But once he glanced back at her, the half laughing stopped dead.
He saw her face—most probably tight with sudden alarm—and it was like a switch had been flipped.
“Not that any of that is a bad thing. Or a thing that I’m about to take advantage of. Is that how it just seemed? Like I was explaining exactly how I’m going to kill you?”
“It kind of had a whiff of that, yeah.”
“Okay, so what about this: I show you ways to nail me.”
“You…want to show me ways to…nail you.”
“I’m just going to breeze right by the double meaning of nailed and say yes. Absolutely yes.”
“You can’t be serious. Are you serious?”
“I am. First up, this knee right here?” He pointed to the offending body part, while lifting it a little so she could really see. “You could probably blow on it and put me down.”
“If that were true I reckon you would lose a lot more wrestling matches.”
“I don’t lose matches because no one knows my right leg is basically made of glass and sawdust. Half of wrestling is hiding your weaknesses so your opponent can never exploit them.”
“This must be pretty weird for you then. Describing exactly how I can do just that.”
“Actually it feels more like bursting a blister. Sort of painful but mostly a huge relief.”
“Because you always wanted to tell me how to bust your chops?”
She intended sarcasm, she really did. She intended it hard.
Only he didn’t take it that way at all. He answered it straight, and sort of softly.
“Because you’re the only person outside the team I’ve told.”
Then carried right on as though it didn’t mean anything at all.
“Now…when I lunge I tend to throw everything I got into it. So what you have to do is use it against me. You have to come back at me immediately, while I’m still committed to it.”
“Tate, if you lunge at me chances are I’m going to pass out.”
“You stood your ground when Jason threatened you with a fucking truck, Letty. If that doesn’t make you lose your goddamn mind, nothing on earth will.”
He paused then, but not to give her time to process this bombshell. He just needed it to clear the table to one side, so he could get into what she assumed was a lunge position—left leg crooked, right leg back, shoulders forward. While she stood there, heart suddenly thumping slow and thick, mouth too open, eyes too wide. If he glanced at her for even a second he would see how much he’d just affected her. How awesome it was to hear him talk as though she was brave.
But he didn’t. Like with the confession about his weaknesses—he just hit it and carried on.
“Okay, so you see how the plane of my thigh is completely open here? You need to use that. You need to use it like a step—just put your foot right up on it.”
“I really don’t think I can put my foot up on your leg.”
“Sure you can. Just give it a shot.”
“You say that like you’re not seven hundred feet tall. I think I might have to do the splits just to get anywhere close to your thigh,” she said, though that wasn’t really what bothered her.
It was the thought of what she might reveal when she did it. She was wearing jeans, but the jeans would probably pull taut in places she didn’t want them to. Parts of her would crease and form rolls—and then there was her lack of balance. He knew she would wobble.
She did wobble when she tentatively attempted it.
She gingerly lifted her right leg, and almost went sprawling.
And there was no relief when she finally planted her foot.
“Now just climb. Get ahold of my shoulder and climb until you’re behind me.”
“Are you sure this is a method of defeating you? It sounds more like you want to help me audition for Cirque du Soleil. In which case I should probably remind you: I have all the coordination of a drunk puppy.”
“Seriously, just try it. It’s way easier than it looks.”
“And you know this how? Had a lot of girls springboard off your thigh?”
“Sure, it’s my favorite thing to do from The Kama Sutra.”
She jerked back at that—though not all the way off him.
And curiously, when she spoke her tone seemed to lack any real anger.
“Are you serious Tate? Is this just you goofing off because—”
“No, no, Letty I’m kidding, okay, that was me kidding. There is no thigh springboard in The Kama Sutra. I swear to god. That was just a joke come on. Come on, just put your hands on my shoulder.”
“I…okay. Okay, yeah, I can do that.”
She reached forward, tentative as a fawn. Eyes constantly on his face, to judge whether some sudden terrible shock was coming. Yet when it did come, she still wasn’t prepared.
“Oh baby, that feels so good,” he said.
Followed by her losing most of the shit she had left.
There was hand waving and jumping back and stern words.
“You fuck face. Fuck you I hate you so much.”