Love Tap

by M. N. Forgy

  “Yeah, I heard he got in some trouble with the law and he hasn’t been in a match since… or something. Whatever.” I try to play it off like I don’t keep tabs on him, and stare into my coffee cup.

  “Hmm.” Chloe doesn’t believe me, I can tell. “You sure about going pro?”

  “I am. I have had a lot of time to think about it, and it’s what I want. If I don’t make it at least I can say I didn’t back down without a fight.”

  She laughs.

  “Takedown Tate’s still got it.”

  I roll my eyes and laugh. Chloe and Camden gave me that name when I was twelve. We set up a makeshift ring made out of mattresses, pool noodles, and bungee cords one summer. Chloe charged five dollars a person to watch me take on anyone who was brave enough to step into the ring.

  I won three out of four. Camden was the one I lost.

  “I don’t know about all that,” I chuckle.

  “Please, I saw you fight when you were popping those little titties,” she flicks my tit. “So don’t get all modest on me.”

  Cupping my stinging breast, I glare at her. “I’d flick you back but I’m a little afraid of your chest.” I mock their impressive size.

  She laughs and readjusts her top. “Yeah I thought about getting a reduction but that’d take a lot of tips from the spa. Plus, they get me out of a lot of shit.” Chloe has always been a daredevil, which has gotten her in trouble a couple times growing up. I doubt it’s any different now.

  “I’m sure they do.” I shake my head, and go inside to get ready.

  Throwing my hair into a top knot. I dress in a white sleeveless shirt, and some black spandex capri pants. It’s all about being comfortable to me. Maybe that’s why I’m single. I’d rather be in exercise gear and comfortable underwear, than wear high heels, and a maxi dresses with butt floss. I tried it once and was picking my butt all day. I don’t know how girls do it.

  So… single I’ll be. Maybe I should take Fiona’s advice and buy a vibrator.

  “I’ll be back later!” I holler heading out the front door.

  “Good luck!” Fiona shouts from the kitchen. “Knock ‘em dead!”

  Getting in my car I punch in the address Fiona gave me into my phone’s GPS. It’s about thirty minutes away.

  Heading that way I jam out to some old school Beyoncé. Looking at my phone I notice I’m getting close to the location so I slow down. There are several small businesses on each side of the road, but nothing resembling a gym of any sort.

  I look at the paper Fiona gave me. Hoping for a name of a business to help indicate where the hell I might be going. There’s nothing though. Just the address.

  “Shit,” I murmur.

  Glancing all around for anything gym related I spot an older building across the intersection. The siding is made up of gray metal, and above the windows that line the front of the building there’s sun faded letters reading ‘GYM’.

  Exhaling a breath I drive that way.

  Pulling into the parking lot I find an older Range Rover parked up front and couple of other nice looking cars next to it. I raise my brows in question. I wonder how much a coach is going to cost me by the looks of these nice cars.

  Unbuckling my seatbelt I grab my pink gym bag and get out.

  Shit. I’m really doing this. My back sweats and my heart thuds in my chest while I look the old building over.

  “I can do this. I can do this.” I reassure myself.

  Throwing my duffle bag over my shoulder I pull the front door open to the establishment.

  Instantly I’m greeted with the smell of sweat and leather. Grunts sound from all over as various muscled men slam their fists and bodies into each other, or bags.

  It’s not a huge gym, but it’s spacious enough. Walking in there’s a desk with nobody behind it. Bottles of vitamins and fighting gear line the shelves behind it. Looking left there is a giant ring taking up most of the space with numerous fighting bags and equipment surrounding it. Swallowing hard, my throat is suddenly dry.

  “Look, I said I was sorry!” A squeaky voice catches my attention. Looking over my shoulder I find a short young man with dark unruly hair. He looks to be maybe sixteen.

  “Johnny, I’m sorry but it’s the third time you’ve done this. I can’t keep replacing these damn things.” An older man looking to be about fifty stands in front of the kid, displaying a pink jockstrap in one hand and an old gym rag in the other. “You know how superstitious these guys are over their stuff. Go down on 5th Street where the ice cream parlor is, the owner is my brother. He’ll give you a job.”

