12 Rounds

by Lauren Hammond

  I pay the bill. Emerson tries to fight me for it, but I insist. Then we walk to the door and I say goodbye, pat his back and tell him to have Tee call before they leave so I know they got back safely. He promises me he will and turns a corner, disappearing from my sight.

  I decide against jogging to the gym and mentally curse myself for eating such a big breakfast when I know I’m trying to lose weight. Fuck, Joe is going to kick my ass if I don’t make weight. Maybe I should be jogging. I bounce lightly on my feet and head toward the gym, keeping my eyes peeled in case I have another fed spotting.

  But as I continue running, I don’t spot the black Crown Victoria’s anywhere. Maybe they’ve given up. Maybe their lead didn’t actually lead them anywhere . Maybe it was a bunch of bull shit. A feeling of relief flushes through me as I walk into the boxing gym. The last thing I need is that on edge feeling right before a huge fight.

  My mind should be clear.

  I should be focused.

  I head in the direction of the locker room, and spot Melissa standing at the receptionists’ desk in the waiting area. “Morning, Sean,” she greets me with a wide smile. And at that moment, I have an idea.

  Something genius.

  I’m not sure if she’ll go for it, but I figure hey, might as well give it a shot.

  “Morning Melissa,” I say back. I stop in the entranceway of the gym and motion her over. “Hey, can I talk to you for a second, I have an idea I want to throw at you.”

  She laughs and follows me through the door. “Go ahead and hit me with it.”

  Chapter Twenty One

  ~Hadlee~

  I sit patiently on the blue, carpeted floor along with the other attendee’s of this week’s self-defense class.

  My mind isn’t where it should be.

  It’s off on a cumulus cloud, drifting, floating through powder blue skies.

  It’s twisted with so many thoughts that I stare off at the royal blue carpet in a trance. I’m thinking about school. My final exams are coming up and I’m overly stressed from cramming for them. I’m thinking about work and how Ryan has been extra moody lately. Not to mention extra grabby. And lastly, I’m thinking about Sean and that tender moment we shared while I cleaned his cut up knuckles.

  “Hadlee!” Melissa calls my name and I snap out of my trance like state.

  “Um, yeah.” Melissa beckons me with her finger and I eye her cautiously. Upon approaching her I ask, “Did I do something wrong?”

  She lets out a jovial laugh. “No. Not at all. But you’re not in my class today.”

  I don’t think she’s speaking English because I’m not quite sure what she’s getting at. “I don’t understand. Aren’t you the only self-defense instructor?”

  “Not today,” she says in a sing song voice as she hops to her feet.

  I glance over my shoulder and shrug at Lara with wide eyes. “What about Lara?”

  My best friend waves me off. “You go ahead Lee, I’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah, Melissa, I don’t know.” There’s a nervous quiver in my vocal chords. I’ve just gotten used to classes with her. I’m not sure how I’ll handle the classes with another instructor. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  Melissa puts her hand on my shoulder and wills me to look into her eyes. I meet her gaze, but stomach is in knots. “You’ll be fine,” she assures me. “I promise you, he’s much better at this than I am.”

  “He,” I squeak out. There’s no way I’ll be able to do this. “Who’s he?” My fingers tremble and my heart is hammering against my ribcage.

  “Me,” he chimes in.

  I spin around and face Sean. He stands against the open doorframe, his shoulder dipped in and his arms folded across his chest. On my face is a look of pure and complete shock.

  He tilts his head to the side, motioning to the open door as the entire room breaks out into a chorus of hushed chatter. Most of the women in my class keep glancing between me and Sean before exchanging giggles and awestruck looks. Finally Sean cuts into the whispers with, “I can’t say that I don’t bite because the truth is I do. And I like it. But I promise I won’t bite you.” He chuckles wrly. “Unless you want me to.”

  There’s something so sexy about the way his words roll off his tongue that they completely shut down my voice box.

  I’m speechless.

  And nervous.

  And I’m one hundred percent certain my cheeks are the reddest they’ve ever been.

  More whispers.

  More giggling.

