“I scared you,” JJ corrects.
Quietly, I nod.
“Is this because of your father?” JJ asks.
I know I should tell him I’m scared of Silas, but he’s JJ’s friend... and he’s in his a cappella group. Plus, JJ will probably remind me of how Silas apologized, or tell me I’m overreacting. And if I explain what happened down in the garden, he’ll know I’m the reason Silas was covered from head to toe in scratches.
And JJ’s right. I’m still afraid of Father finding me here—of him coming after me—so I nod.
“We can’t always be there to protect you,” says JJ softly.
My heart fills with panic. Is he trying to tell me something? Did he find out I’m not allowed to stay in the dorms? Does this mean I’m going to have to leave?
Without another word, JJ spins me around so I’m facing away from him. Suddenly, I’m looking toward the kitchen, the same way I was when he snuck up on me. I’m about to ask what we’re doing when he grabs my wrist. His warm touch and strong grip make my body tingle all over.
“Make a fist,” he instructs me.
He moves closer, and my mind goes blank. I forget about everything except how close JJ is, and how my body is responding to him less than twenty-four hours after it responded to Tate’s.
“Make a fist,” JJ repeats, more insistently this time.
He’s standing so close his breath caresses my ear. I shiver as I absently make a fist. What are we doing again?
“That’s wrong.” JJ steps around me, facing me. “Here.”
I watch as he unwraps my fingers from around my thumb and reforms my fist with my thumb on the outside. His touch shoots tingles up my arms, but JJ looks serious, not flirtatious.
I know I should focus on what we’re doing, but all I can think about is how close he is, how warm his touch feels, and how amazing he smells.
“The thumb always goes on the outside,” he says. “Otherwise you could break it.”
“Break what?” I ask absently, my eyes locking on his lips.
“Your fist. When you throw a punch!”
“Why would I throw a punch?” I ask. And why is JJ thinking about punching when I’m thinking about kissing?
“So you can defend yourself,” JJ says, his words penetrating my mental haze. He’s not flirting with me or trying to seduce me. He wants me to learn self-defense, in case he can’t be there to protect me.
My cheeks flush, but JJ seems too focused on what we’re doing to notice. At least, I hope he doesn’t notice. Or maybe he does, and he’s pretending not to because he’s a nice guy.
“Punch me,” he demands.
I’ve never punched anyone before, not even in all the times Father hit me, but there’s only one way to hide my embarrassment. So I take a deep breath, pull my fist back, and let it fly.
It’s like hitting a brick wall.
“That hurt,” I whine, rubbing my knuckles. JJ stares down at me and blinks.
“Let’s try something easier,” he says. He flexes his arms, and I am hypnotized by his shifting muscles. Like lightning, he thrusts his open hand into the air. A sharp exhalation accompanies the fearsome strike. Then he lowers his hand and shows me the base of his palm.
“You see this area here?” he explains, pointing to the fleshy spot at the bottom of his hand and the base of his thumb. “You hit your opponent with that part.”
I nod.
“Good.” JJ takes my hand and runs his thumb over the base of my palm. “This makes for the least chance of injury to you and it delivers a powerful hit.”
I try to ignore the tingles that shoot up my arm and nod.
“If you can,” he says, “go upward and aim for the guy’s nose. It’s all cartilage. You can break it easily, and that should give you time to run away.”
It’s that mental image—of punching Father in the nose and running—that resonates with me. But when JJ steps back and points at his nose, I gape in horror.
“What if I break your nose?”
“I’ll move out of the way,” he promises.
I try a few times, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Not when I keep worrying he won’t be able to get out of the way in time.
“How about we get you used to reacting?” he asks.
“Reacting?” I frown. “Aren’t I supposed to be attacking?”
Without warning, JJ lunges forward and grabs me. I gasp in surprise, but then his fingertips graze my armpit, I let out a squeal of laughter.
“Roonie!” JJ barks. “You were supposed to hit me.”
“Oops.” I try to raise my hand to hit him, but when he grazes my armpit again, I start laughing. “No fair, JJ.”
“You think an attacker would be fair?” JJ lets go of me.
“I don’t think an attacker would tickle me,” I fire back.
“I wasn’t tickling you.” He runs a hand through his hair, seeming at a loss. “I was being gentle, because I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Thanks.” I smile.
“Don’t thank me.” JJ scowls. “An attacker isn’t going to be gentle. We need to try something else.”
“Okay.” I nod, but my stomach growls. “Maybe we should eat something first.”
“Five minutes,” JJ says, his gaze intense. “First, I’ll attack you, and you kick me.”
I dutifully nod as we square off.
There’s a beat of silence.
JJ grunts as he leaps toward me. Squealing, I kick him in the side of the leg with my foot. Instantly, JJ drops the attacker’s pose and glares at me. He’s got one eyebrow raised.
“Roonie,” he says gruffly. “When a guy is trying to hurt you, where do you kick him?”
It takes me some time to realize what he’s talking about. When it dawns on me, my cheeks flush and I shake my head. I definitely can’t kick JJ there.
“Roonie.” JJ bends to my height and puts his hands on my shoulders, his expression grim. “I don’t want you to be scared, especially not here in the apartment. And if you won’t call the cops on your father, the least I can do is teach you to fight. That way, if he ever does come after you, I know you can take care of yourself.”
I nod as JJ’s words settle like ice in my stomach. He’s right. If Father finds out that I’m here and decides to come get me, I’ll be in huge trouble. And if the guys aren’t around to protect me, I need to be able to protect myself. Especially if they find out I can’t be here and I have to leave.
My mind fills with images of Father’s angry face. Of his fists. He’s coming for me, ready to strike.
And just like that, I become aware of the very real presence of someone standing behind me. JJ looks beyond me at whoever is there. Father!
My instincts take over.
I whirl around and swing my leg out in front of me. My foot connects with something soft. The pointed tip of my shoe digs into tender flesh. A shriek pierces the air. It’s still ringing in my ears when I look to the ground to see the toppled figure lying before me.
It’s Silas, doubled over, hands clutching his crotch.
“Silas,” I cry. “What are you doing here?”
“I was just... studying... in the...” he glances at their home library—the one with the large table, office chairs, and all the bookshelves. The one I never once thought to check for the Dark Prince.