EIGHTEEN
The next two days whiz by pretty quickly. My courses have begun to pick up pace, with many assignments pouring in, and their demanding deadlines give me little to no rest. Cara helped me prepare a meticulous schedule that outlines my time for these two weeks down to the minute so I can keep up with all that I have going on with Kayden and my students, while still squeezing in time to finish my assignments.
Most of the time, it feels like I’m running a never-ending marathon, but the adrenaline from my training sessions with Kayden has helped keep my momentum going.
Our workout sessions continue to remain consistent—with Muay Thai, boxing, and grappling to help Kayden nail his moves and maneuvers, and full body conditioning sessions to get as strong as possible and increase his endurance. A mixture of bodyweight exercises and weight training work Kayden’s muscles enough to keep his body building core strength.
Today I’ve arranged circuit training to work on his endurance—a total of six exercises, ten reps each, as many rounds as Kayden can do in forty-five minutes. With the number of sparring sessions we’ve been doing lately, I thought this would be a nice break for him. But from the looks of it, Kayden would rather get smashed around in a cage for hours than push himself to do another rep.
“Come on. You’re dying on me here,” I snap impatiently, circling around him as he finishes his triple jump rep across the finish line. “Keep it up. You’re falling behind.”
“I’m trying.” He pants as he moves on to the next exercise.
“You’ve got one minute left. You can do ten more reps,”
I urge Kayden as I bend down slightly, resting my hands on my knees so our gazes are level with each other. He grunts as he lifts the ball, then goes down again and drags himself back up for a pull-up. He looks like he’s about to cave in at this rep. I try to keep his spirits high with a motivational saying. “‘Build aggression to the point where pain no longer matters.’ There’s a Julian quote for you.”
“Oh yeah? It’s not working,” he says as he gets up, a little out of breath. He picks up the ball, jerking his head at me.
“What’s a Sienna quote then?”
“Don’t quit, don’t split, and don’t bitch.”
“How inspirational,” Kayden deadpans as he throws the medicine ball over his shoulder, repeating his movements.
Two more reps. Then one more. Much to his relief, the timer in my palm beeps and I jam the button to reset. “All right. Time.”
Kayden immediately drops the ball and col apses.
“Ten rounds,” he says breathlessly, inhaling through his mouth as he stares up at the ceiling defeatedly. “Look at that.”
“See? Easy stuff,” I tell him as I head to the bench to pick up his water bottle, then walk back and set myself down beside him, thrusting the bottle at his face. “Rest up. Here’s some water.”
He takes it more than willingly. “Thanks.”
I watch Kayden silently as he guzzles the water, allowing a bit to dribble down the sides of his mouth. It’s nice to see him unwinding like this, when I’ve worked him to the point where rest feels like a vacation.
I feel his eyes on me as he towels himself off. It feels strange whenever we look at each other; despite the fact that we’ve openly admitted our feelings for one another, it’s not nearly enough to ease the longing and pining. Every single time I catch him staring at me, it’s so electrically charged that my body feels like it needs to get extinguished by a fire brigade.
I clear my throat, desperate to rid myself of these thoughts since I’d already promised myself not to entertain the possibility of being something more to Kayden. Pulling my knees up, I rest my arms over them and say, “So . . . semifinals against East Lee.”
Kayden throws the towel to the side and crosses his legs.
“Yeah.”
“You’ll be fine,” I say confidently. “Lee has a tell. He’s got a habit of telegraphing with his feet. When they point left, you know you’re expecting a left throw. Same for the other side.”
Kayden quirks a brow. “Huh. I never noticed.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Everybody has a tell if you look hard enough for it. Jax doesn’t think he has any, but he does. He doesn’t do it all the time, only when he feels like he’s losing control in the cage. When he’s locked in and his defenses are up, he’ll move his right leg back slightly to turn it into a front kick. Saw it happen twice when he used to spar with Julian.
And I saw him do it again when he fought you last season.”
“Hmmm. Interesting,” he says, leaning back and resting his upper body over his propped hands. “How about you?
What’s your tell?”
“I don’t think I have any. Or at least any that I’d want you to know about.”