Page 32 of Tell Me You Love Me

“Uh…”

“So sorry.” Alana grabs Franklin’s hand and yanks him along with such speed, the poor kid’s glasses skid along his nose. “We’re leaving. We didn’t?—”

“Alana Page…” Entirely too pleased with herself, Eliza lies flat against the mats, dropping her arms so she becomes half a starfish. But her legs stay put. She makes fucking sure they do. And because she enjoys setting shit on fire, she twists her neck and presents a smug, beaming smile. “I heard you were back. Figured I’d see you at some point.”

“Eliza…” Wary, with a side of straight-up fucking furious, Alana inches back this way and studies the scene we make. This is shit we do every day in the gym. Guys and girls. Guys with guys, and girls with girls. There’s never been a part of me, not once in the history of my entire life, that has questioned being twisted up with another human like this.

Never have I stopped and thought, ‘Hey, this looks bad.’ Because it’s not bad. It’s a sport.

But why, now, do I feel Eliza’s heels pressed to my spine and her quiet laughter when I try, and fail, to dislodge those feet?

“You’re uh…” Alana tries, so fucking hard, to keep her focus on Eliza’s eyes and not mine. “All grown up.”

“Not twelve years old anymore.” To make things worse, she hooks her arm over the back of my neck and uses me to pull herself up. If I were to sit on my haunches, she’d come too and would end up sitting right on my lap.

I donotsit back on my haunches.

“You must be Franky?” Eliza practically hugs me, smooshing our cheeks together, and grins like the whole world is her playground. “I was told I had a new summer student coming in today. Sorry, I missed you at your first session.”

He rolls his lips between his teeth and studies her a little longer. Then me. Then back to her again. “Do we have to do what you’re doing in class?” He wrinkles his nose and pushes his glasses up. “I don’t like to hug people like that. Except for my mom.”

Alana drops her head and groans in defeat.

“Well, we were practicing takedowns,” Eliza continues. “And then ground and pound. It’s part of the sport.”

“Don’t call it pound,” I snarl in her ear. “Stop it.”

“Ground and pound is myfavorite. Some people prefer stand-up combat, and others prefer takedowns. But me—” She squeezes me tighter and snuggles in as close as humanly possible. “—I like a good pounding on the ground. Jiu jitsu is where your size doesn’t matter so much. Your skill does. So even when someone is twice as big as you and maybe even stronger, I still have a decent chance of getting out of a situation. Plus.” She grips my neck. “The hugs are fun.”

“Come on.” Alana grabs Franky’s hand again and jerks him around. “We didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Mom—”

“That’s a private training session,” she hisses. “Let’s go.”

“You’re an ass.” I pinch Eliza’s ribs and breathe again when she flops to the floor, her arms and legs falling wide and her taunting amusement beating like a drum in my veins. “You knew she was coming in, didn’tyou?” I climb to my feet and snatch up a towel to wipe my face. “You fucking knew, which is why you made damn sure we were rolling right when Alana was due here.”

“I fail to see the issue.” She moves to her elbows and knees and drops her head, giggling. “You’re a free agent, Boss, and I’m heading to competition soon. Seeing as how it’s summer, which means a lot of my training time is eaten up with kids, I thought we’d both agreed that it was important I spar with you as often as I can.”

“We both agreed you’re an ass.”Stellar comeback, Stupid.“You think you’re protecting me with that shit?” I snag my water bottle and start toward the door. “Poor Tommy Watkins got his heart broken, and now the she-devil is back. Gotta make sure she knows her place?”

“You called her the she-devil. Not me. And I reiterate; what’s the problem? This is what we’ve always done. Why is it a big deal now?”

I stop in the doorway and peek into the hall becausefuck, what am I gonna do if I find her?

Nothing, probably.

I glance back at the girl I would kill for. The sister I would destroy others for. The kid I would trap in a locker room for half a day if it meant annoying her and buying myself a little quiet. But when she only laughs, I turn on my heels and stride into the hall.

I mop my sweaty chest and squirt a little water into my mouth, and though one would expect to need to use eyes to find Alana Page, I’m disgusted to realize I can do it with my nose.

Ten years has done nothing to dull that fucking ability.

I follow the smell of lavender all the way through my gym, the stench of sweat and boxing gloves that never truly dry trying, but failing, to throw me off track. I walk past the regulation-sized cage and around the row of hanging bags, then past the group of kids who mill around and wait for Eliza to get her shit sorted. I hate the ball of lead that falls to the base of my stomach when I make it all the way to the sign-in desk anddon’tfind Alana and her little Franklin.

I should just let her go. Allow her space and, if I’m lucky, drown myself in the dunk tank out back. But of course, I stride straight through the gym’s front door and stop in the blistering sun, shading my eyes with a lifted hand and opening my mouth long before my brain has time to process.

“Alana, wait.”

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