop. As his hand finds the door handle, he pauses.
“What’s your name, Yellow?” he calls out over his shoulder.
“Kori.”
