By Degrees

by Elle Casey

  “Gloves up!” orders Charlie.

  Mine go up automatically. They feel natural there, like I should always be walking around protecting myself this way. Tarin’s come up slower; he’s watching me and mirroring my actions. He’s wary, and I admire him for having such good instincts.

  “Engage!” is Charlie’s next order. He bangs the bell once with a tiny hammer that rests near it.

  I wait for Tarin to follow Charlie’s call.

  He walks around the ring in a circle, like he’s taking a stroll. I side step, keeping my gloves between us. I’m on my toes at all times, just like I’ve been taught.

  Tarin’s nervous, full of anxiety. I’m sure it’s all about the idea of hitting a girl. It’s good to know he doesn’t relish the idea, but he needs to get busy. I have other things to do today besides dance in circles. I close the distance between us and throw out one easy punch, catching him in the shoulder.

  “Hey! Watch it, now. I don’t want to have to hurt you.” He moves out of the way, watching me over his shoulder as he retreats.

  Charlie’s frustrated. “Get back over there, boy! What’s wrong with you? She’s throwing down the gauntlet and you’re walking away! What are you, a pussy?”

  Tarin stops in his tracks. “Say what, man? Did you just call me a pussy because I don’t want to hit a girl?”

  He’s so busy bitching at Charlie, he doesn’t realize I’m there until it’s too late. I land a solid punch to his shoulder, knocking him sideways a few steps. I dance out of the way.

  “What the …?” He turns around and stares at me. “Did you just hit me?”

  “Of course she hit you! That’s what you do in the boxing ring for crying out loud! Whaddya think this is, a beauty parlor? Now get over there and give her a tap!”

  Tarin snorts a laugh and then takes a tentative step in my direction. “Give her a tap,” he mumbles under his breath, “I’ll give her a tap…”

  I wave him towards me. “Come on then, Tear-It-Up Kilgour. Let’s see what you got.” I’m grinning like a fool, the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I’m probably enjoying this too much, but I don’t care. I haven’t punched anyone in the head in way too many weeks.

  “Oh, you wanna see what I got, huh?” He raises his gloves up and takes a few more steps in my direction. “You sure about that?”

  I rush him and give him three quick jabs in his chest, easily knocking away his gloves. I dance away and laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “Hey! Cut that out!” He’s moving more assuredly now, walking sideways, reminding me of a caged tiger the way he’s watching me. “No sneak attacks allowed.”

  I let out a whoop because I have too much energy built up inside me. I punch my gloves together to aggravate him. “Come on, sissy boy … bring it.”

  “That’s not a sneak attack, that’s boxing!” yells Charlie. “Now get in there and throw some punches before I get so old waiting for it I fall over dead.” Charlie uses a towel to snap Tarin in the ankle when he gets close. “Go! Fight!”

  Tarin jumps. “Shit! What the hell!” He turns around to scowl at Charlie, and I take the opening he provides.

  I jump in and pummel him. Chest, shoulders, abs, and then when he turns around, his jaw. He flies back into the ropes and I dance away again.

  As he bounces down the ropes to land on his ass, Ricky and Scott are laughing loudly.

  “Damn, girl,” says Ricky, his joy echoing around the gym, “you ain’t gotta kill the poor boy his first day.”

  Tarin shakes his head a few times and then scrambles to his feet, his face beet red under his pads. “You are so going down right now,” he growls.

  “You wish,” I say before I can stop myself.

  “You wish,” he says, advancing on me.

  He takes a swing at me, but it’s sloppy and obvious. I lean back just the slightest bit to let it breeze by and then cut in with a quick jab to his ribs. When he leans over his injured parts, I give him a left hook to his other side and then move away again, avoiding getting too near the corner of the ring.

  Ricky’s laughing like a lunatic now and Scott’s right there with him, adding some hoots and hollers for good measure. It’s having the desired effect on Tarin, making him angry and frustrated. I smile, knowing he’s about to live up to his nickname. I’m totally ready for him.

  Tarin lets out a roar and comes for me like a bull, head down, planning to tackle me.

