I resisted flipping to the last page to check my grade. “Yes, sir.” I knew I should stand up, thank him, and scramble out of his office while I was still on his good side. I couldn’t do it. “And Lucas? Is he in trouble? Will he… will he lose his job?”

He shook his head. “There doesn’t appear to have been any real harm done, although I’ve reminded Landon—er, Lucas—that sometimes, how a situation is perceived carries more weight than the reality of the matter. With that in mind, I suggested that he limit himself to appropriate tutoring interactions for the duration of the semester.”

Lucas hadn’t mentioned any possibility of future interactions. His answer to whether or not it was over had been conclusive, and he hadn’t emailed or texted me to contradict it, nor had he looked my way in class today that I knew of.

“Thank you, Dr. Heller.” I waited until I was outside to check the grade I’d received—a 94. Unquestionably better than I would have done on the midterm, had I been present for it.

I ignored Lucas on my way to my seat before class on Wednesday and Friday, and ignored him again as I left, especially as I found Kennedy waiting in the aisle to walk me out both days. On Wednesday, my ex asked me how the tutoring was going.

“What?” I stumbled on the next step and he caught my elbow.

“Was it two eighth-graders or two ninth-graders who had massive crushes on you?” He laughed, turning the heads of two girls we passed on the way outside; per typical Kennedy, he didn’t seem to notice. “Or do they all have a crush on you by now?”

Ah—bass lessons, not economics tutoring. I tucked my chin into my fuzzy scarf and pulled my coat’s zipper to my throat when we rounded the corner of the building and a blast of frigid air hit us, and he turned up his collar and shoved his bare hands into his coat pockets.

“I have no idea what they’re thinking, most of the time. They’re all a little surly.”

He glanced at me and smiled, that dimple riveting my attention as it had since the first time I saw it, and from there, his beautiful green eyes. He bumped me lightly with his elbow. “Surliness is sound evidence that they’re all crushing on you.”

Scowling, I faced forward and picked up the pace. I couldn’t imagine where he was going with that, but I wasn’t following. “I’ll see you later, Kennedy. I have to get to Spanish.”

He caught my arm. “Maggie said you were coming to the Bash on Saturday?”

I nodded. Erin and I spent four hours shopping for dresses and shoes Tuesday night. She was going all out in her intention to make Chaz regret any decision he’d made that didn’t include worshipping at her feet.

“What happened to ‘I love the hunt’?” I’d asked as she discarded the tenth or eleventh not-quite-perfect cocktail dress before shimmying into a bit of silver fabric with a thigh-high split.

Smiling into the mirror with predatory resolve, she’d waited for me to zip her up and examined her body in the reflective dress that set off her red hair like she was on fire. “Oh, I’m hunting all right,” she’d purred.

I split away from Kennedy without a backward glance, and he called, “See you later, Jacqueline.”

I considered and rejected every excuse I could cook up for why I needed to bow out, belatedly wishing that I had never agreed to accompany Erin to the annual Bash. My normally sane roommate was determined to make her ex-boyfriend’s life a living hell for at least one night. At dinner Friday, she said, “I have to do this. For closure.” Maggie arched a brow at me from across the table. Between the Erin/Chaz drama, Kennedy’s attempts to reverse our breakup, and the likely presence of Buck, Saturday night couldn’t be over soon enough for me.

Avoiding eye contact during the self-defense class Saturday morning proved more difficult than dodging each other during economics, but Lucas and I managed it for the first hour. The oddest part of the past week was the worksheets he continued to send, but without any note beyond. The entire email consisted of: New worksheet attached, LM.

“Where a kick is more likely to be miscalculated by the victim or evaded by the perp, a knee-strike is close-range and more easily executed, so we’re going to focus on this defense first.” Ralph’s voice brought me back to the self-defense class. “And I assume you ladies know what you’re aimin’ for with that knee.”

Dividing into two groups as we had two weeks ago, I went to stand in Don’s group and Erin followed. He held a thick pad with straps for his muscular forearm to hold it in place, explaining knee-strike basics and asking for a volunteer to help demonstrate, which Erin readily answered. I was proud of her resounding No! as she grabbed Don’s shoulders and slammed her knee into the pad. I recognized the move from Lucas having used it on Buck—though he’d struck him under the chin rather than the groin. Buck had gone straight to the ground. And stayed there.

When it was my turn, my self-conscious hesitation disappeared with my group’s vocal encouragement and Don’s “Again!” between each strike. Exhilarated, I walked back to Erin wide-eyed and shaking with adrenaline. She laughed and said, “I know, right?”

We progressed to kicks, and every time I landed one and heard Don’s gratifying grunt, my fear that I could never replicate these in real life lessened. Vickie—the white-haired woman who’d unknowingly given me the courage to remain in the class two weeks ago—asked how, even if we hit the right place with enough force, we could win against a man his size.

