Penny snorts. “Sure. Whatever you say.”
Now it is my turn to frown. “That sounded slightly sarcastic.”
She turns off her computer and fishes around in her desk for her purse. “Only slightly? I was going for full-on sarcasm. You finally get another chance with the one guy you want more than anything else. You two almost burn up the office with the heat between you. But hey, maybe it’s time to find someone new? Seriously? Just sleep with him. Get that out of the way and then deal with whatever issues are left over and sign him up for the Bob and Clive funfest. Shag ’n’ bag.”
“Shag ’n’ bag?”
“That’s right. You sleep with him. Then you bag him as a client. Problem solved.”
I would laugh but Penny isn’t even smiling. She is dead serious about her shag ’n’ bag plan. “What if he doesn’t want to sleep with me? What if he’s just playing around and having a bit of fun at my expense?”
Penny rolls her eyes. “I thought you were the man whisperer. Why are you asking me for advice? I’m the one on an extended dry spell who can’t get a date to save her life. But since you did, I’ll give you the benefit of my experience. He’s a man. He wants to sleep with you.”
“Thanks for that,” I say dryly.
Penny shrugs and pushes open the door. “Sometimes the simplest solutions are the best.”
***
Almost two hours later, worn ragged by a traffic nightmare on the bridge, I make it to Redemption. With Rampage’s assistance, I commandeer Torment’s office for a group signing of the retainer agreements. I can only imagine what he would say if he saw fighters draped over every surface, but everyone promises to keep it hush-hush.
After the sign-up, everyone heads out, but Homicide Hank lingers by the door. He sighs loudly, then inspects Torment’s bookshelves as I sort out the papers on the desk.
“Something on your mind, Homicide?”
He takes a quick look over his shoulder and then slides into the chair across from me. “Actually, the wife and I…we’re thinking we should have wills for when the baby is born. But we don’t have a lotta money, so I bought a DIY will kit online.” He pulls out a crushed bundle of papers from his gym bag and slides them across the desk. “I just…it’s kinda complicated.”
Fortunately, Homicide lives in the catchment for the community legal aid clinic, and five minutes later he becomes my newest pro bono client. But the fun doesn’t end with Homicide. Obsidian catches me outside Torment’s office with a motor vehicle injury claim wadded into a tight ball in his fist, and Rampage hands me a bundle of insurance papers before I hit the changing room. Who needs advertising when I have Torment?
Relieved that Jake isn’t around, I make it into the registration office with enough time to sign up for three grappling and fight technique classes before Get Fit or Die starts. Shayla, now working the desk part-time, walks me through the forms, but just as I hand her my credit card, Fuzzy taps me on the shoulder.
“What’s going on? Why aren’t you warming up for class tonight?”
“I’m signing up to learn how to fight.”
Fuzzy glares as I scrawl my name on the sign-up sheets and then snatches away my pen. “You can’t even manage Get Fit or Die. How are you gonna fight?”
“You can’t stop me. Shayla…er Shilla the Killa says I can take any classes I want. She says I don’t have to pass Get Fit or Die first. She says everything that comes out of your mouth about prerequisites is bullshit.” I smile at Shayla, frozen behind the cash register with my credit card in her hand. She doesn’t look pleased.
“No.”
“Come on, Fuzz,” I moan. “I joined Redemption because I want to fight. I want to be able to walk down dark alleys and not be afraid. You said I should take your beginners’ class to get in shape and I did. Plus, I’ve been working out every day, not just here. I’m stronger, faster, and I can now leap small buildings in a single bound.”
His face softens and his lips quirk into a smile. “I just want you to be safe. I’ve seen too many people hurt in the ring simply because they weren’t properly conditioned. Maybe you should consider taking one of the martial arts classes. It would be a good halfway point. Girls like you don’t belong in the ring.”
Girls like me?
Shayla snorts a laugh. “Girls like her work out, train hard, and become girls like me. You don’t think I belong in the ring?” She flexes her impressive biceps and then mocks up a few bodybuilder stances. My mouth drops open. Shayla is ripped. Everywhere. She could definitely put down most of the guys I know. I want to be like her.
