Easy (14 page)

Ralph called out the
moves Lucas employed to defend himself as he and Don acted out half a dozen choreographed
attacks, time-lapsed to clearly demonstrate what they were doing. I felt more
hopeless, not less, as I watched them. Lucas’s muscular body was trained to execute
those blocks and hits, to absorb blows from an assailant. I’d watched him beat
the crap out of Buck—when I could barely dislodge him long enough to scream,
let alone inflict any damage.

“The goal here is
not to beat the guy up.” Ralph smiled at Erin’s disappointed grumble. “Our
objective is to give you time to escape. Gettin’ the hell outta Dodge is your
goal.”

We divided into
pairs to practice wrist blocks and parries. The three instructors circled the
room, assisting and repositioning. I was relieved when Don walked up to watch
Erin and me as we took turns trying to slow-motion slap each other. “Keep your
eyes on the assailant,” he reminded me. He turned to Erin. “Put a little more
oomph into that attack. She can block it.”

I was shocked to
find he was right. Erin almost hit me the second time because I was so
surprised I’d completely blocked her first attempt.

Don nodded. “Good
job.”

We smiled stupidly
at each other and switched assailant and victim roles. “So when do we get to
the junk-kicking?” Erin asked.

Don shook his head
and sighed. “I swear, there’s one in every class. Kicks will be next time.” He
pointed at her. “And I’m makin’ sure you’re in Lucas’s line for that.”

She put on her
innocent face. “Don’t y’all wear those padded Michelin-man suits?”

“Yes… but those
pads don’t block
all
feeling.”

“Heh-heh,” Erin
said, and Don quirked one eyebrow at her.

I looked around
the room during this exchange, watching Lucas with a couple of the giggly
girls. “Like this?” one of them asked, blinking up at him like she didn’t know she’d
positioned her hand incorrectly.

“No…” He turned
her palm around and adjusted her elbow. “Like that.” His voice was almost
inaudible with all of the slapping, blocking and laughter scattered through the
wide-open room. Even still, I felt his words like a soft stroke down my back. I
could hardly connect this guy—his shaggy hair, his tattoos, the pure sexuality
in the way he walked and the low thrum of his voice—with Landon, an engineering
senior who said—or wrote—that my ex was a moron and teased me about 14-year-old
orchestra students crushing on me. All while helping me pass a class I’d have
failed without him.

I was attracted to
the whole of him—each side incongruent with the other. But the whole of him was
also a liar. The fact that our professor called him by a different name than
the Assistant Chief of Police was perplexing, too. The preface of his official
email address was LMaxfield. No help there.

He looked up and
caught me staring, and for the first time that morning, neither of us looked
away until Erin said, “J—pay attention! Just
try
to slap me.” I broke
the stare and turned to her. She moved around to face me, her back to Lucas,
and rolled her eyes. “Does the concept of playing hard-to-get totally escape
you?” she whispered. “Let. Him. Chase.”

“I’m not playing
that game any longer.”

She glanced over
her shoulder and back. “Girlfriend, I don’t think
he
knows that.”

I shrugged.

We practiced
defensive stances and simple hand strikes, and though I felt silly at first,
Erin and I were soon yelling, “NO!” along with our classmates, and shoving the
heels of our hands into each other’s chins or hammering a fist (very slowly)
down onto each other’s noses.

“The last thing
today will be ground defense. We’ll watch Don and Lucas illustrate the first
position and defense, and then each pair come grab a mat and we’ll circulate
while you practice.”

Lucas lay face
down on the mat and Don knelt over him, holding him down with his weight. My
heart rate spiked and my breaths came irregularly, just watching. I didn’t want
to be in that position again. I couldn’t do it in front of a classroom of
people. I couldn’t do it in front of Lucas.

Erin uncurled my
fist with her fingers and took my hand. “J, you’ve gotta do this one. You be
the attacker first. It’ll be okay.”

I shook my head.
“I don’t want to. It’s too much like—” I swallowed.

