Make It Right (8 page)

“Your influence, Dad.”

“Phsaw,” he said, waving her away, but his grin and red cheeks told her he was flattered.

L
EA SAT IN
bed later that night, reading over her e-mail to Bruce Shaw. After talking with her dad about Nick, he’d agreed that volunteering to teach self defense classes was a great idea. So she’d called Jackie and they discussed the situation. Jackie was understandably angry and concerned about the assaults. She said she had some ideas on the best way to teach the class, and she’d be happy to do it as long as the school provided a room.

So Lea composed an e-mail to the recreation-center director, proposing the class and asking to use a room. She hoped he’d be on board. She’d already designed some quick flyer examples to print out and paste around campus.

Satisfied with the e-mail to Bruce, she clicked
SEN
D
. Hopefully, she and Jackie could help students be more aware of their surroundings and confident in the wake of these assaults.

She asked for an assistant, though, someone she could practice on. She hoped Bruce had someone in mind.

After she sent the e-mail, she leaned back on her pillows and stared at her ceiling. Her thoughts drifted to Max. The blanket he’d placed over her legs. The light in his eyes. The openness of his face as he gave her advice, no matter how misguided.

The situation was so incongruous with what she thought of Max. He was just some arrogant jock who saw girls as disposable, right? The type of guy she stayed away from.

She pulled up her pajama leg and ran her fingers over the scars on her left leg. There were several, which arched from mid-calf over her knee to mid-thigh. Glass and metal from a scrunched-up car don’t care about the soft tissue and blood and bones of the passengers inside.

The scars and often-gnawing pain reminded her what happened when she let her trust override her sense.

When she was thirteen, she’d been playing with Nick at his neighbor’s house. They’d gone over to the play with the neighbor kid—same age as Nick—several times a week that summer. She’d grown to love and trust the mom, who fed them homemade snacks and peanut butter and jelly with the crusts cut off.

Lea had noticed the too-bright eyes, the trembling hands, the slurred words. But at thirteen years old, they hadn’t meant anything to her.

She’d been told by her parents and Nick’s parents never to get in the car with anyone but them. Ever.

One day, the mom piled them in the car, telling them she had to run an errand. Lea knew the rules and was responsible for the ten-year-old Nick. But she trusted the mom and buckled herself in the backseat, ignoring the uneasy feeling in her gut.

That was the day she became familiar with hospitals, pain, and the sick feeling of seeing Nick injured.

And that’s when she learned what happened when you trusted others. When she didn’t keep her guard up.

There were plenty of times she cursed her injury. Tried to hide it under baggy clothes. Cried about the bullying and mocking from her peers about the scars and her limp. Went through bouts of depression that put her in months of therapy as a sullen teen. When she wore all black. Lied about her age to get piercings and tattoos. The pressure to be a beautiful woman in society was too much, so she made the rest of herself unique to match the leg.

But all she’d managed to do was look like every other angsty teen, rebelling against their parents’ rules, whining about how hard life was. So in the end, she still looked like everyone else except with a scarred leg and a limp.

So that was teenage bullshit. By the time she entered college, she’d come to terms with her appearance, became comfortable in her imperfect skin. She grew out the crazy colors she dyed her hair. She bought clothes that made her feel comfortable. Wasn’t much to be done about the tattoos and piercings. She still liked most of them anyway.

And she didn’t put herself in a position to be scorned. She didn’t give anyone the power to make her feel less confident about herself, particularly men. Sure, she’d had relationships, but finding a man who was okay with her from the mid-thigh down was hard. She’d been asked to leave the lights off and the covers on when things began to get intimate. Well, screw that. Everyone had scars once they were naked. Hers were just a little more noticeable.

From what she knew of Max Payton he was the perfect example of a guy she wouldn’t let close. A guy who would curl his lip up at her leg and suggest maybe she wear pants rather than the pencil-length skirts she was so fond of.

Sure, she’d noticed his eyes and cute butt and long legs, but men who didn’t have the personality to match the looks didn’t hold any interest to her. She’d tease and throw back any sexual innuendos he threw her way. But no way would she take it any farther.

But now . . . she wasn’t so sure of her feelings. She was guilty of judging his appearance and the act he put on in public as she’d been judged so many times. And that made her feel like a hypocrite.