  “FINE!” Johnny turns around, nearly slamming into me before sprinting out.

  The older man grumbles under his breath as he looks the pink jock strap over. I clear my throat to catch his attention.

  His eyes snap to mine before he does a double take. They’re gray, matching the sweaty shirt he’s wearing. He’s scrawny looking, surely not a coach or trainer.

  “Yes?” his gravelly voice cuts me. Adjusting my bag over my shoulder I head toward him.

  “Hi, I’m Tate.” I hold my trembling hand out. He looks it over, his curly eyebrows narrowing.

  “I’m Thomas. What do you want?” He gets to the point, and doesn’t shake my hand.

  Lowering my hand, I tuck it behind me and look anywhere but at him. Maybe, I should leave. No, I can’t cower. This is my dream.

  “Right, to the point. Got it. I’m looking for a coach. I wanna—”

  “Oh god, not another one. Look, we aren’t open to the public, and even if we were, look around.” He holds his hand out, gesturing toward the gym. Looking around I find a bunch of sweaty men.

  “So?” I shrug.

  He draws his eyes together.

  “So, it’s all men.” He smirks as if I didn’t get what he was referring to.

  “Yeah, I got that.” My jaw clenches.

  “So, we don’t train women,” he chuckles, looking me up and down as if I’m clearly in the wrong place.

  “That’s a little sexist,” my tone sharp.

  His face loses his humor.

  “It’s not sexist, it’s just we’re not the kind of gym you’re looking for,” he continues, before walking away from me and dismissing me. He’s crazy if he thinks I’m giving up that easy.

  “How do you know what I want, you won’t let me talk,” I snap.

  He stops, lowers his head back and sighs irritated.

  “I do actually. I get at least one of you in a week. You and your girlfriends want to exercise and then go for coffee afterwards. This is a gym for professional fighters, this is their life in here,” he explains hatefully.

  “I assure you I’m not here to exercise.” I can’t help the chuckle that spills from my mouth. “I am here for professional training, to become a professional fighter. I want to learn MMA, and am very much serious,” I inform. Anger bites at the tip of my tongue, pissed that he assumes he knows me.

  “Look sweetheart, they all say that. They are all serious about whatever it is they are looking for in life. This isn’t it though, you know where the door is,” Thomas dismisses.

  I roll my eyes at his term of endearment. Maybe if I punch him in the mouth for that one he’ll take me serious. “Don’t call me sweetheart,” I clip bitterly.

  “He’s definitely a sexist!” a female informs from behind him.

  Looking around him I find a young woman sitting at a counter I didn’t notice before. She has long brown hair, and her feet kicked up on the counter as she looks a magazine over. There’s shakes and blenders lining the back wall. Nutritionist maybe?

  “Goddamn it, Cate.” The older man schools, placing his hands on his hips.

  “I agree with her, it’s bullshit you don’t let women in here.” She shrugs, not even looking at him as she flips a page. “Your theory that men hit harder is as much trash as the inspirational quotes you feed your fighters.” She rolls her eyes. I look the other way, not sure what I walked into. Clearly there is some
tension between the two.

  “Look, I’m sure you look tough in the mirror, but this is no place for a girl,” he groans. “Why don’t you try swimming, or gymnastics?” My mouth nearly hits the floor it drops so fast. My insecurities are yelling at me to turn around, but my pride tells me not to back down so easily.

  Fiona told me not to leave until I showed them what I could do. What if this is the only place in Chicago that trains? If I don’t do this, I’ll always wonder what if.

  “I’m- I’m not leaving until you let me prove I have what it takes.” I nod, as if I’m reassuring myself I got this. I know I do, it’s just been so long since I’ve fought another person, what if I get in there and freeze?

  “Excuse me?” Thomas tilts his head to the side in question.

  “You heard me. Let me fight and show you I belong here.” An uncontrollable flush of heat ripples up my limbs from a sudden surge of confidence.

  “And if I let you into my ring and you tap out, what do I get?” Thomas asks.