“Which is exactly
why you’ve got to do it.” Before I said anything else, she squeezed my hand.
“Hey, help
me
do it, okay? And then we’ll see how you feel.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

I helped Erin, but
I could only stand to play the victim once. I did the moves—and dislodged her
fairly easily. As an ex-cheerleader, Erin was strong, but she was no Buck. I
had no faith that this move would dislodge someone of his size and strength.

I couldn’t look at Lucas—not during this final exercise, and not as we filed out the door.

***

“You sure you don’t wanna go? I
could use you to keep me from testing those moves we learned this morning on
Chaz, if he has the balls to show up at this party.”

I looked up from
the novel I was reading, because Landon still hadn’t sent my econ project back
(funny how I continued to think of him in terms of
Lucas
and
Landon
),
and I was weirdly caught up on homework. My roommate had never understood my
compulsion to read when I had free time, especially if there were campus social
events to attend. “No, Erin, I really don’t want to go to a sorority thing,
believe it or not. Not to mention the fact that no one would be thrilled to see
me there.”

Hands on hips, she
frowned down at me. “You’re probably right. But you’re coming with me to the Brotherhood
Bash in a couple of weeks, right? Bitches got nothing to say about me bringing
you then—frat rules apply—additional booze and broads welcome.”

“Aww, what a sweet
and not at all demeaning sentiment.”

She laughed while
she pulled on platform heels. “I know, right? What a bunch of pricks.” Her
smile fell. “Seriously, though, I could use a buffer between me and Chaz that
night. Not that he’ll, you know, bother me. But I know some girls who’ve just
been waiting for me to be out of the way. They’ll be on him like ticks on a
country dog, and I really don’t wanna see it.”

I nodded. “I
understand—and
eww
on that visual... though it’s revoltingly
appropriate. Can’t you just skip the brotherhood thing? You could have the
Asian Flu. Or Malaria. I’ll vouch.”

Tossing her hair
over her shoulder, she grabbed her purse and walked to the door like a runway
model—not the slightest wobble. “Nope. It’s a huge deal. Besides, I’ve gotta
face it sometime. Plus, I already RSVP’d for us both. And I have a couple of
weeks to mentally prepare for it.” She yanked the door open. “We’re going power
shopping after break, though. I’m gonna make that asshole gnaw his own hand off
that night, dammit.”

As the door shut
behind her, my phone trilled a text alert.

Lucas:  Do you still want to see the charcoal?

Me:  Yes

Lucas:  Tonight?

Me:  Ok

Lucas:  I’ll be outside your place in 10? Pull your hair back and wear something warm.

Me:  You aren’t bringing it over?

Lucas:  I was bringing you to it. Unless you don’t want to.

Me:  I’ll come down, but I need 15 minutes.

Lucas:  I’ll wait. No rush.

I tore around the
room like an insane person, stripping off my flannel PJs and snatching a clean
bra and panties from the clean-but-not-put-away laundry pile. Warm clothes… Sweats?
No
.
Jeans. Black UGGs. The soft sapphire sweater that made Erin say,
“That makes your eyes
pop
.” After brushing my teeth, I brushed my hair
and secured it at the nape—though I wasn’t sure why.

Grabbing my black
wool peacoat on the way out the door, I left the building by the main exit. I
hadn’t been in the stairwell since Buck caught me there, even when it meant
extra steps.

Lucas was at the
curb, leaning against a motorcycle, arms crossed over his chest. Along with his
now-familiar boots and jeans, he wore a dark brown leather jacket that made his
hair look black. Watching me with those light eyes, his gaze didn’t waver from
me, no matter the distracting Saturday night noises of residents coming and
going. He didn’t hide the unhurried top-to-bottom scan that left parts of me
molten and longing for him to touch me like he had in my room.

Swallowing the
lump in my throat, I reminded myself of his deception in a failing attempt to
douse the desire spreading through me like lava—slow-moving, heavy and hot. My
trepidation about his motorcycle helped cool it to some degree. I’d never been
on one before, and couldn’t say I’d ever intended to change that fact. When I
walked up to him, he held out an extra helmet.

“I guess this is
the reason for the hair guidelines,” I said, taking the helmet and examining it
hesitantly.

“You can take it
back down when we get to my place, if you want. I didn’t figure you’d want to
stuff it under the helmet… or leave it loose and let it get all tangled on the
ride.”

