“Well, that’s something I was going to talk to you about. I don’t really have any.”
“What have you been using?”
“I uhhm. I haven’t been to a gym since I was sixteen.”
He looked confused. “You ain’t been to a gym since you were sixteen? That uppercut you swung looked pretty polished. So did that hook into his ribs.”
I grinned.
“So you need some gear?” he asked.
Dressed in a sports bra, a sleeveless tee, and a pair of shorts, all I really needed was some shoes and a pair of training gloves to get into the ring. I had neither. I felt embarrassed. My eyes feel to the floor.
“Follow me,” he said.
In what was probably a walking pace for him, but a shallow jog for me, he took off across the gym. I fought to catch up, but eventually did. I followed him outside of the gym, down a hallway, and into a small sporting goods store inside the far end of the building.
He pressed his hands against his hips and turned toward me. “Can you afford to buy gear right now?”
I pursed my lips and inhaled a shallow breath. I had a job as a waitress, but it wasn’t a good one. While I prepared to respond, he reached down and gripped my wrist lightly in his hand. He dragged me through the store to the back corner, where the shoes were on display.
“Got some of the new Nike HyperKO’s in a bunch of different colors. What color you like?” he asked.
“I uhhm. I like purple, but I can’t really…”
He released my wrist, did the hands on the hips thing again, and cocked an eyebrow. “Grab some shoes and training gloves. I wanna see you in the ring.”
“But I can’t…”
He shook his head. “Let’s just say I’m in tight with the owner. Grab what you want, and we’ll work it out later. You know who owns this gym?”
I shrugged. “Who?”
He grinned his cheesy grin. “Good friend of mine.” He chuckled. “Now pick out some fuckin’ shoes.”
Maybe he did, and maybe he didn’t, but for some reason, I felt like he believed in me. I wasn’t the type of person that lacked self-esteem or needed praise to feel like I was accomplishing my goals in life, but feeling like he had faith in my ability to box was reassuring.
I did as he asked and picked out some new shoes, a pair of training gloves, and some glove wraps. After jumping rope and spending some time on the speed bag, we climbed into an empty ring. I felt guilty for thinking Ripp was a big meathead when we met. Dressed in shorts, a wife beater, boxing shoes, and with the mitts on his hands, he looked like a trainer, not a gym rat.
“I just want to see your form. No need to try and impress me, just react to what I tell ya. Ready?”
I nodded.
He held the mitts in front of his chest. It had been years since I’d trained, but when I was sixteen, I had more talent than most of the people at the gym, regardless of their age, sex, or experience. No one needed to tell me, I could see it for myself. My trainer reminded me of it daily, nonetheless.
“Right jab.”
I thrust my right hand into the mitt.
“Again.”
I hit it again.
“Two more.”
I jabbed again, twice.
He grinned and nodded.
“Right. Again. Left hook.”
I jabbed the mitt twice, and swung a left into Ripp’s left mitt. With each command he gave, I followed with the instructed punch. His commands came quicker. So did my reaction.
“Left, right.”
“Left, right, left, left. Left, left. Right.”
“Hook to the body.”
“Hook to the head.”
“Left. Again. Again. Two more. Again. Again,” he barked. “Right hand. Another. Left, Right. Left. Left. Hook the body. Hook the head.”
After the last punch, he lowered the mitts and stood up straight. “You ain’t been in a gym since you was sixteen?”
I shook my head.
His eyes narrowed. “Bullshit.”
“It’s not, I swear. I mean, I’ve always worked out, but I haven’t been to a gym and trained.”
“Who trained you when you were a kid?”
“An old man at the gym. Freddy Lewis,” I said. “He died right after my sixteenth birthday.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, his tone of voice convincing me he meant every word he said. “That’s when you quit trainin’?”
That was when everything in my life changed, but all of that didn’t matter much. I didn’t really want to talk about it, so I simply shrugged.
He straightened his stance and locked eyes with me. “I ain’t here for the fame or the money,” he said. “I’m here because fightin’ is part of who I am. I’ve tried to walk away from it more than once, but I can’t. As far as bein’ a trainer goes, I sure ain’t the best, but I can train you to be your best. You ain’t no amateur, Jaz. Not even close. I can see that already. So, you gonna let me train ya?”
I nodded eagerly.
“You wanna spar with someone? Just some light stuff? I’d like to see your form.”
I raised my gloves and tapped them together. “I’m ready.”
“Loosen up,” he said. “Lemme see what I can come up with.”
He ducked under the ropes, stomped across the gym, and disappeared into the crowd of people. A few minutes later, he returned. Fitted with gloves and carrying headgear, he grinned his cheesy grin and stepped into the ring.
“Ain’t got a girl for you to spar with and none of the men want to step in with ya.” He said. “Let’s get this headgear on ya and you can spar with me.”
I seemed foolish for him not to wear headgear. But, like everyone else, he believed a girl couldn’t threaten a man.
He was wrong.
“You’re not going to wear head gear?”
He shook his head. “Don’t worry. You ain’t gonna hurt me. Only been down once, and that came from the heavyweight Champion of the World.”