  I wait until he’s almost on me before jumping to the side and slamming his upper back first with the back side of my left fist and then a roundhouse from my right. He falls to his face on the mat with a loud boom.

  I expect him to stay there and catch his breath, so it takes me by complete surprise when his hand shoots out and grabs my ankle. One quick yank and I’m on my back on the mat next to him. He reaches for me, his gloved hand landing on my thigh and squeezing.

  I panic. His hand is way too close to places it shouldn’t be, and his face isn’t too far behind. This isn’t boxing, it’s wrestling, and we’re sweating and breathing heavily. I can’t be here like this. Too close! Too close!

  I sit up in an instant and bash him in the arm several times before hitting him in the head. When his hand finally falls away, I scramble back and jump to my feet.

  Shaking my arms and head, I dance to the opposite side of the ring. I’m totally amped up now, a little afraid of what I’ll do to him if he gets up and comes after me. The fight or flight instinct is raging inside me right now, and the ropes are keeping me trapped in here with him. He’s got me backed into a corner, and it goes against everything I know to leave the ring and not keep fighting. The smart thing would be to slide under the ropes and end the match. I am not always smart.

  Tarin gets up, his heavy breathing sounding like a freight train. He stumbles towards me, his body language telegraphing his plans. He’s against hitting girls, but apparently has no problem with wrestling them to the ground.

  As soon as he’s close enough, I hit him with a volley of quick jabs to the chest and face. He holds up his gloves, avoiding the worst of it, but I still get a couple taps in. At first he responds with some weak moves, but with egging-on from the guys, they become stronger, more assured.

  “Come on, come on, show us what you got!” yells Charlie. “I’ve seen ten-year-old girls fight better than that!”

  Tarin finally gives me something decent to look at, but I block it easily. Swatting his attempts away like flies, I land another couple solid punches to his abs. This is how I motivate men to do crunches. Now he knows I go for the soft parts.

  “Short, sharp, quick! Jab! Gloves up! Jab!”

  Tarin quickly gets into the rhythm Charlie’s calling out for him. I’m impressed with how easily it’s coming for him now. He’s got a certain grace to his moves, reminding me of a professional boxer. Raw, yes, but with a certain natural talent. He’d be a hell of a street fighter if he had any finesse.

  “Left, left, right! Go! Sharper! Harder! Right, right, left!”

  Tarin will never beat me with this kind of workout, since Charlie’s giving me the entire playbook through the natural megaphone that is his mouth, but it doesn’t matter. The goal is to get Tarin interested, and I can tell we’ve won. He’s on his toes, he’s moving, he’s swinging with abandon but listening. I let him get a few punches in so he doesn’t lose hope entirely.

  Tarin backs away when Charlie takes a break from yelling. He grins at me. “You had enough yet?” He asks me. He can barely get the words out he’s breathing so hard.

  I smile evilly. “The question is, have you had enough yet?”

  He shakes his head and dances closer. “Enough? Please. I haven’t even gotten a taste yet.” And then he launches some of his own moves on me.

  I block all but one, taking a hit to the chin. I bend over and turn partially away, pretending to be hurt. Waiting… waiting…

  He stops immediately and comes to my side. “Oh, shit. Did that hurt? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to..�
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  I wait until he places a hand on my back before turning around and punching him right in the gut. As he bends over I meet him with a solid uppercut and then a combination, left-right-left. He’s on his back staring up at the ceiling about three seconds later.

  Applause erupts around the gym. Several of the regulars have come in and are giving me thumbs up. I wave to my fans before sticking my right glove in my left armpit to yank it off. I walk over to Tarin and hold my bare hand out. “Need some help?”

  He reaches up, his gloved hand limp. His head lolls to the side a little. “Yeah. Help … me.” He’s exhausted.

  I smile, triumph feeling especially good for some reason. As soon as his wrist clamps around mine, though, I know I’ve been foolish. Oh, you silly, gullible girl…

  One second I’m standing on my feet, and the next, I’m on my back with his heavy, sweaty, smelly body on top of mine. I struggle to get away, but he’s got more energy and strength left than I would have thought possible.

