But a hard workout is exactly what my body needs. Not only do I sweat out the alcohol, but the physical exertion seems to immediately clear my foggy brain and sober me up. By the time the class is over, I feel great—though very eager for a nice, fat burger.
I leave the bag room and step into the mat room where the jiu-jitsu class is starting. My eyes lock with Tristan's immediately.
My blood warms just from his stare. The images of him fucking me into the bathroom door yesterday tumble through my brain until I'm squirming on the sidelines, my teeth latched onto my lower lip.
Based on the inferno blazing in his eyes that I now know to be his sign that he's turned on, I can tell he's thinking the exact same thing.
"Remy, you coming to do a few rounds?"
The question snaps me out of my lust-drunk haze. I turn toward the person who called out to me.
"Only if you don't mind the tequila leaking out of my pores, Coach," I grin.
He shakes his head with a chuckle. "Do a few rounds. I want you to do that tournament next month."
At that reminder the smile slips from my face, to be replaced with nervous energy. I nod and drop my bag. I'm completely distracted by thoughts of the tournament as I switch my soaking wet T-shirt for a skintight rashguard.
The nerves end up fucking with my flow. I do a round with Coach, and then three more with other students, but I'm so distracted by the memories of my mistakes from the last tournament that I end up second-guessing my every move. I huff my frustration at the end of the third round.
"Remy," Tristan calls. "Let's do a round."
I look at him in surprise but give a hesitant nod. Now that we're training and actually moving around on the mats, all memories of last night are gone. He slips easily back into a coaching role and I’m too focused on thoughts of the tournament to even be distracted by the feeling of his body against mine. We both love this sport too much to treat it with anything other than our complete dedication.
If I wasn’t so fixated on my own inner turmoil, I might actually be pleasantly surprised at how easily we set our tension aside to focus on something serious.
I'm still slow and awkward in my movements, still thinking too much about how badly I fucked up the last time I competed. Tristan's letting me work a little bit and not capitalizing on it yet, but I can tell he notices my lack of focus.
"Just relax," he murmurs. "You're thinking too much. Just do what your body wants you to do."
"Easier said than done," I grumble. "You're not the one that fucked up at the last tournament."
"You did fine at that tournament," he says from his spot beneath me. He's on his back with his legs wrapped around me, holding me in his guard. I have my body angled low against his, my head pressed to his chest. "You were just nervous. You had that sweep lined up that you love so much but you second guessed it and missed the opportunity. You could've beat that girl easy."
My head pops up in surprise. "You saw my match?"
He doesn't break our eye contact. "I’ve seen all your matches."
Shocked, I can only stare down at him for a few moments. I had no idea he even noticed me.
Seemingly tired of the lull in action, Tristan takes advantage of my pause by flipping us over until he's on top. I land on my back with a grunt.
"You're too nice," he continues. "Too hesitant. You need to be cocky as fuck when you step on the mat."
I raise an eyebrow in question. "Is that your excuse? You're arrogant so you can win?"
A huge grin splits his face. "My winning record speaks for me. Clearly, the arrogance is doing something."
I focus back on what we're doing and try to grab one of his arms. "It's doingsomething,all right," I grumble under my breath.
He ignores my comment. "Just try it," he says, easily shifting to a more advantageous position beside me. "The next time you step on that tournament mat, pick a weapon and act like there's no way someone could stop you from using it against them." His face is no longer in my line of sight, but I can practically hear the grin as it stretches across his lips. "I'm sure you can findsomethingyou're good at."
I glare at his ribs that are currently in my face. With a sudden angry burst of strength, I push myself to a slightly better position. "You are such an ass," I hiss. "Is that part of your strategy too? Along with the ego?"
I was right, he's grinning from ear to ear. He looks incredibly pleased with himself. "Nope, that's just because it's fun to piss you off."
I shake my head, fighting the smile that wants to break free. Just then, the bell rings and our round ends.
Tristan gives me a little shove toward another student for the next round. "Cocky as fuck," he mutters so only I can hear.