Don reminded us that we didn’t have to win a fight—we just had to get away. “Every second buys you time to run.”

When Ralph announced a short break, I stole a look at Lucas. Over the heads of two girls, one of whom was talking to him, his eyes were on me, their icy gray-blue almost colorless from across the bright room. After the physical activity of the morning, my response was overwhelming. My breath went shallow and quick, neither of us turning away until Erin hooked her arm through mine and tugged.

“C’mon, lovergirl,” she murmured, inaudible to anyone but me.

I flushed as I let her lead me into the hallway, toward the locker room. Leaning over the sink, I splashed water on my face and stared into the mirror, wondering what Lucas saw when he looked at me. What Kennedy saw. What Buck saw.

“Got it bad, don’tcha?” Erin handed me a paper towel and pursed her lips, angling her head as she examined my face in the mirror, too. Her dark eyes met mine. “I should have known that hookup therapy wouldn’t work for you. If it makes you feel any better, he doesn’t look any less strung out than you do.”

I rolled my eyes, patting the water from my cheeks. “Believe it or not, that doesn’t make me feel better.”

She arched a brow, her gaze moving to her own reflection as she smoothed an imaginary imperfection on her lip and adjusted her wild ponytail. “Mmm-hmm.”

“We’re ready to learn the last few moves over the next hour or so—defense against holds and chokes. Next week, we’ll integrate everything you’ve learned into potential scenarios.” Clapping his hands together, Ralph added, “Divide up and let’s get started.”

After the twelve of us had automatically separated into our previous groups, Ralph addressed the men, who were partially padded up, including headgear. “Don, Lucas, let’s have you two switch off for this part. Mix up the attacker tactics a bit.”

Oh, God. So much for avoiding each other.

Though I knew there was no avoiding this, my brain cast about for any way out of having Lucas’s arms locked around me in front of everyone. The first attack was called the bear hug, and the intrepid, white-haired Vickie volunteered to help demonstrate the slow-motion defense against it. I watched with Erin and the other three ladies in my group, my breathing erratic and my heart thudding like it was trying to break out of my ribcage. He’d not even touched me yet.

The need for headgear became obvious when he explained the use of head-butts—the back of the victim’s head smashing into the mouth or nose of the assailant. There was also instep-stomping (everyone laughed when Lucas requested that we refrain from actual stomping of his unpadded foot—he would gladly react as though we’d done it forcefully), elbow to the midsection, and a move termed the lawnmower by Ralph, who came over to check on our progress.

Moving to stand in front of Lucas, he said, “This’ll be another move that we’d prefer no one tries in earnest on our brave instructors.” He turned and clapped Lucas’s shoulder. “We don’t wanna render our boys incapable of fatherhood.” As the ladies chuckled, Lucas flushed slightly pink and stared at the floor, his lips screwed into a discomfited smirk. “In a real life attack, if you have a hand free and low, you will reach back and grab the goods, twisting and pulling straight out like you’re startin’ a lawnmower.”

He demonstrated, complete with a lawnmower-starting sound-effect, and even Don’s group was watching and laughing. Lucas bit his lip and shook his head.

One by one, the six of us went to stand in front of him, facing the group, waiting for him to grab them so they could practice the techniques. The lawnmower was a favorite of the older ladies, and they all used it, along with the sound effect. Eyes sparkling, Erin used every single defense we’d just learned, one after the other—head-butt, foot-stomp, shin-scrape, elbow to the abdomen with one arm and lawnmower-starting with the other. The ladies in our group cheered and Lucas said, “Good job. He’ll be on the ground begging you to run away at this point.”

“Should I kick him first?” she asked, completely serious.

“Uh… if he’s not making a move toward you, then run. You don’t want him to grab your foot and pull you down.” Erin nodded and walked back to me, squeezing my hand when she reached my side.

He looked into my eyes as I approached. I stared back, turning my back to him as I reached him, trying to concentrate on what I was supposed to do next.

Suddenly, his arms were around me like bands, but gentler than any assailant would ever be. His muscled arms were solid and unyielding. Unnerved, I forgot every defense I’d just learned and struggled ineffectively against his strength.

“Hit me, Jacqueline,” he said in my ear. “Elbow.”

I elbowed his pad-covered abdomen and he grunted.

“Good. Foot stomp.”

I acted it out, carefully.

“Head-butt.”

The top of my head barely reached his padded chin, but I butted it.

“Lawnmower.” His voice was soft, breathy, and I could not, even drawing on every bit of imagination I possessed, picture touching him there to harm him.

I did the move, without the sound effect, blushing full-on, and he let go. Stumbling toward Erin, I would have felt foolish but for the fact that every woman in the room was doing exactly what I’d just done. Except not with a guy whose touch made her insides go hot and liquid. Not with a guy who made her want to turn and be wrapped up in those arms.