“Course not.” Fuzzy’s smile fades. “You’re a fucking machine. You didn’t get your nickname for nothing. But I’m talking about Amanda. She’s…different. Delicate.”
Tilting her head to the side, Shayla gives him a curious look. “Did you know I was a professional ballerina before I joined Redemption? I wore tutus and pink slippers. I danced for Joffrey and toured the world. I practiced every day from the age of three until even the barest flutter of my fingers was graceful. You want delicate, you look right over here.”
Eyes wide, mouth open, Fuzzy stares at Shayla like she’s grown two heads. “You’re fucking kidding me.”
By way of answer, Shayla pulls out her phone. She flips through her photos, holding up pictures of her as a ballerina for Fuzzy to see.
He sighs over the last photo. “I don’t get it.”
Shayla shrugs. “We’re not all born fighters. And the fact that you can’t even begin to understand it is the reason you shouldn’t stand in Amanda’s way. She wants to learn how to fight. You should let her fight. If she gets hurt, she’ll learn what not to do next time. Worked for me.”
Still, he hesitates. His eyes rove over me in an assessing, entirely nonsexual way, and he strokes his bottom lip. I fight back the urge to whinny and paw the floor with a running shoe–clad hoof.
“I’ll sign a legal waiver.” I give a pathetic laugh.
Fuzzy shakes his head. “It’s not the law I’m worried about. It’s Renegade. You get hurt, he’ll be all over my ass.”
“Renegade? He has nothing to do with what classes I take. We’re not…you know…together. And even if we were, I wouldn’t let him interfere with how I want to train.”
Fuzzy arches an eyebrow and then he and Shayla share a glance and a snort.
“How about we sign her up for Grunt ’n’ Grapple?” Shayla suggests to Fuzzy as if I wasn’t standing in front of her. “Rampage is teaching tonight. They’re using dummies and just doing submission drills. Should be safe enough.”
Fuzzy sucks in a breath through clenched teeth. “What if she gets a scratch—or worse, a bruise?”
Shayla’s eyebrows fly up to her hairline. “I didn’t think of that. How about I run interference? First sign of injury, and I’ll pull her out and take her to first aid. Doctor Death can patch her up and send her home. Renegade will never know.”
“Seriously?” I raise my voice in disbelief. “Is this a serious conversation? I told you he has nothing to do with how I train. And you can’t possibly be that afraid of him. I mean, he’s only been back in the gym a couple of months.”
“Make sure you have a word with Rampage,” Shayla says to Fuzzy, ignoring my outburst. “We don’t want him getting hurt. He’s fighting in the next event.”
A few irritating minutes later, I am released into Rampage’s hands with a full set of instructions about my care and handling like I’m a kid being dropped off at day care.
“This is ’manda,” Rampage tells the class consisting of six guys and no other women. “She’s Redemption’s attorney and she’s Renegade’s girl, so no one messes with her. That means you don’t speak to her; you don’t look at her; you don’t touch her; you don’t breathe the same air as her. She’s gonna train over there.” He points to the far end of the mat. “We’re gonna train o
ver there.” He points to the opposite end.
“I feel like a pariah,” I mutter. “And, by the way, I’m not Renegade’s girl.”
Rampage chuckles. “Everyone knows you’re Renegade’s girl. Don’t need to be shy.”
“How does everyone know?” I pull away from his bulk and fold my arms. “Did he say something?”
Rampage gives my head a condescending pat. “He didn’t need to say anything. A man stakes his claim, every man with a beating heart in the vicinity knows it. That was done the first day he brought you back to Redemption. Reinforced at the renovation party. The minute you walk in here, he’s got eyes on you. He’s got hands on you. He keeps the sharks away. You never wonder why no one bothers you? You never ask yourself why, looking the way you look and dressing the way you dress and smiling that pretty smile and with all those smarts in your head, you’ve never been harassed at Redemption?”
“But…”
“You’re his.” Rampage’s face softens. “Looks like you’re the only one who doesn’t know it.”
