His gaze immediately dropped to the fat red line down the middle of my lip. Maybe I could have passed it off as dry skin or some weird condition, except for the swollen state of the lip beneath it.
Two days later, it still stung.
When his eyebrows came together slightly, I realized I'd lost the game. I dropped all sense of pretense and leaned on the counter in an intentional mimicry of his posture.
"Look," I leaned waved a hand around my face. "I know what this probably looks like, particularly considering my need for a self-defense class. But I'm not an abused woman in a relationship with a crappy boyfriend. That's not what this is. That's not my jam."
A flicker of amusement traveled through those honey-gold eyes before he nodded.
"No, we don't offer self defense classes right now. We tried, but no one came."
"Well that's stupid," I muttered.
He lifted an eyebrow.
My tense body felt like I was preparing to meet a blow to the stomach. That wasn't the case this time. I was just preparing myself for his inevitable judgment. The quiet talk about what my resources were and how I deserved better. Um, no. Not again, please. I'd already been through this with my boss.
This wasn't that.
Except . . . it wasn't far off from that, either. I was potentially one more bad situation away from being a statistic, which was why I just needed someone to get me the basics.
"Do you need some help with whoever did this?" he asked, nodding toward my fat lip.
There was an underlying promise of vengeance in his words that sent a little chill through me. This guy didn't even know me, and I'd very intentionally not allowed myself to know him for the last eight weeks.
What could he possibly want retribution for?
"Nope," I replied cheerily. "Tip top over here." I leaned forward again, affecting a casual air. "Can you tell me if you have any plans for opening a self-defense class in the next week or two?"
His gaze narrowed. "What do you need?"
The blood of my enemies, I wanted to say. What do you think i need if I'm asking for a self-defense class?
I quelled the burst of inner sarcasm. My bad mood had nothing to do with Benjamin Mercedy. Actually, scratch that. It did. The quiet power in the way he held himself, his muscular frame, and the unassuming way he lived his life was all way too attractive for me to deal with in a constructive way.
Instead of answering right away, I chewed on my bottom lip and looked back to the equipment sprinkled through the gym. My gaze lingered on the lifting equipment, treadmills, and a few other things against the far wall, near the mirrors.
Actually, his question had been a fair one. There were different types of self defense. What did I need? Confidence. I needed confidence. Power. Quick reflexes. I needed to be a fighter, and all of that sometime before 3:00 pm tomorrow.
"Safety," popped out instead.
He lifted an eyebrow.
"Wait, stop. I take that back." I waved my hands in the air, thoroughly annoyed now. The smell of marinara and chicken carbonara wafted through the air as I tried to take that back. "Ignore my dramatics. I'm in a safe . . . well, mostly safe . . . situation. I just need to be able to defend myself against a surprise attacker for a few more weeks." My voice elevated a pitch too high. "Not a big deal!"
He stayed cool when he asked, "The one that hit you already?"
"Yes, if you must know," I ground out, then pointed to him. "And he is not my boyfriend or my fiancee or my husband so don't even go there. I'm not a victim. He's not . . . an attacker either. It was all an accident. I think," I tacked on, then regretted it when his lips tightened.
Except I was sort of a victim in the way that any woman would be against a much larger man she couldn't exactly escape.
The details were murky.
Benjamin frowned. "Look, our roster is full. There's literally no mat time available to host a self defense class."
A curse word slipped out under my breath, but before I could back away, he held up a hand.
"But maybe you and I could figure something out."
"What does figure something out mean?"
He tilted his head to the side. "I'll teach you a few things. Self defense isn't that hard to get started with. We'd need an hour, tops, to cover the basics."
"Really?"
He nodded. Despite having a larger-than-life presence with his body, he had a calm way about him. Coming in here had been one of the hardest things I'd ever done, and some days, that was saying something.
"Why?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Let's just say I'm a sucker for a damsel-in-distress."
Three seconds passed while I comprehended that comment. Then my blood boiled. For three more seconds, I saw the world in shades of red. Is this how Talmage felt? Is this why I had a big fat lip? Some genetic predisposition to instant rage when helpful people were just trying to help? Maybe I had too much pride.
Without realizing it, I had taken a step back sometime between the word distress and my indrawn breath of rage.
His eyes widened.
"Then find someone else to rescue," I snapped. "This damsel can save herself . . . with a few well-placed self-defense lessons from someone that isn't you," I added for good measure. "I have some pride, no matter what you've judged of me."
I spun and shoved out the front door.
Cool spring air washed down my face as I headed for the mountain bike I'd parked close to the back, out of sight. My bike had been stolen before, and thankfully recovered, but I couldn't afford another fall back. It was my only transportation.
My cheeks had exploded with heat in the ten seconds it took to tell him off. Humiliation had a way of coloring me bright crimson, and I hated it.
