Page 9 of Keep Your Guard Up
“Don’t be jealous, Sunny. I’m sure you’ll find one of my flaws some day.”
She narrowed her brown eyes at me, and I stifled a laugh and tipped my chin up. Her eyes flared and she, in turn, lifted her own chin.
“Perhaps I already have. I personally wouldn’t classify arrogance as a likeable trait, Riordan,” she retorted, pulling her shoulders back and forcing her sizeable chest forward through her loose training singlet. “And stop calling me that!” she hurried to add.
“There’s a fine line between arrogance and confidence,” I stated, ignoring her latter request.
Mari clenched the mug in her hands, and I zoned in on her only inked hand. The patterns, the figurations of the diamonds and circles that decorated her fingertips were oddly familiar.
“And yet here you are, playing fucking jump rope with that line.” A crease formed between her eyebrows, and she leaned her head down to guzzle further on her coffee. Though the steam that was coming from the rim was nothing compared to the steam coming from her ears.
“How very un-Sunny of you, being so grumpy so early in the morning.”
A light red flush washed over her neck. A soft pop sounded as her loud mouth fell agape, words failing to come out.
“Sorry, but you’re gonna have to try harder than that to get under my skin. No one talks shit like pro fighters and you, my dear, are not a pro. I’ve had the UFL’s best and brightest talk shit to me, and I was the one left standing.”
“T-the UFL?” Her eyes flared in recognition and widened so far I could see the whites around the tops of the honey browns.
“Do you even know who I am, Sunny?” My watch buzzed for 5.00 am.
“Should I?” she replied, scowling.
I laughed and downed the rest of my coffee, placing the empty mug on top of her half-full one.
“Google it and find out.” I smirked at her, using my finger to shut her open mouth, and walked out with a wink.
~
Mari hit pads with a ferocity I’d never seen before. Her lips parted, barely a whisper of air floating past them, like these pops of goddamn lightning she’d been creating were barely taking a toll.
“One, two, one, slip, two, three,” JJ ordered. Sweat was already starting to break across the back of his shirt.
BANG, BANG, BANG … BANG, BANG.
I strained against every muscle in my jaw fighting to release in fucking shock. Those loud cracks of lightning sounded as if the pads had personally offended her. I watched her intently, picking up small errors here and there. Nothing wild enough to really require my assistance as of yet, but you know what they say—know thy enemy.
Somehow, in the twenty-four hours I’d formally known this woman, that was the category she’d subjected herself to. From her quippy greeting to her tempered introductions to the other coaches in the gym, I’d happily shoved Mari Trevino out of the ‘friend’ category. I was being given a second shot at this—this sport, this life, this world. There was no way in hell I was going to let a tiny lady—who just needed a weekend out and a good root—ruin that.
I inwardly cringed. As much as I hated to admit it, she was good.
Really fucking good.
“You’re dropping your left hand when you transition to southpaw.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.
Her head snapped towards me, a venomous glare in tow.
I laughed, lifting that smirk to my face I could already tell gained the appropriate reaction from her.
Game on, Trevino.
Not breaking eye contact, I threw my hand out, gesturing for JJ to swap out of pad holder with me.
“Throw the combo again,” I ordered.
“It’s—” JJ started.
“I got it, man,” I replied, staring Mari down.