“No shit?”
He pressed the headgear over my head. “No shit.”
Impressive.
Easily standing eight inches taller than me, he bent his knees, lowered his shoulders, and raised his gloves. We made eye contact.
He nodded. “Bring it.”
He threw a few slow jabs in my direction, pulling his punches before they made contact. With my chin tucked and my gloves protecting my face, I bobbed from side-to-side, easily avoiding each punch.
His speed and intensity increased.
I continued to escape most of his attempts with head movements alone, blocking a few of the more powerful punches with my gloves. His efforts were slight and short, and I had yet to even throw a single punch at him.
He leaned back slightly. “I want all you got, okay?”
“You sure?”
“Yep.”
I tapped my gloves against his. “Tell me when.”
He nodded.
From what I had seen, he typically held his left hand a few inches lower than his right. I lowered my right glove, giving him a reason to extend his left arm. When he did, I threw a right jab past his lowered left glove and toward his chin.
The punch connected well. I knew it didn’t hurt him, but he was clearly shocked. When he reacted to being hit, I threw a quick – but powerless – left hook to his ribs. As he lowered his right elbow in reaction to the punch, I threw a right-left combo at his head, connecting both punches.
Didn’t think I had it in me, did you?
He said he wanted it all, and I intended to give it to him.
He pushed me off and raised his gloves. I unleashed a barrage of punches into his exposed ribs, causing him to lower his hands again. When they came down, I pounded him with a hard right cross.
The punch made him stumble.
Surprised?
I tucked my elbows to my sides, lowered my chin, and stepped toward him, bringing a left hook followed by a right uppercut with me. Both punches connected hard, and in response, he
signaled for me to stop. A gravelly voice from beside us caused me to shift my focus to the side of the ring.
“What in the name of God almighty is going on here?”
“Light sparrin’,” Ripp responded.
An older man – roughly seventy by my guess – stood outside the ring with his arms folded in front of his chest. He glanced at me, looked at Ripp, and shook his head. “Don’t look light to me,” he growled. “Looks to me like she was whippin’ your ass.”
“This is Jaz, Old Man. I’m thinkin’ I’m gonna train her,” Ripp said.
I raised my gloves and nodded my head toward the old man. He made eye contact and held my gaze for a moment. Then, he turned toward Ripp and glared. Ripp tossed his hands in the air, and the old man walked away without speaking.
“Is he mad?” I asked.
“He ain’t mad, he’s just old.”
“Is he the one who owns the place?”
“No. Just kind of runs it. His name’s Kelsey. He’s always in a bad fuckin’ mood. But, he trained the current Heavyweight Champion, so I guess he can be however he wants.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
I’d been out of the sport so long, I didn’t even know who the champion was. I raised my gloves as if I were ready to box. “So, what did you think?”
“About you?”
I nodded.
“I ain’t tryin’ to inflate your ego, but you got skills.”
“Mad skills?”
He looked at me like I had three eyes. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“Am I a bad ass?” I asked jokingly.
“You’re pretty close,” he said.
I swelled with pride.
He cocked an eyebrow. “What do you want out of this?”
I didn’t have to think long to give my response. “On the sign outside, it says ‘we train champions’. That’s what I want. I want to be the champion.”
“Never made it myself. So you’re my only fuckin’ hope at a title.” He swung his glove against my shoulder, knocking me off balance with the punch.
I regained my footing and grinned. “I’ll try not to let you down.”
“Let me down?” He shook his head. “You’re too fuckin’ good, Jaz.”
“You really think so?”
“Know so.”
It had been almost ten years since I stepped foot in a ring, and equally as long since I’d fought anyone. At that moment, however, I felt like I could have defeated anyone, regardless of their size, ability, experience, or training.
And only time would tell if I was right or wrong.
THREE
Jaz
Day nine.
While working out on the heavy bag, I noticed him come through the door. He looked no differently than he did the day we met.
Like a disciplined athlete.
He walked right past me. Either he didn’t notice me or he didn’t care. Whichever it was, I wasn’t willing to accept it.
I turned toward him and admired his cute ass for a few strides before I spoke. “Are you always such a dick?” I asked as he walked past.
He continued to walk away without so much as acknowledging what I had said.
“Ethan,” I shouted.
He paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Yes?”
“Are you always such a dick?”
“No,” he responded.
And he walked away.
What the fuck?
I had been training for a week, and hadn’t seen Ethan once. After learning he worked out in the late afternoons, I decided to extend my schedule in hope of seeing him. As I watched him begin to jump rope, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was just an asshole.
A really hot asshole.
As much as I wanted to get to know him, I wasn’t about to let his attitude have an effect on my training. I pounded two and three-punch combinations into the bag, glancing toward him every chance I got. The thirty-minute workout was over before I knew it. He didn’t look in my direction once. I didn’t want to be disappointed that he paid no attention to me, but I was.
I couldn’t help but wonder if he was in a relationship, gay, or just not interested. I hoped he wasn’t interested, because it was something I felt I could at least attempt to resolve. If he was gay or in a relationship, I realized I’d simply have to accept him as being off-limits.
