Page 10 of Keep Your Guard Up
Her gaze narrowed briefly, then she raised her hands.
I snapped a hand into place to catch her flying fist as she threw a lead jab to initiate the combo. I caught all of her slick, skilful shots and bided my time. She threw her step-through two and I almost missed my shot when her sweaty, flushed, panting face filled my view.
But in this scenario, I shouldn’t be able toseethat sweaty, flushed, panting face. I pounced on the opportunity. After lifting the hand pad up, I snapped it down the middle. It landed true with a thud in the centre of her face, right on her nose.
She stumbled back in surprise; a blink was all she gave me before she threw again. Her rosy lips parted as an internal war clearly began inflicting itself upon her.
Go on, Sunny. Admit that I was right.
She closed distance as she neared the end of the sequence. She was standing so close I could smell the small beads of sweat starting to form on her brow. The scent, it was intoxicatingly sweet—almost like salty peaches.
She threw a calf kick onto the end, and I bit down on my tongue to distract from the fucking hollow pain bursting through my calf. Cursing myself for allowing the smell ofsweattodistract me, I lifted that smirk onto my face and celebrated as her cheeks flushed with rage.
I handed the pads back to JJ. “If you’re going to drop your left hand so obviously, you gotta have a plan that’s better than just gettin’ whacked.”
A frown took place on her mouth as a crease formed between her brows.
I smirked. “Get back to it.”
Chapter 6
Chance
I’d walked into Knock’s with no expectations of how this all would go. Most gyms had the same sort of crowd, the same people in different bodies. But after teaching my first class, I could safely say I hadn’t been expectingthis.
From what I’d read of the gym’s fighter profiles and schedules,everysingleprofessional and aspiring fighter signed to Knock’s had shown up to this morning’s class. Each had their own pre-training regime, as most of us did, some even offering help to the amateur fighters by wrapping their hands or touch sparring with them to warm up. It was quite a sight to see—an entire community coming together forme. Granted, I’d never livedanywhere outside the city before, but it was well out of the norm for all of the gyms I’d ever been in.
Then I saw them work.
I had to admit, I’d known Al was good, but I didn’t know he wasthisgood. The man was sixty-nine-years old and still managed to hold pads for anyone who showed up to class from what I’d heard. And after holding for some of those guys during my own class, I don’t know how he wasn’t crippled from it all.
We finished the session with some sparring and combined conditioning. No one complained, no one let out as much as a whimper. Not once. I’ve trained in bigger and better gyms than Knock’s before, and yet somehow these people had the most grit and tenacity out of all of them. We were heading out of summer and into winter, but that sunlight still warmed the metal walls of the gym up into a fucking sauna. But no one complained, no one batted an eyelid at the heat burning from the tin walls.
Yeah … people who thought martial arts were sexy were straight up wrong.
We’re all stinking, sweaty messes.
Now, that particular statement certainly was not applicable to Mari. Female fighters have never particularly been my squeeze, but there was fuckingsomethingabout her…
Perhaps it was the fluidity in which she threw her strikes, or the malice that launched them. She moved like water, flowing and controlled. How could so much power come from such a tiny lady? Maybe it was the crease between her brows when she concentrated, or the blush of effort on her cheeks under her dusting of freckles. It could have been the curve of her waist, or that ass of hers that should require a license to carry—
Alright. That’s enough there, big fella.
Point is, I’ve seen professional male fighters throw down with less destruction than Mari in a pads session. As much as I hated to admit it, it was, by far, the hottest thing I’d ever seen.
I sat at my desk, freshly showered and changed into my last pair of clean shorts, and began sorting through the paperwork mountains Mari had left. I read the contracts, waivers, client profiles, class schedules, trainer profiles—all of it. Twice.
I fumbled through my keys to find the small crimson red one on the metal ring, the one that fit the top drawer of the filing cabinet. I sighed and scoffed at myself for my sudden, stupid sensitivity.
It’s just a drawer, mate. It’s not like all of the monsters will come crawling out.
After yanking the drawer open, I pushed all of the contents to the very back, as if the farther back they went, the closer they were to just fucking disappearing. My jaw tightened as that familiar tremor in my hands returned. I gripped the contract files tightly and shoved them into the drawer before slamming it shut and locking it immediately.
“Here you are, dear.” Marilyn’s sing-song voice fluttered through the door along with her.
I spun around, planting an easy smile on my face for the older woman in front of me.
Her kind eyes, a warm hazel in colour, shone brightly behind her glasses, which were vibrant red today. She smiled and shook her head slightly to clear some of the white hair from her face. Her arms were wrapped around a big grey tub. My mouth opened to offer to carry it when she placed it gently on my desk.
