Page 76 of This Life of Mine

Chapter twenty-four

Lina

As we finish our cool down, the gym is eerily quiet.

No treadmills humming. No weights clanking. Only the buzz of overhead lights and the soft echo of our breathing as we stretch through cooldowns. My body is relaxed in the way only a good workout can manage—sore, tired, but steadier than when I walked in.

I roll my shoulders and glance at Alex.

He’s stretching with an ease that comes from long familiarity with his body. Calm. Grounded—always aware. His jaw is firm and defined, and when he raises his gaze, his eyes hold a subtle intensity that captivates me.

“Hey,” I say, breaking the silence.

“Hey.”

I hesitate but decide not to overthink it. “You mentioned Krav Maga last night.”

His brow lifts slightly. “I did.”

“Would you show me something?” I gesture vaguely between us. “Something simple. Like what to do if someone grabs you.”

He studies me for a moment—not suspicious, careful. “Here?”

“Why not? We’re alone.” I give a small shrug. “I need the practice.”

He exhales. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m warmed up,” I say lightly. “And I promise to complain if you do.”

That earns a faint smile. “Reassuring.”

He steps closer, closing the space, making my body hyper-aware of the difference between us.

Alex is at least a foot taller than me. Broad shoulders, solid chest, all long lines and contained strength. Standing next to him, I appear small—but not diminished. Like my curves make sense next to him.

Most men I’ve dated hate that I’m not tiny or delicate—a hundred pounds soaking wet.

Alex doesn’t look at me like I take up too much space—like my 145-pound body is too much.

“Basic wrist grab,” he says, positioning himself before me. “Common. Effective to counter if you don’t panic.”

“Not my strong suit,” I mutter.

“We’ll work on that.”

He takes my wrist—firm but controlled. His hand is large, masculine, spanning me easily.

“First rule,” he says, “don’t fight the grip. You move with it.”

He guides my arm, angling it so, his other hand steady at my elbow. Professional.

And still—hot.

“Well,” I murmur, adjusting my grip, “this is already more intimate than my last date.”

He stills. Then a huff of laughter escapes him. “Focus.”

“I am focusing,” I say innocently. “On an obscenely tall, muscular man hovering over me.”