I shook my head,
wondering if I needed to undo the straps completely or just loosen them.

“Never been on a bike
before?”

From the corner of
my eye, I saw Rona and Olivia exit the building behind a group of boys. Both
girls stopped and stared at Lucas, and then me, while I pretended not to notice
them. “Um. No…”

“Let me help you
with that, then.”

After I put my bag’s
strap over my head and settled it crosswise over my chest, he took the helmet
and placed it on my head, securing the straps under my chin.

I felt like a
bobblehead figurine.

Once we were both
helmeted and on the bike, I reached my arms around him and clasped my hands
over his abdomen, marveling at how firm it was.

“Hold on,” he said,
shoving the kickstand back. His suggestion was unnecessary as the engine roared
to life—I had a death grip on his torso, my entire front pressed securely
against his back, my chin tucked and my eyes squeezed shut. I tried to imagine
I was on a roller coaster—perfectly safe and attached to a track instead of
hurtling through the streets on a flimsy five hundred pounds or so of metal and
rubber, hoping some drunk in an SUV wouldn’t run a red light and flatten us.

The ride to his
place—an apartment over a detached garage—took less than ten minutes. My hands
were numb from the combination of the grasp each had on the other and the chilled
November air rushing over them. As I stood rubbing them together, he parked the
bike on a paved section between the garage and the open steps before turning
and taking my hands in his, one at a time, and massaging warmth into them. “I
should have reminded you to wear gloves.”

I pulled my hand
from his and pointed to the house not more than fifty feet away. “Do your
parents live there?”

“No.” He turned to
walk up the wooden stairway and I followed. “I rent the apartment.”

He unlocked the
door to a huge studio with a wall, but no door, defining what I assumed was the
bedroom in the far right corner. A small open kitchen was on the left; a bathroom
between the two. On the sofa, a huge orange tabby cat regarded me with
characteristic feline apathy before hopping down and stalking to the door.

“This is Francis.”
Lucas opened the door and the tom wandered lazily outside, stopping on the
landing to clean a paw.

I laughed, moving
to the center of the room. “
Francis?
He looks more like a… Max. Or maybe
a King.”

He shut and locked
the door, his ghost smile turning his mouth up on one side. “Trust me, he’s
superior enough without a macho name to back it up.”

He shrugged his
jacket off as he crossed the room to me, and I stared up at him, starting to
unbutton my coat. “Names are important,” I said.

He nodded,
dropping his eyes to my fingers. “Yes.” I pushed the oversized buttons through
the slits slowly, top to bottom, as though there was nothing beneath. Sliding
his thumbs inside the lapels, he dragged the coat from my shoulders, his thumbs
brushing down the arms of my sweater. “Soft.”

“It’s cashmere.”
My voice was nearly breathless, and though I wanted to follow up on my
statement about names, wanted to press him to tell me why he was misleading me,
I couldn’t jar the words from my throat.

The coat fell past
my fingertips and he turned aside, tossed it on top of his jacket. “I had an
ulterior motive for bringing you here.”

I blinked. “You
did?”

Grimacing, he took
my hands. “I want to show you something, but I don’t want to freak you out.” He
breathed a sigh. “This morning—that last thing—the ground defense…” He watched
me closely, and I tried to look away, anywhere but his eyes, because my face
was burning, humiliated, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from his. “I know you
don’t believe it would work. I want to show you it will.”

“What do you mean,
show me?”

His hands
tightened on mine. “I want to teach you exactly how to execute it. Here. With
no one else watching.”

It was the
replication of the position itself, but also the thought of him watching that had
been so unnerving this morning, but he couldn’t know that.

“Trust me,
Jacqueline. It works. Will you let me show you?”

I nodded.

He led me to the
center of the floor space, pulled me down to my knees next to him. “Lie flat.
On your stomach.” Heart pounding, I obeyed. “The majority of men have no
martial arts training whatsoever, so they won’t be able to counter the moves
correctly. And even those who do won’t be expecting what you’re going to do.
Remember what Ralph said—the key is to get away.”

I nodded, my cheek
on the carpet, my heart slamming against the floor.