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“I know, but—” Rhett shrugged “—now I feel like I should call and try to get my reservation back. Just so I’m not lying. I’d feel better about it if I wasn’t lying. Is that stupid or what?”
Constance stifled a laugh. It’s not that she found anything about Rhett’s story funny. Obviously this woman’s husband had been close to Rhett. Rhett might’ve even watched him die. Her instinct told her not to question it. But his response to his lie reminded her so much of herself she couldn’t help but feel amused. “Did you say a dog rescue? Was it Pittie Place, by chance?”
“Yeah.” Rhett’s eyes widened. “You know it?”
Constance hesitated. The direction they were taking was new, more intimate. Up until now their interactions had been mostly professional with only a little friendship. “My sister owns it.”
A heartbeat of quiet passed. “Are you serious?”
“My sister, Sunny, runs Pittie Place. She built up a few of the cabins on the land as a source of income. Every year she does this Christmas fundraising dinner for her wealthiest donors.”
Rhett shook his head. “Small world.”
Constance smiled. Her body, once warm and sweaty, had grown cold. She suppressed a shiver. “I can talk to my sister if you want. Get your reservation back.”
“Really?” The worry that creased around Rhett’s eyes lifted. “That would make me feel better. I know it’s dumb, but...”
“I’ll take care of it.” Constance knew, as she said it, that Sunny had already rented out that cabin. It had probably been snapped up within an hour of Rhett’s cancellation and she probably had five more people on a wait list behind the current renters.
“I’d owe you one.” The relief that washed through Rhett’s weary eyes was palpable.
“Nah. We’re square. After all, I still haven’t joined the gym.”
“Speaking of. We should do that. Or are you ready to get your Combat on?” Rhett held up his fists.
Constance smiled. As soon as she’d walked in tonight and seen Rhett sparring with Angie, she’d been drawn in like a hungry orphan to a banquet. She wanted—no, sheneeded—to know what they were doing, to learn how to move like that woman was moving. It scared and excited her all at once and she hadn’t been able to think about much else since.
“It’s late,” she said. “I’m hungry. And you’re tired.”
“All right.” Rhett looked both disappointed and relieved. “At least let me show you a good fighting stance before you go.”
“Sure.”
“Show me your fists.” Rhett held up his own. “You’re getting ready to fight. Show me.”
Constance swallowed her sudden embarrassment and held up her fists.
“Okay,” Rhett said. “Not horrible.” He opened his hand. “Bend the middle set of knuckles first. Then the second set.”
“Wait. The middle? What? This?”
“Middle first. Then the base.”
“Oh, okay. DIP joint, PIP joint, metacarpals. Got it.”
Rhett smiled. “The DIP and the PIP. I like it. Then thumb covers the first two fingers.”
Constance followed his directions until he nodded in approval.
“Keep your wrist completely straight. When you strike, you’ll use the first two knuckles. Pointer and middle finger. They’re bigger, stronger and will cause more damage.”
Constance wished she’d known that before she broke her hand on Frankie Rumbaugh’s jaw, the day after he took Sunny to homecoming and tore her blouse trying to feel her up. “Do you really strike in class?”
“No. Well, not unless you’re Angie.” He rolled his eyes a little. “But I teach it like you’d use it on the street. We start by trying to avoid combat at all costs. But if you’re forced to, we want you to be prepared.”
“Makes sense.”
“You want your dominant leg and punching arm behind. You’re going to put your hips and shoulders into the strike. Generates more power. Just like when you’re lifting. Hands up. Hand not throwing the punch protects your face. Chin down. Elbows in.” Rhett demonstrated, then came behind Constance and adjusted her posture. He put one hand on her right hip and turned it a little, then did the same to her shoulders. His warm hand closed over her left wrist. “And here,” he said, fixing that side.