Shaking her head, she shut down her laptop and picked up her YA literature textbook. But thoughts of Max kept slipping in. And by the time she drifted to sleep, all she thought about was his arms around her as he helped her from his truck, and how his lips would feel on hers.

Chapter 8

M
AX TOSSED HIS
book in his bag and stood up when he saw his replacement at the rec desk walk toward him.

He greeted the guy, Charlie something, and slung his bag over his shoulder. He retreated to the locker room to get changed to work out, and was two steps out the door and on the way to the weight room floor when Bruce called his name.

Max waited as Bruce jogged over to him. “Payton, you off your desk shift?”

“Yeah, just about get a workout in.”

Bruce stopped in front of him and heaved a sigh. A bead of sweat ran down his temple. “I hate to ask you this, but I’m in a bind.”

Max straightened. “What do you need?”

Bruce wiped his forehead. “Well, we’re starting a self defense class because of the . . . ya know.” He waved his hand and Max nodded. “And it’s kind of last minute, but my volunteer bailed. We need someone—like a big guy—for the instructors to practice on. Could you do that for me?”

How hard could it be? As he agreed and followed Bruce to the wrestling room where the class would be held because of the mats, his finger itched to text Lea about the class. It’d be something he thought she’d like. But he hadn’t seen her for two weeks, since the chance meeting in the supermarket. He’d been busy with classes and every time he thought about contacting her, he wussed out.

A tall woman with dark skin and natural hair tied back with an elastic band stepped out of the classroom as they approached. She eyed Max. “This the volunteer?”

A female instructor? Really?

Bruce clapped Max on the back. “Max Payton. Good kid, treat him kindly.”

Max didn’t like the wink she gave Bruce.

He stepped into the room where about ten women and fifteen men stretched. His eyes swept the area until he landed on a familiar back. He’d seen those shoes and tight pants before. That dark hair swishing down the center of her back. And that tank top, too, except this one was royal blue.

And when she turned around, dark eyes locked on him. He stepped toward her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, sweeping her hair into a messy bun on the top of her head. The effortless way she did it was hot, but he wanted to ruin it, rip out the elastic band and ruffle her hair, get it messy. That’d be even hotter.

“Max?”

“Oh, uh, my rec center boss asked me to volunteer. I thought about calling you. Glad you’re here for the class. I mean.”

She hummed under her breath.

He leaned in and jerked a thumb discreetly over the shoulder at the instructor. “I just have to avoid getting poked in the eye by some chick. Can’t be too hard, right?”

Lea’s jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed. If looks could kill, he’d be on the ground without his nuts. What did he say that was so bad?

But before he could ask, the instructor clapped her hands and brought their attention to the front of the class.

“Thanks for joining us. I know we organized this rather quickly, but in light of the crimes in the community, we wanted to give you some tools to improve your chances of staying safe or escaping relatively unharmed.”

She introduced herself as Jackie Banner and talked about her background in karate and her experience teaching martial arts and self-defense for two decades. Max didn’t think she looked old enough to have that much experience.

And then she turned toward Max and Lea. “Helping me today . . .” Max stepped forward. “ . . . is my longtime student and black belt, Lea Travers.”

And Max’s heart plunged to the ground. At least the mat was padded. Black belt? Martial artist? Oh shit, this was bad, oh so bad, because what did he say? Something about a chick poking him in the eye? Oh fuck.

Lea stepped forward, her back muscles tight, and then turned around to face the class.

But her eyes were on him, and she still had the death stare.

Oh fuck.

Then Jackie said his name and introduced him as the volunteer, explaining to the class that Lea would be performing the moves on him, and he began to sweat.

Lea bent down, picked something up and shoved it into his chest. He looked down. It was headgear and some sort of weird padded thong. Like a sumo wrestler or something. And a bunch of other pads, but he had no idea where they were supposed to go. Hell no.

He handed it back to her. “I don’t need this shit.”

She clenched her jaw but didn’t take the pads. “Are you sure?”

He tossed them to the side and rolled his neck. “Yeah.”

He could handle this. He grew up with two older brothers. He’d broken five bones as a kid, including his nose during hockey. Fuck, Alec had run over him with a golf cart.

