Hit Like a Girl
Part One
By Dawn Pendleton
© 2014 Dawn Pendleton
Smashwords Edition
http://www.dawnpendleton.com
Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without express written permission from the author/publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
More from Dawn Pendleton
About the Author
One
Jeff was an ass.
Despite the fact that we’d been training together for over a year, I still found his ridiculous antics annoying. Someday, he was going to get what was coming to him. For the time being, I was stuck waiting around for him, literally. I showed up over an hour ago, ready for some intense training, but Jeff was nowhere to be found.
I started alone, punching and kicking an eighty pound bag for a solid hour before Jeff decided to show up. I was sweaty and pissed off, not a good combo. He waltzed over to me and I ignored him, focused on visualizing his face on the bag and then delivering heavy hits to it. It made me feel better, even if it wasn’t real.
When he was focused, Jeff was an amazing trainer. He was thoughtful yet demanding, pushing me to the very edge of my physical limits. I liked that about him. But the rest of the time, he was late, or worse, he showed up under the influence. I didn’t particularly like him much, but I tolerated him because finding a man to train a woman was difficult. The men in the industry were egotistical and believed women’s fighting to be inferior. Of course, if they gave me half a chance, I could prove them wrong, but no one but Jeff ever agreed to even meet with me, so I wasn’t in any position to be choosy.
“Don’t be mad, Max,” Jeff laughed, standing just a few feet behind me.
Even at that distance, I could smell the alcohol emanating from his skin. He disgusted me. “Shut it, Jeff.” As pissed off as I was, I didn’t trust myself to turn around; I kept my focus on the bag. I slammed my fist into it, imagining it was his face.
“Listen, you little bitch,” he started, his voice rising along with my irritation.
I whirled around, interrupting his forthcoming tirade. “Fuck you. I don’t pay you to show up late, not to mention still drunk from your repulsive efforts of last night. I pay you to train. If you aren’t going to do your job, I’ll be more than happy to dock your pay.” It was an empty threat, but it made me feel better, at least.
He grabbed me, his fingers encircling my wrist without any effort at all. “You wouldn’t dare,” he seethed, pulling me so close I could smell the alcohol on his breath. “In fact, I know just how hard you had it last year before you met me, Maxine. You and I both know you won’t dock my pay or get rid of me. Not now, and not ever. I’m the only man stupid enough to train a fucking girl.”
I didn’t move, gauging his grip on my wrist as he spoke. As soon as he lightened his touch, I moved. I spun toward him, dropping my elbow into his ribcage and then pounding the hell of my left foot onto the toe of his sneaker. He dropped instantly, one hand to the gym floor supporting his weight while the other held his bruised rib. When he looked up at me, I didn’t back down.
“You work for me. And I’d rather train alone than with a loser like you. So either get it together or get the fuck out. I’m not paying you to be drunk,” I spat at him. I was sick of his shit, but I knew I wouldn’t fire him. Not yet.
In two weeks, I had a fight, which meant I needed a trainer more than ever. It took me a lot of time to break into the MMA bracket, let alone actually qualify to fight. Women’s fighting was still fairly new, but in the last few years, it had blown up. That meant there were too many contestants and only the best of the best were accepted. It had taken me a long time to work up to the MMA; I’d fought in plenty of underground rings, but the money wasn’t all that good. The rules also weren’t upheld, and girls fought dirtier than men. I’d had my hair pulled, my leg bitten twice, and my skin pierced repeatedly from sharp nails. I considered those injuries lucky, as fighting could turn extremely violent very quickly.
I turned away from Jeff, back to the bag. I took my stance and just as I was about to strike, he attacked me from behind. We went down hard, with me pinned beneath him. My muscles screamed at the pain, but I wasn’t one to back down from a fight. I took a deep breath as I played the fight out in my head before I made a move. It was a tactic I used and one that made me stronger. I predicted my opponent’s moves and nine times out of ten, they followed through just as I thought they would. It was a rare occasion when an opponent surprised me.
Once I saw the fight the way I wanted it to go in my mind, I acted. Jeff’s legs had me pinned, one on each side of my hips. I managed to get my left leg up in the air without him noticing and hooked it around his chest, pulling him off me, toward the ground. My other leg hooked him as well and he slammed into the ground. I pulled my legs back and rolled to the side. I jumped to my feet.
Jeff was stunned for a minute and then he was on his feet, the two of us circling one another. It was a dance, almost poetic, if I allowed myself to disengage that way. He took a few paltry shots. I knew he didn’t want to hurt me, but I also knew he wouldn’t give up simply because I was a girl. I had to best him; that was the only way to end the madness.
We fought mildly, only striking when absolutely necessary. He had at least fifteen pounds on me, which wasn’t much, but it was enough to make me question whether or not I could take him. I went down, my aim to swipe his feet out from under him, but he jumped, anticipating the move. As I stood again, I considered the people around us, who were now thoroughly engrossed in our fight.