  I look to Lara for some kind of sign, but she’s gaping at Sean, her mouth hanging open.

  My eyes find Sean’s. There’s a friendly yet devious glint swirling around in his pools of bluish green. He tilts his head toward the door again in a casual way, but his mannerisms don’t make me feel any less uneasy.

  I try reasoning with myself.

  You know him Hadlee. Well, sort of know him. He’s nice. Well, sometimes. He’s not threatening. That I’m certain of. It doesn’t matter how intimidating he looks on the outside, I know he’d never hurt me.

  Before I can talk myself out of it, I walk to the door, stumbling along the way, and when I’m inches away from Sean he smiles brightly revealing a set of perfect white teeth. I look to Lara one last time. In a way it’s like a last ditch effort for her to talk me out of this, but she only giggles and gives me a two thumbs up. Without the the I can’t bail on my best friend excuse, I realize I have no way out of this. I’m like a lamb walking to get slaughtered. It’s true that I could always say no, but I’m beyond intrigued to know exactly what the Sean Reilly method to self-defense is.

  And I don’t have a chance to contemplate that method any further. Without another word, Sean closes the door to the classroom and we’re walking across the gym to the boxing ring.

  It’s not until we’re about half way to the ring that I notice that there a lot of eyes on me.

  Most of them are women.

  A few gawk.

  Another looks like she’s about to cry.

  But the last one, a tall tan brunette stares at me through slits, scowling.

  What’s her problem?

  I’m so focused on Little Miss Mean Face that I don’t realize that Sean has stopped walking and I smack right into his back. Shit. Not only do I bite my lip, but I react instinctively by petting his back, trailing my fingers along the flimsy fabric of his wife beater. “Oh my God,” I gasp as he turns to face me. “I’m so sorry.”

  Part of me expects him to fly off the handle, but he doesn’t. A relaxed smile curls on his lips and he grabs my wrists. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I mutter. “I should have been watching where I was going.”

  “No big deal. It’s easy to get distracted around here. There’s a lot going on.” He points to the ring. “I’m gonna help you up. You okay with that?”

  I smile and a rush of anxiety pumps through me when I think about his hands on me. Then I freeze. What if I freak out? What if I say something stupid? What if I somehow fall and embarrass myself in front of the entire gym?

  Sean senses my hesitation and leans in close, his lips a breath away from my ear. “Relax, Hadlee.” His voice is low yet comforting and he slips both hands around my waist. “I’m going to ease you up now. Grab onto the ropes.” I do as he says, clutching the ropes tightly and hoist myself over them. “Good girl,” he breathes.

  Just when Sean is about to climb into the ring himself, Miss Mean Face saunters over and props herself up next to him. She flashes me yet another scowl that says look bitch I got this and starts twirling a strand of her hair around her fingertip. “Hey Sean,” she giggles and there’s a part of me that wants to barf.

  Sean just glares at her for a second, says, “Sup?” Then hoists himself up and over the ropes.

  Miss Mean Face just isn’t taking the hint. Because now she’s trying to climb into the ring. Sean stops her at the half way point, hovering above her, arms stretched out along the ropes, the muscles
in his biceps and forearms tighten as his fingers curl around the red rubber. “This is a private class,” he says coolly.

  “Oh,” she pouts as she hops down and backs up. She puts on a seductive smirk when Sean turns his back and then she yells, “Call me sometime!”

  But Sean isn’t paying any attention.

  He shrugs off his wife beater and I do my best to keep a straight face, and not gape when I get a good look at his abs. Then I think the word shredded might be an understatement if I had to describe them to someone. I have never seen a body like his, all cut up and toned in all the right places. And suddenly, I’m self-conscious pulling my shirt down and glancing awkwardly in the opposite direction. I blink several times and exhale, making a mental note not to move.

  Not a step.

  Don’t even flinch.

  Because I’m pretty sure if I move, I’ll fall or do something klutz-like, and there’s no telling where my equilibrium went. The minute Sean took his shirt off, I know it seeped through my pores and drifted off into one of the darkened corners of the gym.