  I blink slowly, not sure how to answer that.

  “Um…”

  He holds the pink jock strap up, a gleam in his eye. “You’re my cleaning lady.”

  This asshole. Pursing my lips, I cross my arms in front of my chest. I have to win this bet, I have to show this sexist asshole that a pissed off woman is more to fear than any man.

  “Alright, but if I don’t tap out, you have to train me... For free!” I point at him angrily.

  He laughs as if there’s no way that’s happening and then holds his hand out.

  “Deal.”

  Shaking his hand, I accept.

  “Deal.”

  “Cate, grab her some gloves.”

  “You got it, Thomas.” Cate jumps over the counter. Seeing her body for the first time I can tell she works out. She’s not ripped, but is well toned.

  Dropping my bag, I stretch. Bouncing on the balls of my feet, and rolling my neck to loosen up. Berating thoughts slamming into my head one after another.

  “Tracey!” Thomas hollers, his eyes smiling at me.

  A lump forms in my throat from the wicked grin on his face.

  “You knock Tracey out, or make him tap out, I’ll train you.” Thomas lifts his chin.

  A big burly man steps up behind Thomas. He’s sweaty and looks to be about one hundred and fifty pounds. He has an overgrown red Mohawk, with the rest of his head shaved. Freckles dusting his crooked nose.

  “How much does he weigh?” I squeak. My body cringes thinking about receiving a punch from Tracey.

  “What are you now Tracey? One thirty? One fifty? Ah, you can take him.” Thomas smiles big, throwing his hand at me dismissively.

  “Sorry, as I said before, we don’t train girls here so you’ll have to fight Tracey. If that’s a problem though, I understand your forfeit.”

  “No!” I spit. “It’s fine.” I’m going to die.

  “Here we go, these should fit.” Cate grabs my hands and begins to wrap them with fighting tape. It helps protect the knuckles. I, however, can’t take my eyes off Tracey. He’s massive.

  “Tate here wants to fight.”

  “Me?” Tracey points to himself then looks at me as if I’d lost my mind. His dark eyes wide with surprise.

  Thomas nods his head.

  “Coach…” Tracey begins to shake his head in rejection.

  “It’s fine, she’s a little girl,” Thomas insults. “You might take it easy on her, though.” Thomas walks to the ring leaving a wake of malicious chuckles.

  “Hey.” Cate’s voice grabs my attention. Looking at her, her green eyes focused on wrapping my other hand.

  “You got this. Tracey is a pussy, do an arm bar and you’ll take him out easily. He can’t figure out how to get out of them so it’ll be a piece of cake.”

  Arm bar? I’ve only successfully done that once. Maybe twice now that I’m thinking about it and I was a kid.

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because.” She slips my gloves on. “I want to see the look on Thomas’s face when you prove to him women can fight.”

  A laugh erupts from my mouth before I can stop it.

  She pats my gloves, and shoves a mouth guard into my mouth.

  “Go get ‘em.”

  Climbing into the ring, my back is covered in sweat, and I know my shirt is soaked beneath my pits. I bet I smell lovely too. God, why am I doing this?

  Thomas steps in between us.

  “Ready Barbie?” Thomas insults.

  I scowl. Now I know why I’m doing this. To prove this asshole I’m no diva.

  I nod, biting my mouth guard.

  “Tracey?” Thomas glances at my opponent. Tracey gives a sideways glance before nodding.

  “Go!” Thomas jumps out of the way. I pounce forward, my arms raised up to protect my face.

  Tracey steps forward, his hands raised as well.

  Circling each other he suddenly jabs, and I duck. It was pathetic, there was no power behind his strike.

  Is he weak, or is he deliberately trying not to hit me hard because I’m a girl?

  His hands raised, he’s leaving his torso uncovered. Taking the opportunity I give a one two punch into his gut. He grunts and instantly covers his stomach with his hands. I twist and elbow strike him in the face. He stumbles, shaking his head as if to clear the pain away.