How bad could a couple smacks by little Lea be?

Twenty minutes later, he learned it was really fucking bad, as he lay on his back at Lea’s feet, staring at the ceiling, stunned.

He’d been instructed to come at her as if to grab her shoulders. And then she’d taken the heel of her palm and with one well-place smack, hit his carotid artery in his neck. And it was like he’d been standing one minute, and on the ground the next. Standing over him as he waited to get feeling back in his shoulder and his head to stop spinning, she explained to the class. “A blow to the carotid artery isn’t something to mess around with. It is dangerous.”

He grumbled and she nudged his shoe with hers and shot him a look to shut up.

“But it’s very effective, because it interrupts the blood flow, is very painful . . .” Max grumbled again but she ignored him “ . . . and can even temporarily paralyze.”

He didn’t remember a warning. Was there a warning about this before he agreed? There should have been a waiver to sign. Like his will. He hoped Alec would take good care of Wayne when he died from a blow by a five-foot pixie.

He rose to his feet slowly, and Lea eyed him, but kept talking. “Remember, the purpose of self-defense is not to stand your ground and fight or inflict as much injury as you can on your attacker. Your purpose is to create a diversion and get away to call for help. Also, most of these assaults have been by multiple attackers. Life isn’t a Jason Statham movie. You can’t take on five guys at once. Okay?”

The class nodded, eyeing Max. He saw sympathy in those eyes. And that straightened his back. He was fine. Pain was temporary.

For the next exercise, Jackie instructed Max to grab Lea from behind and try to drag her away. Max wanted to laugh evilly and yell, “I will take you to my lair, fair maiden,” but he didn’t think Jackie or Lea would be amused, so he cleared his throat and stepped back toward the wall.

Lea stood with her back to him, that messy bun untouched, perfectly round ass in his line of vision.

Lea was supposed to try to stomp her heel down on his foot, so his job was to evade her heels. So he wrapped his arms around her and her ass snugged up against his groin. He danced backward, shifting his feet to avoid her stomping heels and it was all too much. He was only human. And a horny male. Her ass in her tight spandex and her coconut smell and her hair tickling his nose and her breasts resting on top of his arms.

All of it led to his dick perking up. During a violent self-defense class. What was
wrong
with him?

He shifted his hips back as far as he could, thankful he wore baggy mesh basketball shorts. He hoped to God she couldn’t feel he was hard. Awkward.

But then Jackie called a halt to the exercise and the next words sent a chill down his spine. “Lea and Max demonstrated stomping on your attacker’s feet when he grabs you from behind is not the most effective method to get away. Mainly because he’s not going to stand there. His plan is often to grab you and take you somewhere. So, if your attacker is male, then you’ll want to reach back and grab his groin. Pull, squeeze, whatever. It’s all going to hurt and cause him to let you go so you can get away.”

She turned to Max and Lea. “Let’s show the class.”

Lea shot a look over her shoulder and the spark in her eye told him this would not end well. And his stupid dick still loved the shape of her ass and back and hadn’t gotten the memo it was about to get mauled. Or maybe, it had gotten the memo and wanted said mauling.

He took a deep breath and lunged forward, wrapping his arms around her slender waist again. He knew what was coming, but it was near impossible to avoid her hand while still keeping her in his arms. And then her hand brushed his hard dick and he released her immediately, taking a giant step back.

Lea didn’t turn around, but stayed facing forward. There was no way she didn’t feel it though. No way. And how was he going to explain that?

Jackie droned on in the background, addressing the class, instructing them to perform the exercises, but without physical contact. No injuries on her watch. Max wished she’d cared while he was lying on the ground.

They went through another couple of techniques before Jackie instructed everyone to buddy up to practice what they’d learned.

Lea finally turned to face him and beckoned with her hands. “Come on,” she said.

“Come on, what?”

She placed her hands on her hips. “Don’t you want to practice the moves?”

What he wanted to do was go home and take a cold shower. Or a hot one and jerk off. “I can fight.”

Those eyes spit fire at him. “Seriously? Were you even paying attention? This isn’t about fighting, this is about—“

“Yeah, yeah, creating a diversion and running away.” Max flapped his hand.

Her voice lowered to a whisper. “This isn’t a joke.”

