Push My Buttons

Whitewashed concrete walls, mats padding the floors, and the hum of industrial air vents. He was stripped to the waist wearing baggy gray sweat pants, his feet bare. She was in a simple wine-colored tank-top and fitted workout shorts, her hair pulled up into a tight ponytail, her feet also bare.

Their bodies shone with sweat as they continued to attack each other. They were rehearsing the fight choreography for a scene in an upcoming production. The sound of their hands and feet connecting with the floor and each other reverberated through the basement room. They grappled briefly before springing apart, both breathing heavily.

She walked to the far wall to grab a drink from her water bottle. She glanced his way as she took a sip, rolling her eyes as he flashed his brilliant white smile at her.

"What's that for?" he asked, noticing the eye roll.

She popped the lid of her bottle closed. "You're so full of it."

"What do you mean?"

She couldn't help rolling her eyes at him again. He knew exactly what she meant, and she could see it on his face. Did he always have to be so damn charming?

"You know the effect you have on women, you don't even have to try. And you milk it for all it's worth." She didn't blame him really. He was just over six feet tall, lean but muscular, with devilishly handsome good looks, and an accent to go with it. Hell, she was attracted to him... but she wasn't about to let him know that. "You're so annoying."

He held out his hands in mock defeat as he moved to meet her in the center of the mat. "What can I say? I –" Whatever he was about to say in his defense was cut short by her taking a swing at him, starting their fight rehearsal again.

"That may be the case in general," he said as their fight got underway. "But, it's a bit different this time."

"Oh really?" she replied. "How so?"

"This time, I'm actually trying."

"What the hell does that mean?"

He swung a leg out to trip her up, forcing her to turn her back to him. She threw up her left hand to deliver a backward swing only to have him grab her wrist and hold her arm in place. He pressed against her, his hand on her hip.

"It means," he whispered in her ear, "that I'm actively seeking out every single one of your buttons. Like... this one." As he said this, he ran his hand along her hip to the front, sliding the ends of two fingers just under the waist band of her shorts. She felt her skin tingle with goosebumps.

"And this one." He brushed his lips against her skin, right where her neck sloped into her shoulder, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from her.

She managed to catch her breath enough to ask why in a barely audible whisper.

"There's something different about you. I like that. And I'd like to figure what it is." He wrapped his arm around her waist, still holding her wrist aloft with his other hand. "You know what I really like about this particular spot?" he asked, referring to the spot of her neck he had touched before. "It has multiple buttons." Then he gently kissed her neck.

Her knees gave out at that and he tightened his grip on her waist to keep her from falling, dropping her wrist to hold her with both arms. "I've got you."

She regained control of her legs and turned to face him, his arms still around her.

"I've always got you."

Oh shit, she thought as she looked into his gorgeous eyes. It was all over. There was no way she was getting out of this now. He knew exactly what to do and say to get to her. No matter how hard she tried, there was no denying it.

With that simple statement, he had stolen her.