STATIC

Chapter Four

Monroe

Dakota's eyes stay on me, steady and unreadable She's studying me.
Measuring me.

Every tiny thing she does is too smooth for no reason. The way she stands, grounded like nothing in the world could knock her off balance. The way her hands rest behind her back, her muscles flexing subtly. The way her locs fall over her shoulder when she tilts her head to get a better look at my stance.

Unintentional.
Effortless.
Distractingly composed.

She nods toward the center of the mat.

"Hands up," she says.

Her voice is deep enough that I feel it lower than I should.

I lift my guard before I even think about it.

"I want to see your basic six count. Clean. No rushing. No showing off."

I raise an eyebrow. "You think I show off?"

Dakota doesn't blink.

"I think you had liquor for dinner," she says, "so I want to see how much of your form survived."

That should piss me off.

It doesn't.

The way she says it... No attitude. No softness either.

Somehow still sexy.

I nod. "Alright."

"Whenever you're ready."

Her eyes never leave me. The focus in them is so sharp it almost heats my skin.

I exhale and throw:

Jab.
Cross.
Hook.
Cross.
Hook.
Uppercut.

As clean as I can manage with my head pounding.

Dakota circles me slowly, taking her time, observing every detail. I can feel her presence like a hand on my back.

"Again," she says.

I do it.

"Again."

Harder this time.

"Again."

My shoulders burn. Sweat starts sliding down my spine. My hangover is screaming.

She steps closer, voice dropping a little.

"Your feet are too wide."

She nudges my foot with her own. Firm. Confident. Knowing exactly what she's doing. It sends a stupid little jolt through me.

"Bring that one in," she says. "You bleed power when you stretch."

I adjust.

She gives a small nod. "Better. Again."

I throw the combo again and she moves in closer, eyes locked on my form. Her hand hovers near my elbow like she wants to fix it but won't. Not yet.

"Keep that tucked," Dakota says. "You're leaking space. That's how you got clipped in round two."

I stop mid movement.
"...Clipped?"

She meets my glare without flinching. "Yes."

"I didn't get clipped," I fire back. "She barely grazed me."

Dakota raises one eyebrow, slow and disrespectful in the calmest way possible.

"Monroe," she says, voice maddeningly level, "your head snapped back. That's a clip."

My mouth falls open a little.

"I rolled with it," I insist. "There's a difference."

"Mm." She gives a tiny nod like she's humoring a child. "If that helps you sleep."