The gym was small and locally owned. Freddie was a sweet old man, though he could be a hard-ass when he needed to be. He let me train in the gym for a full six months before he made me pay. It was his way of seeing if I was worth my weight, he told me. I guessed he liked what he saw, since it was Freddie who helped me get my first fight. I owed him a lot. I chanced a glance to his office and he was in the doorway, leaning on frame, arms crossed over his chest. A slight smirk graced his lips. I wasn’t sure if he was impressed or agitated, but I forced my eyes back to Jeff.
He glared at me. “Just give up. You’re a skinny bitch from the wrong side of town, Max. You and I both know you won’t win this one.” His words bugged me, but they only drove me to fight harder.
“Bring it, Cowboy,” I said, knowing it would irritate him. Jeff was from Texas, though no one who knew him would ever guess. He kept that part of his life behind him. Bringing it up was my way of distracting him.
He shook his head. “Don’t call me Cowboy,” he all but growled at me.
As if sensing my decision, a few of the girls who trained at the gym started chanting cowboy. I laughed at their antics, but Jeff turned to a particularly loud redhead near him, probably to give her hell. I made my move.
I tucked my head down and rushed him, my shoulder hitting his stomach. We went down together, but I was faster than him. I managed to get him turned over to his stomach against the cement and pulled both arms behind him, fully pinning him.
“Goddammit, Max!” he yelled, but I refused to let go. He let out a slew of curses and I smiled as my comrades started clapping. Most of the fighters in the gym were ladies, but there were a few men, too. I f
elt good getting their approval.
Jeff struggled against my hold. “Listen up, Jeff,” I started, plenty loud enough for him to hear me over the incessant clapping. “You work for me. And if you come after me like that again, I won’t hesitate to remove your balls from your body. Got it?”
He huffed. “Fine. I got it. Get the fuck off me.”
I jumped up and away from him, just in case he decided to pursue me, but he was slow to get up. His body was obviously hurting. Once he was upright, he glared at me. “This isn’t over,” he promised.
I smiled at him. “Looks to me like it is.”
He turned away, heading toward the men’s locker room. As he walked away, I threw my arms up in a very Rocky fashion and paraded around my fellow fighters. They cheered me on as I strutted through the gym. Until I got to Freddie. Suddenly, everyone was very busy with something else when they saw his scowl. They all disappeared as I stopped in front of his office.
“What?” I asked him. I thought for sure he’d be proud of me.
He shook his head at me. “You’re supposed to be a professional, Maxine. I thought you were serious about your career?”
“I am. You can’t seriously think any of that was my fault,” I whined. Jeff had started the whole thing.
“You’re better than that. And you know it,” he said and then went back into his office.
I glared at his back, but I knew Freddie was right. If I was ever going to make something of myself, I needed to stay focused and not let a douchebag like Jeff get in my way. I forced myself to walk away from Freddie’s office, vowing not to let Jeff, or anyone else, for that matter, work me up like that again. I was through letting anyone get under my skin.
That night, I was exhausted. I left the gym and found several messages from Wynter, my best friend. She was a party girl, the complete opposite of me. Where I was dedicated to being fit and having a career, she was a tumbleweed. She did freelance editing, but that gave her enough flexibility to do whatever she wanted. It helped that her parents were rich and she had a gigantic inheritance.
Wynter: Let’s go out tonight!
Wynter: Answer me back! I want to hit the bar tonight!!
I laughed as I read the messages. I dialed her number as I put my car in drive and left the parking lot.
“Max! I’m so glad you called! We’re going out tonight!”
I loved the fact that she didn’t ask; she just told me what we were doing. She’d being doing it since the day I met her during our freshman year of college, so I was used to it. I didn’t mind, either.
As a fighter, I generally only met and had a social relationship with other fighters. But with Wynter’s help, I was able to actually meet normal people my own age.
“Where are we going and what time?” I asked her, knowing there was no escape.
“I’ll be at your place in half an hour,” she promised. “I know you can’t be trusted to get yourself ready.” She hung up.
I shook my head and tossed my cell in the cup holder. She was right, of course. I wasn’t now and had never been a girlie girl. I didn’t own any makeup, let alone wear it on a regular basis. She was my makeup artist, and I usually let her do whatever she wanted. There was no use arguing with her; when she made up her mind, she stuck to it and she was possibly the most stubborn person I’d ever met.
I got home, set my keys on the hook by the door and jumped into the shower. I took my time, washing my hair and body, being sure to get the sweat of the day off. I might not be into being girlie, but I loved being clean. Nothing beat a hot shower after a hard workout. By the time I got out of the shower, Wynter was already in the apartment, having let herself in with her key.
She set up shop in my room, her thousands of pounds of makeup lining my bed.
“Hey,” I greeted her as I walked through my room into my closet in just a towel.
She jumped off the bed. “Wait! I have something for you to wear!”
I turned, waiting. She pulled a little black dress out of her bag and held it up. For someone like me, a little black dress was something to be worn at a funeral, not a night club.
“No way,” I said.
She narrowed her eyes. “What else are you going to wear?” She didn’t sound enthusiastic.