  “Come on Tracey! You’re getting your ass kicked by a girl, son!” Thomas’s brows furrow in distress, nervous he’s going to lose the bet.

  Tracey tries to throw another pathetic punch and I go in for a single leg take down, praying I don’t screw it up. Grabbing his leg with my hands, I squeeze it between my thighs, smash down on it to where his other knee buckles, and turn quickly throwing him down. He goes down with ease and I’m shocked.

  “For fuck’s sake Tracey!” Thomas becomes irate from the sidelines.

  “I’m not hitting a girl coach!” he slurs around his mouth guard.

  “I can see why, you suck,” I insult.

  “Who is that fighting him?” A familiar gravelly voice grabs my attention from the fight, chills suddenly running down my spine despite my rising body temperature. Glancing over to the side of the ring a man stands facing Thomas, all I see is his side profile, but it looks more than familiar. His hair is short and unruly, and cheeks holding a five o’clock shadow.

  “Camden?”

  Before I can react, Tracey grabs me around the neck and plows me to the floor hard, trying to lock me up tight. I can’t move. Was that Camden? I try to look, and Tracey tightens his hold.

  Trying to refocus back on the fight, I have to think about my next move carefully. It’s like I forgot everything I know - which is limited. If I move my arm out too much I’m going to get submitted. He’ll apply so much pressure on it I’ll have no choice but to tap out.

  Images of Camden flash in my mind, making it hard to think. Memories of the light stubble growing on his defined cheek bones, and the way his vivid blue eyes looked at me with such disappointment before I left four years ago flash in my eyes.

  Focus.

  Closing my eyes, I push all thoughts of Camden from my head.

  Trying to catch my breath, I slip my hand under Tracey’s body, lay my leg straight before positioning it between his and hug him. I have no idea what this move is called, but I see them do it all the time on TV.

  “Fuck, just tap out,” Tracey pants in my ear.

  “Fuck you,” I grit through my bite guard. “You tap out.”

  He tries to hook me in the face with his fist, and I slip out from underneath him before he can make contact.

  Getting back on his feet I slip in behind him and go for a rear naked choke. Locking my legs around his back, I wrap one arm around his neck, while resting the other on top of his head.

  Hoping he’ll tap out, he grabs at my glove on his head and tears my arm free instead.

  “Shit!” I wipe the sweat off my forehead, I don’t know what else to do to take this assho
le out. I’m out of moves.

  “You done yet Barbie?” Tracey taunts. Adrenaline slams into my chest so hard my vision blurs. I can do this.

  Pulling my fist back hard, I punch him in the face with all I have and he falls into the ring. That wasn’t a pre calculated move. That was just pure anger rolled into my fist.

  “Holy shit!” Thomas’s surprised voice isn’t lost on me.

  “Whoa!” That voice, it draws my attention back to the side of the ring.

  He’s facing me fully now. Seeing his face for the first time in four years, butterflies swarm in my stomach. It’s definitely Camden. His blue irises lock on mine and I hold my breath. My heart breaks all over again just staring at him. His eyes widen with recognition, and his mouth parts.

  Not keeping my mind in the game, I’m suddenly taken down on all fours. Tracey hovers above me, wrapping his arm around my neck, and tucking his head right under my arm. Before I can figure out what he’s doing, he rolls over and chokes me out.

  Refusing to tap out, my ears ring. My breathing becoming labored.

  “Tap out!” A voice I can’t make out echoes in the background.

  I refuse. I won’t.

  My vision begins to blur, just as Tracey’s arm is pulled from my neck.

  I choke and wheeze pulling every morsel of air I can back into my lungs. Falling to my hands and knees, I try to regain my composure. My hair is a mess sticking to my forehead, and sweat trickles down my face to where I can taste it.

  “What the hell was that?” Tracey scolds standing above me. Glancing to where Camden was standing I find him missing. My chest weighs heavy, tears threatening to fill my eyes. I wasn’t prepared to see him.

  “I didn’t tap out,” I croak, my voice nearly gone. Closing my eyes, I fight from crying. If I do, Thomas will think it’s from the fight, and not from a broken heart.