Free Love, Tussles, and Takedowns by Violet Duke Page B

to rest in between. But he always made sure to call her or at least text a few times a day. And in the hours in between, she thought about him constantly.
    Yep, she had it bad.
    But who could blame her? Hudson was just so—
    BAM.
    A fist landed squarely in her obliques, knocking half the wind out of her lungs. Shit. She really needed to get her head back in the ring. This was her third round of sparring for the evening—if you could really call it sparring. Garrett, just like the two fighters before him, was mostly a kickboxer, which had made her workout thus far this evening relatively uneventful.
    She shot in for an ankle-pick and took Garrett down.
    As she proceeded to curl him up into a human pretzel, she had to admit that working out with the guys was a nice relaxing release. Ever since Isaac, the owner of The Pound , moved his start-up MMA gym from Tempe over to Cactus Creek, the gym had come alive in a brand new way. Now, Lia made it a point to work out there a few times a week, usually the nights she wasn’t teaching her self-defense classes at the rec center. And since the guys—who’d now become like a second set of unruly brothers—all checked their ego at the door, they were great fun to hang out with as well, regardless of who was handing out the beatdowns that day. Hell, she’d gotten her ass handed to her on multiple occasions and more times than not they ended up grabbing a bite to eat afterwards.
    Three sharp palm slaps on the mat beside her head brought her back to the moment. Quickly, she let go of Garrett, who groaned as he brought his legs down away from his ears. “So that’s what my ass looks like,” he quipped.
    When all his limbs were repositioned back in the way God had intended, he teased, “I like it when you don’t hold back, babe. It brings a new level of kink to my workout.”
    Lia let out a relieved breath and laughed along with the guys, one of whom already had ice bags waiting for Garrett.
    When she took inventory of how many ice bags the three guys were sporting, she cringed. “I’m really sorry, guys. I don’t know what’s come over me.”
    “Don’t apologize,” reassured Tony, “This was the best workout I’ve had all month, blows to my ego aside, of course. If you could come back this pissed each week, that would be awesome.”
    Garrett shook his head knowingly. “Naw, our girl isn’t pissed. She’s pent up.”
    Lia felt her cheeks burn bright red. An absolute first in all her time at The Pound.
    As she endured her first real ribbing by the guys—ever—suddenly, she felt her skin heat in an altogether different way.
    She felt his eyes on her before she saw him.
    Hudson.
    Her body recognized the intensity of that stare as if it were hardwired to her directly.
    The guys were all but forgotten, now. Hell, the whole room faded away like white noise as she watched Hudson climb into the ring.
    Lia enjoyed watching him move. There was nothing hurried about his motions; he always seemed relaxed and confident, efficient and ready. He wasn’t intimidating in that built-like-a-fridge way her friends who’d played football in college were. Rather, he was leaner. But infinitely harder. More etched out of wood than molded out of clay. As such, running into his chest was literally like running into a wall.
    A hard, sexy wall lined with bricks.
    “You’re killing me.” His voice simmered, soft and low, with a lazy smile curving his lips to show his words were more compliment than complaint. It took just one glance at the throbbing pulse in the muscular column of his neck for Lia to know he wasn’t nearly as unaffected as he sounded.
    Then all analysis of the man scattered when he went and peeled his shirt up over his head, sending those granite-etched muscles of his back rippling and expanding. His eyes tangled with hers as he toed off his shoes and immediately, Lia felt a surge of adrenaline override any female reaction she’d normally have to the sight.
    Because the man