I stepped into the closet and grabbed my favorite pair of jean shorts and a white t-shirt. I held them up for her.
She made a face. “Gross. That’s so simple, Max, so plain. Is that really how you want to present yourself?”
I laughed. “Actually, that’s exactly how I want to present myself.” I tossed my outfit on a chair in the corner of my room and went to grab myself some underwear.
“At least wear some sexy panties,” she pleaded.
I pulled a black thong from my drawer. “Is this good enough for you?”
“Those things are so cliché. Don’t you have anything that is more like lingerie?”
I sighed. “I’m not planning on getting laid, Wynter. I really don’t think lingerie is necessary.” But I went looking through the drawer for something.
“I have to shit,” Wynter announced, leaving the room.
It wasn’t uncommon for us to be so honest with each other. We learned a long time ago that it wasn’t worth it to hide from the basics. I kept searching for a pair of panties and finally came across a red pair of cheekini’s, which were a mix between thong and bikini styles. They were lacy and somewhat see-through, and I was pretty sure I had a bra to match them somewhere. I wasn’t a girlie girl, but Wynter made me buy the fucking things months ago. I hadn’t worn them one time.
Two
Almost two full hours later, I’d been primped and abused and finally looked enough like a girl that Wynter smiled at me in the mirror as we examined ourselves. She couldn’t change my mind about the black dress, but she did convince me to wear a white tank top instead of a t-shirt. My makeup was heavier than normal, but I kind of liked it. Dark eyeliner and thick black mascara adorned my eyes. My blue eyes sort of popped, their brightness shining and drawing attention to themselves.
I was impressed. It was her best work to date. I didn’t look foolish or like a hooker, which was how I felt I looked on previous excursions. I put my hands on my hips and twirled, actually liking what I saw for the first time in a long time. I slipped on a pair of flip flops and I thought Wynter was going to lose her mind.
“No flip flops,” she said, her eyes on my feet.
I glanced down at my toes. “I’m not wearing heels,” I protested. “I’m already too tall.” At five-foot-ten, I was taller than most of the men I met at the bar, which made dancing uncomfortable, since they were eye-level with my boobs.
“Just a short heel,” she suggested, going into my closet. I sat on the bed, knowing she wasn’t going to pick a short pair. When I heard her laugh, I knew I was in trouble. She reappeared, holding a pair of red heels that had to be laced up to the knee. The heel was at least four inches. “Why do you even have these?”
I glanced at the shoes and then back to her. “I don’t even know.” It was a lie, but I wasn’t about to tell her about those shoes and what I’d purchased them for.
Once upon a time, I had a fantasy about those heels. I’d meet some incredibly tall, extraordinarily handsome man and he’d whisk me off my feet. He would strip me down and then we’d fuck, with me wearing only those heels. It was a dream, but when I purchased them, I was horny as hell and it had been a while.
“Well, I think you should wear them,” she suggested.
“Not a chance. I’ll fall.”
She rolled her eyes, holding her hand out. Reluctantly, I put my foot in her hand. She tossed the flip flop across the room and then slipped the shoe on. “I’ll lace them nice and tight.”
“Not too tight. I still want to be able to walk and be comfortable,” I said. I wasn’t in much of a fighting mood, letting Wynter get her way, but I figured she deserved a break. I usually fought her every step of the way for a night out.
I knew s
he liked being able to play dress up with me, even though I was a pain in her ass. She also knew I usually gave in, eventually. Just like the shoes. I had a sexual fantasy with them, but it never occurred to me to wear them in public. Wynter didn’t know about the fantasy, of course, but she knew me well enough. She knew I would rock those shoes.
I let her lace them up for me and then we were off, ready for a girl’s night out.
The club was packed, and I thought for sure we weren’t even going to get in, but the bouncer took one look at us, me in my laced up hooker heels and Wynter in the little black dress she tried to convince me to wear and he let us in without a word. I could tell Wynter wasn’t surprised.
We circled the bar, trying to find an open spot and decided to just order and go find another place to sit. I wanted a beer, but Wynter convinced me to get something girlie. It was pink and fruity, and I didn’t even want to know what was in it. We went deeper into the club with our drinks, not quite ready to get on the dance floor.
We found an empty couch in the far corner and we grabbed it, sitting together. We could see almost the entire club from our spot and I liked the position. I sipped the drink and Wynter started in on me.
“When are you going to find a man?”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t need a man, Wyn. I have sex every so often but I don’t need or want a relationship.” It was the truth, but she’d heard enough times, she should have it memorized.
“I’m not saying you need a man, but relationships are healthy to have. Its how we grow as people,” she insisted.
I took a long pull from my drink, not wanting to answer her right away. I swallowed the pink liquid, letting it settle in my stomach before I replied. “I know that’s what you think, but it’s just not me. I’ve never relied on a man, you know that. And I don’t have any intentions of doing so now. I just want to have fun tonight. Can we save the heavy talk for another day?” It was a plea, but I also didn’t want to go into details about exactly why I didn’t trust myself in a relationship. Not again, anyway.
Fight Like A Girl (Part One) Page 1