  “Say uncle,” he demands, his sweet breath blowing into my face. It doesn’t smell like cigarettes for a change. I can feel his heartbeat pounding into my breasts.

  “Screw you,” I grunt, trying to wiggle out from under him.

  The people in the gym are hooting like teenagers.

  I punch him in the back of the head with my gloved fist as best I can, but he traps my arm with a strong grip, pressing his chest harder into mine. His face is even closer. I can feel a hard-on starting for him, as his crotch settles in on top of my leg. “I wrestled in high school,” he says, his hot breath washing over me and giving me shivers. “You’re not getting away until you say uncle and admit I am the champion of all champions.” The more I wiggle, the harder he presses into me.

  Panic level nine. Get out! Get away! The feel of his body this close to mine is freaking me out. I don’t know why, I just know it has to stop.

  “I guess you had different rules in high school wrestling than I have,” I say, sweating coming out of my every pore, my pulse going so hard I can feel it pounding in my neck. I’m giving him fair warning, but he doesn’t get it.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I bring my knee up into his crotch only half as hard as my fear wants me to, immediately immobilizing him. His expression goes from smug to surprise and then to pained in the space of a single second.

  I easily push him off me and watch as he rolls into the fetal position around his nuts. The relief washes over me like a giant ocean wave. My pulse begins to return to normal immediately. The threat has been removed.

  The hoots turn to laughs and then shouts. “Damn, girl! You ain’t gotta do that!”

  “Next time just kiss him and get it over with!” yells someone else.

  Ricky and Scott walk up to greet me as I flip over the ropes and land on my feet next to the ring.

  “That was coooold-blooded,” says Ricky, holding up his hand for a high five. “Respect, girl. Respect.”

  I smack his palm with mine and smile. “I don’t play for anything but keeps.”

  “Remind me not to mess with you ever,” he says, cupping his jewels with one hand. “I plan to have lots of kids in the future.”

  I smile. “Just don’t try to wrestle me to the ground, and we’ll be just fine. I don’t do wrestling.”

  Scott puts his hand on my shoulder. “Well, sis, you’ve done it again. Brought a man to his knees and made him see the error of his ways. What’s next? Chest waxing?”

  “Yeah,” I say, knocking his arm off me. “And you’re going first.”

  Scott rubs his chest nervously. “Do you mean it? I only have like five hairs there and I’m kind of attached to them.”

  I punch him lightly in the arm. “Shut up and get this stuff off me, would ya?” I hold out my still-gloved hand at him and wait for him to oblige me.

  He smiles. “Do you have any idea how much I love the first day in the gym with these guys?”

  I grin back. “About half as much as I do?”

  He laughs. “Yeah, maybe.”

  Once I’m out of my fight gear and my hair is back in a somewhat decent ponytail, I turn to look at my latest victim. Tarin falls out of the ring and lands on the ground, letting Ricky get him to his feet. He walks with a limp over in my direction. I can’t tell if he’s angry by his expression. Even with his pads off now, he’s wearing a mask.

  Charlie joins us. “Well, that was educational.” He slaps Tarin on the back so hard it makes him hunch over and cringe. “See you in a couple days?”

  Tarin stands up and looks at me sharply, something akin to fear in his eyes.

  I smile. “Absolutely.” I give Tarin my best challenging look. “You in, Tarin?”

  Tarin’s eyes narrow and then he smiles too. “Oh, I am so in. You have no idea.”

  “That’s my boy,” says Charlie, smacking him one more time before ambling off to yell at someone not using the punching bag properly.

  Tarin lifts his chin at me and then winks once before walking over to the water fountain. As I watch him walk away, the thrill that runs through me tells me that I really don’t have any idea what’s happening here, but I want to find out. My better judgment has definitely abandoned me.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I LEAVE TARIN TO SHOWER while I discuss the menu for the week with the cook I’ve hired to do all of Tarin’s meals for the next month. I met Josh when he was working at one of my favorite restaurants. When he went into freelancing, I hired him immediately, and since then, we’ve done several gigs together. He’s always a part of my contract because no one can cook a healthy, interesting meal like Josh can, and he does it over and over again. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten the same thing twice with him in the kitchen. Good food tends to ease the pain of my workouts and demands, and I am not too proud to manipulate a man through his stomach.