I finished my workout and put up my gloves. No matter how desperately I wanted to get to know Ethan, I wasn’t about to make him feel like I was chasing him. Encouraging him, however, was a different story. I pulled my sleeveless tee off and stuffed it in the bag. Now dressed in nothing but shorts and a sports bra, I shouldered my bag and walked toward the locker room.
I’d never been a pretentious or conceited woman, but I was well aware that I was attractive. I was in great physical shape, my ass was cute, and my tits were fantastic. I wouldn’t argue that my hair needed to be cut, but pulled into a ponytail, it looked as good as anyone else’s.
And I had it in a ponytail.
I strutted past Ethan and toward the far end of the gym, doing my best to look irresistible. Fighting the urge not to turn around, I walked into the locker room, looked in the mirror, and exhaled. I looked great. How could he not see it? I got undressed and took a shower, wondering the entire time if he’d noticed me, and if he did, what he was thinking.
Being fascinated by someone and having them show no interest in return isn’t an easy thing for a woman to accept, and I wasn’t much different than anyone else in that respect. Wondering what it was about me that he didn’t like, I got dressed and left the locker room.
I walked past him again, poking my earbuds in my ears as I passed by. When I was almost to the door, I could see his reflection in the glass.
“I wasn’t trying to be an asshole,” he said.
I didn’t even have my iPod turned on and had heard him just fine, but I didn’t want him to know it. I pulled my right earbud out, turned around, and shot him a false look of surprise. “Did you say something?”
He was so attractive it made me nervous to stand there looking at him. Turning away wasn’t really an option, though.
“I said I wasn’t trying to be an asshole.”
I draped the earbud over my shoulder. “Just comes natural for you?”
His eyes fell to the floor for a few seconds. After a light sigh, he looked up. “You’re intimidating.”
What? Me?
I was shocked. And this time it wasn’t a show. “Me? How would I be intimidating to you?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know you’re gorgeous,” he said. “And. Well. After seeing what you did to that guy at Starbucks, it’s pretty obvious you’re a much better fighter than I’ll ever be.”
I stood and gawked at him, partially because he was so fucking handsome, and in part because of the compliments he had just given me. I was flattered. “I don’t know about all that, but thank you” I said. “And don’t worry, I won’t bite. I mean, not unless you want me to.”
He looked embarrassed. As always, I came off a little too strong. It was one of my strengths – or weaknesses – depending on how one looked at it. He grinned nonetheless. “So, Ripp said he’s going to train you.”
“Yeah. Looks that way. Does he train you?”
He shook his head. “No. One of the other guys here does.”
“Oh,” I said.
I wondered where Ripp ranked in comparison to the other trainers, and hoped I made the right choice regarding having him train me. “So, how does Ripp compare to the other guys as far as training goes?”
He widened his eyes and chuckled. “As far as the other guys go, there’s no comparison. Kelsey’s first and Ripp’s second. But Kelsey doesn’t train anyone but Dekk.”
“Who’s Dekk?”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “I don’t know anyone yet.”
He waved his arms toward the open facility. “Dekk. He owns the place. He’s the
Heavyweight Champion of the World. Shane Dekkar’s his real name. Kelsey trains him. He’s best friends with Ripp.”
“Ripp said he was friends with the owner. I guess that explains it.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t know who he was.”
“I haven’t followed the sport since I was sixteen,” I said, feeling slightly foolish for not knowing. “I know now, though.”
He grinned and nodded. “I’ll point him out when he comes in.”
At that moment, I really didn’t care who the champion was, who owned the gym, or how well-connected Ripp was with him. I wanted to get to know Ethan. “So, are you done for the night?”
I doubted he was, because he hadn’t done much in the thirty minutes since he’d arrived – at least not as far as I was concerned. Prepared for him to explain how he needed to spend another hour and a half at the gym, and for him to give a lengthy excuse on why he couldn’t take time to see me more, I waited for his response.
“Yeah,” he said, looking toward the station where he’d been working out “I think I’m done.”
So, you wanna fuck?
I fought the urge to be myself and stuck with something a little less invasive to his seemingly shy personality. “So, you want to go get a coffee or something?”
“Sure.”
Wow. That was easy.
“You need to shower?”
He looked like he considered it for a nanosecond, then shook his head. “Didn’t really sweat.”
“Grab your stuff. We can go talk or whatever.”
I was hoping for some whatever, but was prepared to settle for getting to know him a little better. In a moment he returned with his bag and we walked to the parking lot together.
“You want to ride with me?” he asked.
“Sure.”
He opened the passenger door to a truck that was parked right beside the door. I had been on several dates, and I couldn’t recall anyone ever opening the door for me, regardless of who they were. As I hoisted myself into the truck, I couldn’t help but feel like we were going out for the evening.
He carefully closed the door and then climbed in the other side.
“So, where are you from?” I asked.
“Born and raised in Texas. Grew up in Lubbock.”
Most born and raised southern boys were extremely polite. My belief that he was shy and reserved was probably nothing but him being mannerly.
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