back, out of sight. My bike had been stolen before, and thankfully recovered, but I couldn't afford another fallback. 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. Damsel-in-distress? Seriously? I wanted to throw his own arrogance back at him. I wasn't sitting at home, waiting for the next fist and prince charming, thank you very much.
Geez.
Fuming, I jerked the backpack on the rest of the way, grabbed the bike handles, and had one leg almost over the bike when a hand grabbed my leg to stop me.
On reflex, I kicked back with a grunt. Whoever had my leg shuffled at the shifting weight, but didn't budge. They released me. I whirled around to find Benjamin there. My helmet swung from my hand as I wheeled it toward him, but he dodged the flying foam missile like a featherlight ninja, then took a step back and held up two hands.
“Sorry,” he quickly said, “I shouldn't have touched you.”
Chest heaving, blood thumping, I let my hand rest at my side. The helmet hit my thigh uselessly. Embarrassed at my overreaction—but seriously, he touched me?—I took a deep breath.
“What?” I snapped again. “You made your position very clear.”
“I want to help.”
In the dimming spring light, shadows bathed his face. A glimmer of something showed in his eyes, and he tucked his hands into his front pockets. He normally stood with his arms at his side, like a god come to life. His face was usually analytical and serious. Now it was . . . concerned.
Faaaantastic. I engendered pity in the man I'd secretly tried to ignore for months now. And maybe—just maybe—that whole stomping out had been a bit of an overreaction. Mom always said that defensiveness meant there was truth in what the other person said.
So . . . there was that.
“I'm sorry,” he said. “That came out as arrogant and it’s not entirely true. I don't see you as a damsel-in-distress or whatever. I just . . . I want to help you better your situation however I can. I want you to be safe.”
My racing heart calmed. I studied him for another short eternity. “I overreacted,” I said. “I'm sorry too.”
He lifted his eyebrows. Was it a surprise or a follow-up question? Going with the latter, I stumbled over my own thoughts. Did I want to trust him? Yes.
Could I?
Also yes.
At least I could sense that much beneath the layers of vulnerable bravado and muscle that held something of a charming man. He was coiled quiet. Deadly precision. Probably moved faster than I could think.
Not probably, he definitely could.
I'd seen the videos of his last fight where he'd destroyed his opponent in a crushing career-builder, then retired and left the MMA world in a sense of reeling shock. No explanation. Just walked away at the top of his career and disappeared into a quiet mountain town bubble.
There was nothing normal about Mercedy, but something told me that everything in him wanted to be.
“I just need someone to teach me the basics in case I need them.” I ran a hand through my hair, which had fallen from the loose ponytail and gone full-curl-powered-frizzy at some point. “Like poking eyes or groin kicks or something. I'm pretty open in the afternoon. I work from six to three at the diner Monday through Thursday and noon to closing on Saturday.”
His gaze followed my gesture to The Diner across the way. For several moments, a machine seemed to move behind his eyes.
“Come at 9:00 tomorrow,” he finally said, “just after we close. I'll teach you what you need to know. But it's not going to stop someone that's determined to hurt you. If—”
“You'd do that?”
“Yes.”
I rolled my eyes. “Because you want to be the hero?”
“No,” he said softly. “Because I want you to be.”
My natural snarky response froze in my throat, and all I could do was nod. Geez, what was I doing? Giving Mercedy—it was easier to picture him as a non-god if I called him by his last name—attitude. Not only that, but I'd be alone with him.
For an hour.
“Okay, I'll take that.” I nodded, hair waving around my face, and held up a finger. “But wait. Can I pay you?”
“I don't need the money.”
“Great! Then I'll bring food. Dinner is on me. And it won't be from the Diner. I'll make it.”