Shit. Her cousin had been assaulted and Max was making a joke out of her trying to do something right. He deserved her venom for that.

“Sorry, you’re right.”

Her face softened. A fraction.

She motioned for him to step closer and he did. When she spoke, her tone went into “teacher mode,” slightly stern and very articulate. He imagined it was the one she planned to use in the classroom when she graduated.

Lea pointed to the side of her neck and tilted her head so he could see the thick cord under her skin. “The carotid artery runs here. Go ahead and feel it.”

Max shifted his weight and looked around the room. Jackie was focused on two women in the back, so she wasn’t watching them. He turned back to Lea. The heat rolled off of her body and her chest rose and fell with deep breaths. A steady pulse beat at the base of her neck and that beautiful stretch of skin begged him to latch on, kiss and suck until he’d marked it.

“Max,” she prodded and he licked his lips and ran his fingers lightly down the side of her neck where she had indicated. Goose bumps trailed in the wake of his touch and he met her eyes. Her pupils were dilated, her pulse and breaths fast.

They held gazes for seconds, minutes, hours. Max didn’t know. He was lost in those knowing eyes and didn’t come to until Jackie clapped her hands near their heads.

“Next position!” she hollered.

So he’d been out of it for a minute tops. But if the flush in Lea’s face, neck and upper chest was any indication, he hadn’t been the only one.

“Hey, can you two walk around and make sure everyone is working on these correctly and show them if they aren’t?”

Max nodded, unable to find his tongue or voice. Lea cleared her throat. “Sure, no problem.”

Max followed Lea as she circulated the room. When she saw a mistake, she was kind but firm, never ridiculing the student or acting above them.

They reached two girls who were practicing defending themselves if an attacker tried to grab them by the throat. Jackie had instructed them not to try to break the attacker’s arms or hands, but instead hit the attacker in the face. The tall blonde simulated smacking her partner, a petite redhead, on the cheeks.

Max stepped in. “Hey, umm . . .”

“Casey,” The blonde said breathlessly, catching her breath from the exercise.

“Right, Casey. You want to focus on the most sensitive areas of the face, okay? Remember, Jackie said, ‘eyes, ears, mouth, nose’?”

Casey nodded and looked uncertainly at her partner.

“Hey, it’s okay, but I noticed your hands were on her cheeks. The most effective would be to use the heels of your hands and thrust into your attacker’s eyes.”

He gestured to Lea. “Here, she’ll show you. She’ll probably like blinding me again.” He played off a joke, because Casey had begun to look a little embarrassed at being called out.

Lea smiled easily and they simulated an attack. He took a shot to the eyes for it, because Lea didn’t do so well “simulating,” but it was worth it to see the light dawning over Casey’s face.

“Oh, I get it! So, like this.” And when her partner grabbed her throat, Casey’s palms connected softly with her friend’s eyes.

Both came away smiling and Max returned it. “Perfect, you got it.”

“Thanks, Max,” Casey said, turning back to her partner to continue the exercises.

Max moved on, scanning the room, eager to help out another student. He wasn’t an expert like Lea, but he’d paid attention, despite Lea’s ass as a distraction, so he felt justified in helping everyone out.

The hair on his neck prickled and he turned around. Lea was watching him, leaning a shoulder up against the wall and rubbing her bad leg. He jerked his chin toward it. “You need something?”

Her jaw clenched, then released. “Nah, I’m okay. You were pretty good with Casey.”

He stepped toward Lea. “Thanks. I liked helping her out. It’s really cool to see when that switch flips in their head, you know? When they just ‘get it.’ And that I helped them.”

Lea smiled, a brilliant one, with all her teeth. “Oh, I totally get that feeling. Why do you think I want to teach?”

“You want your summers off?”

She laughed and smacked his arm. “Shut up.”

He rubbed the reddened area. “I think you hit me enough today, doll, geesh.”

“Sorry. But you were the one who challenged me. Acted like all you had to do was avoid getting poked in the eyes. Which, for the record, hurts really badly.”

He shrugged. “I guess a well-timed punch works just as well. Those fucking shitheads try to beat me up and steal my shit, they won’t know what hit them. I bench two seventy-five.”

Lea’s smile faded. “What, you think this class is only for girls?”