  “I’m going to touch you now, Hadlee,” he warns me. “Don’t be afraid.”

  “Okay,” I breathe. He positions himself behind me and the overwhelming surge of his warm body pressed against me bleeds through my clothes, through my skin, and I feel like my organs are crackling embers, smoldering beneath a pile of blazing logs. “Open your eyes,” he says softly.

  I didn’t even realize they were closed.

  I open my eyes slowly and I see that we’re standing in front of a wide rectangular row of full length mirrors. Instantly, I notice his eyes as they stare back at me through the mirror. Sean smiles and when I see him smile, I feel at ease.

  His smile does something funny to me. Something I can’t explain. It’s like the sun cutting through gray clouds right after a thunderstorm. A smile like his, so breathtaking, and mind-numbing, and vibrant, I’m convinced it can light up even the darkest days. “I’m going to slide my hands down your arms now and when I tell you I want you to move with me, okay?”

  “Okay.” He looks at me sideways and I turn my head, our lips almost touching and I have to remind myself to breathe. His fingertips glide down my arms, bringing on goosebumps, and pricking my skin with tiny tingles. The tingles spread, shooting across my chest, down my legs. Pretty soon I’m tingling all over.

  My eyes find his in the mirror again and I notice there’s something missing from his face. “Where’s your ball?”

  He makes an awkward face. Eyebrows half-scrunched. Lips half-smirked. “My ball?”

  “You know,” I tsk and think about pointing to the spot on my face, but don’t because I like the way his fingers feel on me. “That piercing.”

  “Oh.” He lets out a low laugh. “I take it out for training.” He stares at me, his eyes transfixed on my face. “Why? You don’t like it?”

  “It’s fine,” I say, flustered.

  “It’s fine?” he lifts an eyebrow. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard that.”

  “I just think you’re beautiful without it.” The words leave my lips rushed and jumbled together and I kind of hope that he didn’t understand what I just said.

  I have shitty luck.

  “Did you just call me beautiful?”

  I really wish I had use of my hands right now so I could cover my face. “Umm.” A pause combined with a nervous chuckle. “Maybe.”

  He lets out a husky laugh. “That’s a first. No one has ever called me beautiful, congratulations on being the first.” I smile. “Who knows, though? Next you’ll probably tell me that I’ll be even more beautiful without my tattoos.”

  I drop my gaze and my cheeks flush, “No. I love your tattoos.” I can’t believe I just admitted that to him. But it’s the truth. I’ve always thought tattoos were sexy on a man. It’s funny because since I’ve met Sean, I can’t even picture what he’d look like without them. It’s like they’re a huge part of him.

  “Good. Cause they’re not going anywhere.”

  My eyes drop to his wrist and I admire the one just below his palm. The language isn’t English, so I’m not sure what it says, but the calligraphic way it’s written is striking. “Is bin bayel in a host.” I try to pronounce the words but they don’t sound right.

  “Is binn beal ina thost,” Sean corrects me.

  The accented way he pronounces the words, and the deep darkened tone in his voice, sets a large cluster of butterflies free in my stomach. “What language is that?”

  “Gaelic.”

  “And what does it mean?”

  His eyes find my lips in the mirror. “A silent mouth is sweet.” I innocently chew on my lower lip, my nerves a jumbled mess of intrigue and paranoia. I peek up at him through my eyelashes. “Or in other words, Silence is golden.”

  “Why that?” I inquire. “I mean I’m sure there are plenty of other sayings you could have chosen.”

  His lips touch my ear and I shiver.

  Shiver in delight.

  Out of desire and nervousness.

  And when his warm breath unfurls and caresses my eardrum before trailing down my spine, and I gasp. Not only because I’m surprised by how much I love his lips touching my skin, but because he whispers, “Because I’m good at keeping secrets,” into my ear.

  That sends a spike of curiosity through me. “What kind of secrets?”