Stunned into silence, I go through the motions as Rampage leads us in a warm-up. Then it’s over to the wall to get a grapple dummy.
“Make sure you get a submission dummy,” Rampage hollers at us. “I don’t want to see anyone with a practice dummy and no bags. Amanda, you take Grapple Man because he’s lighter than the rest. Everyone else can take a Bubba II.”
Wrapping my arms around the life-size, six-foot training dummy, I drag it across the mats. Eerily human, the fifty-five-pound mannequin has realistic and bendable arms, legs, and torso, and his skin has the feel and resiliency of human flesh. The molded hair and face give him the appearance of a giant Ken doll. When no one is looking, I check under his cotton shorts for anatomical correctness and find him lacking. Just like Ken.
“Today we’re going to drill basic submissions from the bottom—arm bars, triangles, and kimuras. We’ll do them one after the other, ten reps each.” Rampage positions us all on our backs and ropes Drake into helping everyone position the dummy on top.
“How’s my best girl?” Drake kneels down beside me and brushes the hair away from my face. “I stopped by your new office after surgery the other night and I couldn’t believe the lights were out at eight p.m. Only putting in half days now, are you?”
“It’s a whole new me.” I grin and push myself up to my elbows. “No late nights. Getting in shape so I can learn how to fight. And I’m down to only four cups of coffee a day.”
Drake frowns. “So I’ll be seeing you on my operating table in fifteen years instead of ten.”
“Chill. I’m feeling good.”
His gaze roves over Ken tucked between my legs, his plastic face nestled between my breasts, and winks. “You’re looking good. Always like to see a woman in submission.”
“Shut up, Drake…er…Doctor Death. This isn’t the place for sexual innuendo. I’m trying to learn serious fight techniques.” I fake a scowl while Drake repositions the dummy, one plastic hand on either side of my head, one plastic pelvis where an anatomically correct pelvis might go.
“He’s in full mount,” Drake explains. “Dominant.”
I’ll bet.
“Um. Is this the right position?”
Drake sucks in a laughing breath. “It’s the position I use. The ladies seem to like it.” He leans closer and whispers. “You seemed to like it.”
“Rampage!” Unable to move with roughly sixty pounds of dummy on top of me, I turn my head and holler. “Get Doctor Death out of here. He’s harassing me and definitely enjoying himself too much to teach me properly.”
More wheezing laughter and Drake helps me position my right leg around Ken’s neck, my ankle tucked behind the back of my left knee. Ken’s head is locked tight between my legs, his mouth tucked tight against the curve of my sex. Hoooah! I might just buy a grapple dummy for the long, lonely nights ahead.
Drake lifts Ken’s head. Ken’s head slides down and bumps gently between my legs. Drake tries again, but Ken has other ideas. Ken knows where a woman wants a man’s mouth and if Drake keeps doing what he’s doing, I’m going to need a dummy with real lips…and a tongue. I suspect Drake knows this all too well.
Finally Drake sits back and sighs. “Problem with you using Grapple Man is that he’s designed for a bigger fighter. He won’t stay put. And there’s not enough tension in the arms. A real person will hold his head up and push against your legs. The Submission Master would be better, but he’s our heaviest practice dummy and I think he’ll be too much for you.”
The Submission Master? My body tingles and my mouth waters. YES, PLEASE!
Drake removes Ken from between my legs and gives me a thoughtful look. “You want me to help you out?”
“Did you bring a body bag with you?” My voice drips with sarcasm. “Apparently, although Renegade and I are not together in any meaningful way, I’m not to be touched, looked at, or share the same air as any man in Redemption. According to Fuzzy and Shilla the Killa, you’re taking your life in your hands just by helping me.”
“It’s just a basic submission.” Drake gives me a wicked grin. “And I’ve always wanted to go a few rounds in the ring with Renegade, maybe wipe away the scowl that always appears on his face when he sees me.”
“It’s your funeral…Doctor Death.” I manage to say this without laughing. So long as Drake’s head doesn’t fall into my now throbbing sex, I should be good.
“I’ll take the dominant position.” Drake kneels in front of me and motions for me to spread my legs.
