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And since it’d been an embarrassingly long time since I’d had any, I would take the high where I could get it.

When Halley made a motion to stand, I stopped her. “No. Stay put.”

Her eyes thinned with confusion.

I stepped onto the mat, circling her, staring down at her like she was my prey. Halley tried to lift up again, but I shook my head. “Wait for me to come to you.”

Her chest heaved, billowing the baggy T-shirt that fell just below her thighs. My heart thundered in time with the song’s bass as I kept my focus narrowly trained on her.

I shot forward and she reacted, raising both hands with a block before I straightened again and continued my deliberate pacing around her. Halley flicked a hand out at me, but I dodged it, half-bent over as she dropped to her butt and spun in aligned tandem, tracking my movements.

We did this for a solid minute. I was testing her focus, her reflexes, her reaction time.

She was sharp. Aware of every calculated step I took, of every swing of my arm and hitch of my breath.

I lunged forward, simulating a strike that she quickly deflected. As she shifted her weight, I circled behind her, but Halley anticipated the maneuver, spinning around to face me, our motions a synchronized rhythm of combat and strategy.

Without warning, I snatched her by the hair.

Inclined forward.

Tucked her head to my chest as she whipped her arm out to curl around my neck, an attempt at gaining the upper hand and flipping me over.

I held tight, not holding back, dropping to my knees and staying steady as her legs shot out and circled my midsection. She fell onto her back, and I followed, moving over her. Linking her ankles at the center of my spine, she used her whole weight to try and twist me, maintaining a headlock.

“Move your arm,” I instructed. “Over mine.”

She started flailing, and I heard the panic creeping into her shaky breaths.

“Relax, Halley.” My tone was even as I held firm, not wanting to give her the easy way out. She needed to overpower me, needed to win. “Come on. Flip me over.”

Grunts, pants, whimpers.

Her fuel was morphing into fear as she struggled in my grip.

I loosened up and straightened, her legs still hooked around my middle. When I lurched forward again, she reverted to a defensive move instead of offense. “Don’t cross your arms.”

“Reed—”

I yanked her arms apart and slammed them to the mat by the wrists. “Stop being afraid,” I demanded. “Fight back. You can do this. Stop being fucking scared?—”

A growl tore from her lips and she popped her hips up with renewed strength, putting me in another headlock and pivoting her body to the left with all her strength. I lost leverage and she flipped me over, straddling me with her bare thighs.

But I kept going, kept testing her abilities, refusing to let her relish in a temporary win that would do nothing but lower her guard. “That was good,” I breathed out, sweat forming on my browline. I grappled with her, hauling her onto her side as our limbs tangled and our bodies intertwined like a pretzel. “Use your legs.”

She huffed and heaved, moving her arms over mine, trying to swivel my hips with both of her legs. “I thought you didn’t dance,” she forced out, my face pressed to the crook of her neck.

I stilled for a beat, replaying her words, and then my mind reeled back to Jay’s bedroom.

A pile of CDs in our laps.

Her hazel eyes sparkling, bewitching me, altering my fucking DNA.

“Do you dance?”

“Movement is art. Motion is freeing.”

She tried twisting my arm as she inched her way up my torso, but I maintained control. “Is that what you think this is? Dancing?”

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