  He lets out a low throaty chuckle. “They wouldn’t be secrets if I told you, now would they?” He changes the subject with a shift of his hips and a lift of my right hand. “Now, back to your self-defense lesson.” His head snaps up and I eye him through the mirror. He pulls my arms back and instructs me by saying, “Ball your right hand into a fist.” As I curl up my fingers he gently eases my arm back then snaps it forward. “This is called a jab.” He drops his hands from me and a saddened feeling sinks inside of me before settling in my gut. Then he walks around in front of me, his thumb and forefinger on his chin. “Now you try it.” He stops directly in front of the view of myself in the mirror. “Right jab then left jab.”

  I throw a right jab, then a left, feeling empowered and strong. But then Sean starts laughing. I frown. “What’s so funny?” I’m irritated by the way my one moment of triumph is cut short by his cocky persona.

  “You throw punches like a girl,” Sean says, a slight vibration in his vocal chords.

  “Well I hope so,” I bark at him. “Being that I am a girl and everything.”

  He grips my forearms and stares at me deadpan. “If you’re trying to defend yourself you want to throw a punch like a man. Those sissy jabs won’t save you.”

  I’m insulted and hurt by his blunt comments and laughter. First off, I didn’t even know what the hell a jab was a minute ago. Second, I’m trying. I mean actually trying and here he is mocking me. I throw a right jab, this time packing more punch into it and plant my right fist into his shoulder. “Jab that, Right Hook,” I huff with a hint of sarcasm.

  Holding back a giggle, I will myself to look him in the eye. His seas of bluish green have a twinkle of amusement in them and his whole hand is covering his mouth. “Hmm.” He lowers his hand and cocks his head to the side. “Still weak, but better.”

  I think about throwing another jab right at his mouth, but refrain. He has such a beautiful mouth. Full kissable lips. I’d hate to damage them. “Whatever,” I say in a snarky tone. “That punch hurt and you know it.”

  He howls with laughter and I can’t help but laugh with him. Mainly because I think we both know my comment was ridiculous. This guy has taken punches to the face by dudes with boxing gloves on. And those punches probably sail into him at what I assume to be at least 25 miles per hour. Yeah, my weak excuse of a punch probably felt like the poke of a fingertip.

  Sean gains control of his laughter and presses his body against mine from behind again. “Moving on.” He instructs me again, telling me to make both hands fists and bends my arms to my chest, pressing them into parallel lines against my breast bone.
“This is called an uppercut,” he informs me. Then he guides my arm, sweeping my hand in a circular motion, downward then upward. He steps away from me and I feel the sadness bubbling inside of me again, but I ignore it, thrusting both arms upward in a right uppercut then a left. Sean smiles intently, then claps. “Great job Hadlee,” he compliments. “Maybe you’ll get the hang of this after all.”

  A gratifying feeling swirls through me and I beam. “Thanks,” I gush. And I find it stimulating how a tiny bit of praise can work wonders on a person’s ego.

  I feel invincible.

  Unstoppable.

  Ready for whatever he’s about to throw at me next.

  I think.

  He positions himself behind me again and inserts his hands under my armpits leveling my arms into a vertical line. But then his fingers slide up my back crossing my shoulders and inching too close to my neck.

  Way too close.

  I know I sort of know Sean, but that slight action takes me back.

  Because I see them.

  The thick, dirty calloused hands of my attacker.

  I swear I can feel them caressing my flesh.

  Clasping around my throat.

  Suddenly I feel like I can’t breathe.

  My whole chest vibrates and my stance starts to waiver, falter. I swallow hard, trying to hold back the sobs stuck in my throat, and just when I think I’m going to hit the ring floor, Sean catches me. He catches me and covers me with his arms, holding me tightly. “Hadlee,” he says gently. “You’re shaking.”

  “I’m…I’m sorry,” I stammer. I keep trying to gain control of my emotions, but nothing I do seems to work. I breathe in and out. Think calming thoughts. Have visions of metal bars, orange jumpsuits, and men lifting weights in a prison yard. I tell myself that I’m okay. That I’m not in any danger, but I can still feel my attackers hands. I can still hear his voice. Suddenly I’m falling apart, sobbing, and trembling and Sean’s arms seem to be the only thing holding my together.