Page 35 of Falcon

“I do what I can.” She laughs, and I love it. It’s an incredible sound. “All right. Let’s get you in front of the bag.”

She moves around to take my place and tries to mimic my form as best she can, but it’s all wrong.

“Like this?”

“Not quite. I can position you how you need to be, but I’ll have to touch you. Is that all right?” I always ask permission before touching my students in any capacity, especially females. Given the current social climate, you can never be too careful. And even though things are different with Faith, I still want to be respectful.

“Of course. Thank you for asking, actually. Most men wouldn’t even consider it.”

“I’m not most men.” I move to stand behind her, placing my hands on her hips to shift them a bit so they aren’t parallel. “You have to pivot into the hook, so your body needs to be perpendicular to the person or thing you’re hitting.”

I can feel the tremble of her skin against my fingers and the heat of her body at my chest. She’s much shorter than me, so if I were to bend down a bit, I could rest my chin atop her head.

We catch each other’s eyes in the mirror in front of us as my fingers wrap around her wrists, pulling her arms and fists up into position.

“This is your guard.” I caress the wrist closest to her face. “Never drop this. It needs to protect your face, always. If you drop your guard, you’re vulnerable.”

I see something flit across her eyes. Some kind of realization or understanding. “I won’t let my guard down.”

“Good. Now, show me a punch in slow motion. I want to see what you do with your body.”

She nods then focuses in on the bag and with the release of a breath; she throws her arm through the air and connects her fist with the heavy, black bag.

“That sucked, didn’t it?”

“It didn’t suck, but if you were really fighting a person, you would have been popped in the mouth because you…” I gently nudge her other fist back up to her chin. “…let your guard down.”

“Fuck. Okay, let’s do it again.” She bounces slightly from foot to foot. She’s eager. I like it.

“You have to pivot off this back foot. It is your source of power.” I slip my hand down the back of her thigh then twist a bit, showing her what I mean. “See. Pivot. Turn your body into the punch.”

We practice that move slowly, and together, over and over until she grows comfortable with the motion.

“Okay, I think I understand,” she says in a breathy whisper. She’s concentrating. I can tell by the small furrow between her brows.

“Now, the pivot is important, because when you go to actually throw the punch, you want to keep your arm bent at a ninety-degree angle, or close to it. Really, if it’s any smaller or any bigger than that, the punch won’t be as powerful.” I move her forearm a bit to adjust the angle.

“Who knew there were so many fundamentals? I figured I’d just come in here and throw my fists around.”

“Fighting is an art form.” She turns her face back to look at me. “I know that sounds like bullshit, but it’s true. When you’re fighting in the streets, it’s about emotion and anger. When you’re in the cage, it’s about skill. Outsmarting the other fighter and landing calculated blows. You have to keep your wits about you. Leave emotion at the door. Emotion gets you hurt.”

She scans my face for a moment. I can see her eyes dotting back and forth between mine.

“Has emotion ever gotten you hurt?” she asks, and it’s in this moment I realize we are still standing so close together that her back is completely flush against my front. My hand is resting casually on her hip. I can smell the sweet scent of her shampoo and the zing of her sweat. It’s intoxicating.

“Emotion gets me in trouble often, but it never hurts me,” I reply.

“You’re lucky.” Her eyes land on my lips and hold there.

“Why? Has emotion ever hurt you?” I raise my hand and place it softly on her cheek and her eyes flutter closed as she leans her cheek into my palm.

“Emotion has ripped me to shreds,” she says, in a barely-there whisper.

“But here you are, standing in my arms, in one beautiful piece.” I slide my thumb against her skin.

Her pink tongue darts out and swipes over her lips and I can’t resist another second. I tried to be the gentleman, but fuck if she doesn’t turn me into a caveman.

I lean forward slowly, letting her see my intention free and clear. She doesn’t pull away; she doesn’t hesitate.

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