Page 5 of Control (Everyday Heroes 3.50)
Isn’t that karma for you? To be put in the group with the man I probably insulted seven ways from Sunday? It’s not like I can fake interaction with him. It’s not like I can be a wallflower against the mascot mural and blend in until I disappear.
The man is going to have his hands on me. He’s going to be physical with me.
And hell if I didn’t make a bed I’m going to have to lie in.
Shit.
For some reason I don’t think sticking my head in the sand is going to get me out of this situation.
A blue mat on a gym floor isn’t exactly the horizontal action I had in my brief although extensive fantasy of him.
“So, as Bear said, I’m a SWAT team commander. I like long walks off short piers, chasing parked cars, oh, and babies and puppies are my kryptonite.” He chuckles with the rest of the women, who are shifting on their feet as he tries to put them at ease. “But seriously, I’ve spent my career trying to save people from or trying to get people out of harm’s way. In all this time, there’s one thing I’ve learned: it can happen to anyone. There is no profile for who will be mugged. No stereotype for who will be raped. No anything to pinpoint who will be next.” He pauses and lets the weight of his words sink in before he claps his hands together loud enough to make us jump.
Shrieks of surprise turn to nervous laughter. The lady next to me startles, and her hand flies to her throat, an “Oh, dear” falling from her mouth. I reach over to pat her back comfortingly, all while my eyes stay right on Reznor as he walks from one end of the mat to the other.
“And that’s why I want to congratulate you on being here. On taking that first step of being in control of you.” As he speaks he meets the eyes of every woman in the line, and when he gets to where I am standing on the end, gives a subtle shake of his head, but his eyes give away nothing of the words I said to him earlier. “Over the next few weeks, we’ll be learning several different aspects of self-defense. You won’t learn everything overnight, and that’s okay. We’ll take our time so that you’ll feel confident in knowing what to do in case you need to use it. If at any point you’re unsure, please don’t hesitate to ask. Right, so let’s get started.”
He begins with some basic information—how to hold your fist when you punch, the most sensitive parts on a male body to hit, etcetera—and then asks us to remove our shoes so we can begin.
“Okay, I need a volunteer to help with the demonstration.”
Hands shoot up all around me. Smart women. Who wouldn’t want his undivided attention? I’d normally be elbowing through the women with both arms raised to make sure I’m seen and maybe give a crass one-liner to guarantee my selection.
But that was before I made an ass of myself with him. I refuse to lower my head and hide, but hell if I’m going to be his “body” to demonstrate with.
And just as the thought crosses my mind, Reznor, with his bright eyes and sarcasm-laced smile, steps directly into my field of vision.
“Thank you for volunteering,” he says, and I shake my head in protest.
“No, I’m fine. I’ll watch.”
Did I really say he probably failed his psych evaluation?
The smile that’s toying on his lips tells me yes. Yes, I did.
Crap.
“I don’t take no for an answer when it comes to making sure you’re prepared.” This time he puts on the brightest smile so everyone sees the charming man trying to get me to participate, while I see the gleam in his eye that says he can’t wait to challenge me and prove me wrong.
He reaches his hand out to me and rather than take it, out of principle, I look at it and then step past him onto the mat and face the ladies standing there with envious eyes.
Reznor moves toward me. “What’s your name?”
“Desi,” I say begrudgingly, wondering why I feel so hostile toward him when I was the ass in our conversation.
“Desi. Nice to meet you.” He holds out his hand for me to shake, and I know more than anything he is seeing if I’ll acquiesce in this silent battle of wills we have going on.
And of course I do. I tell myself it’s only because people are watching, but I grab his hand, squeeze strongly, and shake, all the while trying to ignore the warmth of his skin and the size of his hands.
“Now, let’s imagine that Desi here is walking through a parking garage late one night,” he says as he walks from one side of the mat, passes behind me, and then to the other side. “She’s busy checking her text messages on her cell and not paying attention to her surroundings. And out of the blue—”
Suddenly his hand is over my mouth, and his other arm has grabbed my midsection a
nd yanked me back against him. I yelp. Fuck.
No.
He’s too close.