My throat thickens and I part my legs to accommodate his muscular body. “Okay.”
He crawls over top of me and drops his weight to his elbows. His body is warm and heavy on mine. Oh God. It’s been too long since I’ve had a man. And Drake was my last. My body heats at his familiar touch and I focus on keeping still.
Bad body. Don’t think about sex. Fires. Insurance companies. Wills. Documents.
But how can I not think about sex when Drake is throwing around words like dominant, submission, mount, and pound? What it would be like to have Jake show me the moves, his body mounting me, his voice driving me to submission. My cheeks flush and I turn my head so Drake doesn’t see. Rampage is demonstrating a rear naked choke to one of my classmates. What I wouldn’t give for a rear naked…
“You ready for the submission?” Drake is not totally unaffected by this position. His cheeks are flushed, his voice deeper. Thank God, he’s wearing a cup. At least, I think he’s wearing a cup.
“Ready.” I swing my leg around his neck and pull his right arm between us toward my breast as I lift my other leg to his shoulder.
“What the fuck?” Jake’s angry voice cracks through the whirr of machines, the grunts and thuds of sparring partners, and the low hum of training chatter.
“Now the fun begins.” Although his eyes glitter, amused, Drake beats a hasty retreat off my body. Rampage helps him up, murmuring he should have known better and asking if he has a will and can he have Drake’s locker because it is in a prime spot right near the shower.
My breath leaves me in a rush as Jake stalks across the mats in a fury like I’ve never seen before. His face is stark white, eyes cold and hard, jaw tight. But it isn’t fear that makes my heart pound and my knees week—it’s Jake…in his crisp, white jiu-jitsu gi, a black belt tied tight around his hips.
Oh God. How could I have forgotten how hot he looks in his gi? I mentally make a shopping list for the weekend: Submission Master, check. Gi and black belt for Submission Master, check. Vibrator, check.
Jake’s gi flaps open as he walks, giving me a glimpse of the muscles rippling across his chest. The cut of the jacket emphasizes his broad shoulders and the belt is tight around his narrow hips. The stiff material swishes angrily with his every step. He looks powerful, dangerous. Predatory. I cannot tear my eyes away.
Without breaking his stride, he pushes through my puzzled classmates and hits Drake in the chest with the palm of his hand. I can imagine that hand breaking boards and smashing bricks. I can imagine it caressing my breasts, stroking my thighs…
“Whoa.” Rampage steps between them. “Just a class, man. Doctor Death was just helping out. Grapple Man didn’t do it for your girl, so he stepped in.”
Jake’s gaze slides to me on my back, legs bent and apart, cheeks flushed. Maybe this is a good time to shut down the submission position. I pull myself up and then jump to my feet.
“Don’t move.” Jake growls at me without taking his eyes off Drake.
“We were doing a triangle.” Drake explains. “Grapple Man kept kissing her pussy, so I thought I’d step in and…”
“Oh Christ.” Rampage sighs and shakes his head. “Doctor Death has a death wish tonight.”
The small crowd around us stills. Even cheeky, overly confident Drake pales and steps back when Jake hisses out a breath.
Too late.
Jake strikes like a cobra. One minute he is in front of Rampage, the next he is behind Drake, an elbow around Drake’s neck in an actual rear naked choke hold. As seen on television. Don’t try this at home. Drake goes down. Drake jumps up. Now Drake is angry too. More people gather.
“Renegade. Stop.” My feeble words go unheard as Jake lunges at Drake and goes for a double leg takedown. Drake hits the mat hard and rolls, taking Jake with him. Suddenly Drake is in full mount. The crowd cheers.
Jake manages to extricate himself from Drake’s submission hold and jumps to his feet. He charges as Drake struggles to his knees and Drake goes flying across the mat. He lands with a loud thump and a string of curses. Without slowing, Jake lets loose with some boxing-type punches. He throws knees and Drake gets him off balance, taking him down and then following with an elbow to Jake’s abdomen. Drake leaps to his feet but Jake stays on his back. I give Rampage a worried glance, but his eyes are wide with wonder.
In Your Corner Page 12