  He’s wearing his cooking uniform: black and white checkered pants and a white t-shirt, the entire thing covered in a white jacket. He’s always formal in the kitchen, even when he’s just working for my clients in their homes.

  “So nothing special, is that it then? Just the usual?” Josh asks.

  “You can ask him if he has anything he prefers, but you know the routine. Heavy protein, high glycemic carbs, no refined sugars, light on the gluten.”

  “Yum-eee. Sounds like I’ll be eating chicken and cardboard,” says Tarin, walking into the kitchen. His hair is wet and hanging down around his face, his board shorts, t-shirt, and flip flops making him look like a surfer. The tattoos that run up both arms only heighten the effect. My heart flips when a vision of him in the shower jumps unbidden into my head.

  I stand there with my eyes bugging out, trying to get myself together as Josh introduces himself.

  “Love your stuff, man.” Josh holds out his hand.

  “Thanks.” Tarin shakes Josh’s hand and looks down at the two plates on the counter that contain our pre-lunch snack. He doesn’t seem very excited. “What’s that?”

  I clear my throat, my voice finally ready to work again. “That’s your snack before lunch.”

  “Good. Because if you said that was my lunch, I was going to have to call Charlie and tattle on you.” One side of his mouth goes up in a smile. “Meat and potatoes. Charlie says.”

  I smirk, glad he feels that what Charlie wants, Charlie should get. Maybe next time we’re in the ring together he’ll throw a few real punches and give me a decent workout. “Come on. Let’s go eat by the pool.” Picking up the plates, I nod at Josh. “Thanks. We good for the rest of the week?”

  “Yeah. Just try to give me some advance notice on numbers if you can.”

  “That’s easy, I can do that now. We’ll have seven for dinners, six for the rest of the meals.”

  “You want me to plate-up the rest of them now?”

  I nod. “Yeah. Keep it with Tarin and me for the snacks, everyone together for the meals.”

  “Gotcha.” Josh goes to the stack of dishes on the
counter and pulls four of them out so he can put the food on them.

  Tarin frowns but says nothing until we’re outside sitting at a poolside table that has already been set for two with silverware, glasses, and an iced down pitcher of lemon-flavored water.

  “Who are the seven coming for dinner?” Tarin asks as he takes his seat.

  “You, me, Scott, Ricky, Zach, Leonard, and Jelly. She’ll be here for dinner but that’s it. The rest of us will eat together for main meals, and you and I will be alone together for snacks. It gives us time to talk about what’s going on and the plans for the day or week.” I don’t tell him this, but it’s also the time for him to talk about his emotional issues and other things getting in the way of his success. He’s not ready for that yet. He needs to trust me first before I broach the subject of unloading his deepest regrets on me.

  Tarin pulls his napkin out and drops it into his lap. “Jelly.” He shakes his head.

  I swallow the lump in my throat. I don’t know why I have such a visceral reaction to her name, but it’s there. I can’t deny it. I just keep my mouth shut to make sure I don’t say something I’ll wish I hadn’t later.

  “What the hell was I thinking?” he asks.

  “What do you mean?” I can come up with all kinds of things he could be referencing. Picking her up in the first place … dating her … sleeping with her … impregnating her. I don’t know how deep his regret goes, I only know how deep my regret goes for him: profoundly so.

  “I don’t know,” he says, running his hands through his wet hair, making it stick to the sides of his head. The top part flops over onto his forehead. No matter what his hair does, it never detracts from his amazing good looks.

  He looks sexy. Lost. Tragic, but on the edge of greatness again. I want to take a picture of him just like this and save it in my head forever. An energy hums out from him that inspires me to do whatever I need to so he can be all he is again. I have to restrain myself from grabbing his hand and pledging my undying support. Holy groupie alert. I take a deep breath to calm myself. I’ve never felt this way around anyone in my life. Not even Austin.