Parties and late night drunken states meant everything when it came to Clover Paige; especially if it meant leaving her wild thoughts behind and losing herself in a bottle of Jack Daniels. Her name is just an illusion, you would think anyone named C...
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"All war is a symptom of man's failure as a thinking animal." — John Steinbeck
"IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?"
Clover huffed out a breath of frustration and blew the strand of her hair out of her face. Sweat dripped along her temple and even a bead of it settled between her breasts. The air was hot and humid, the sounds of them grunting and groaning filling it up with their breaths.
It had been an hour following Weston's proposal of teaching her of to fight. All it took was one goddamn hour for her to wish death upon herself and collapse against the gym mat.
Her body was moaning in protest as he grabbed her hand and yanked her body back up. Clover let out a whine, wanting to go lay back down and curl up into a ball. He was being tough on her, taunting and teasing her with both his actions and words. She didn't realize how good of a fighter he was until he had managed to knock her on her back for the umpteenth time.
"I don't think this whole fighting thing is working out for me." She breathed out, bringing up her fists so that they were eye level with her face. Clover's torso tensed as she planted her feet back on the mat, adjusting to the stance he had told her about. "Perhaps I can just sit back and watch you do it?"
Weston shook his hand. He had a lot of energy this morning, jumping around and continuously showing off his moves. She was shocked with his behavior, but didn't mind it because she was glad he was finally breaking out of his shell.
"Don't give up now, you're almost getting there." He encouraged her, stalking towards her like a predator. Weston circled around her body, causing her head to spin in circles. He had an undeniable smirk across his lips, his pearly white teeth shining in the light.
Clover scoffed. "Well maybe if my teacher didn't look like a fucking Greek God, I would be able to concentrate."
It was true; Weston's bare torso was on display, the skin glistening with a sheer layer of sweat from their workout. He had a defined six pack, each muscle appearing like a stone sculpture from how toned they were. The ink of his tattoos swirled around them too, creating a smooth contrast with his olive skin. She wondered what the Phoenix on his shoulder meant to him or the scripture written down his left rib cage.
Weston's laugh was like a sweet melody to her ears. It was a beautiful thing to hear, his laugh. He threw his head back and stared at the ceiling as he released the cackle.
She furrowed her brows. "What's so funny?"
"You, my dear." He replied, shaking his head again and stopping right in front of her. His dark scent of sandalwood and musk infiltrated her senses, distracting her just enough for him to grab her and pin her down on the floor. Weston's minty breath fanned her face as he had her pinned under his hips. He looked at her with intense eyes. "If I am so much as a Greek God, then you must be a Goddess."
