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I arrive at the gym at six that evening to find Jack and Callum sparring in the ring. Both boys wear gloves and headgear, and both circle and trade shots while Jimmy coaches them from the outside.
It’s so strange to see the two wildly different personalities that is Jimmy Kincaid. Outside of training, he’s crazy and immature and funny as hell. But in this gym, when on the clock, he’s the perfect professional, knowledgeable in his sport, and the ultimate authority.
I watch Jack for a few minutes and try not to cover my eyes when Callum gets a jab in. Despite the fact that he struggles to bring his left arm up to protect his face, he still seems to dominate the round. He deflects most of what Callum throws, and lands plenty of his own. I thought watching him fight would scare the hell out of me, but mostly it’s exciting. Bobby promised he wouldn’t get hurt, so aside from the occasional jab that gets through his guard, I rarely find myself whimpering in the corner with worry.
The development day competition fight might be something else entirely. That upcoming date has me nervous, but seeing as how Jack is larger than most of his peers, and except for that lazy left arm, he’s often dominating every class or sparring session, and when asked about the competition, he dances around with excitement like he needs to pee… so I’m rolling with it. He’ll be fine.
A stinging slap on my ass sends me jumping a foot into the air, but the soothing rub takes away the burn and makes me smile. “That’s for trying to dump me today.” Bobby kisses my neck and holds my hips so my ass rests against his groin. “You look pretty, baby.”
I spin in his arms and wind my hands over his shoulders and into his hair.
“Lucky you, we get PT tonight. I have some stuff I want you to work on, and since Aiden and Jon are taking classes, I get you all to myself.” He peppers kisses along my jaw. “Think of all the things we could do for an hour…”
“Mmm.” I stretch my neck and let him play. “I could be okay with a one-on-one session.”
“Could be?”
“Uh-huh.” My eyes flutter closed when his teeth nibble on my earlobe. “I mean, ‘all the things we could do’ could be fun, like, making out, or it could be a thousand pushups. And I know you. I get the feeling it’s probably door number two.”
He chuckles against my throat. “You get me, baby. It’s door number two.” I groan in protest. “I love the sound of making out in my gym, I do, but we have fights to win, which means we work. You’ll thank me one day, I promise. When you win, you’ll thank me.”
“Win? A… competitive fight?” I pull back to look into his eyes. “Umm, no. I’m not winning anything. I’m not particularly interested in getting my ass kicked in front of an audience.”
“You won’t get your ass kicked. I promise you that.” He leans in to keep working on my neck, but I push him back. “We have a month to work on defense, baby, then it’s time to get your first taste of fighting victory.” He smiles as though he’s got everything figured out. “Don’t stress. I’d never send you to a fight that you can’t win. You’ll win, or I’ll call the fight off. There’s not a third option.”
“A month? What’s in a month?” I seem to have missed an entire conversation somewhere, because I have no idea what the frig he’s talking about.
“Your first fight. Are you even listening to me?”
“I can’t fight!”
“Babe. Yes, you can! You need to trust me. If you’re not ready in time, I’ll call it off.”
“But… no!”
“Come on. Give me a kiss then put your gloves on.” He pats my ass patronizingly, takes my hand, and drags me toourtraining room, and flips on the stereo.
After running a million laps of the room, two million squat jumps and sixteen hours of planking – I swear I’m not exaggerating – we work on defense.
“Alright, check babe.” He stands in front of me, mirrors my fight stance, and kicks me in the thigh. “I said check. Lift your leg, check it.” He kicks me again.
“Ouch! Stop kicking me!”
“I won’t kick you if you’d lift your leg and check it. This is important, babe. Check it or risk a dead leg.”
“I hate you.” I hate whiny women, but I’m owning it for now. I’m exhausted. “Okay, fine.” I shake my shoulders and reposition my legs. “Go again.” I make sure I’m ready this time. Sixty/forty weight distribution, lift my stupid leg, cry out when his shin connects with mine. “Ow! That hurts more than the dead leg, jerk.”
“It won’t for long. This is why we condition, baby. Your first fight will have shin pads anyway, but inthisgym, in training, we condition. Again.”
And so we keep working on it. My shins sting with every kick, bruises lump across the front of my leg, and every passing minute makes it harder tocheck.Like I’m wearing cement boots, my legs weigh me down and make lifting them a chore.
“Alright, now I want you to defend your head. Like this…” He lifts his arms and shows me where to hold mine. “Hands up like that.” He steps to the corner of the room and comes back with a foam pool noodle. “Okay, hands up baby, strong arms. If you’re sloppy, you’ll knock yourself out.”
With slow and deliberate moves, he starts hitting the sides of my head with the noodle to simulate side hooks. He throws in the occasional leg kick just to annoy me and make me dance. After a while – feels like a week later – the double doors open and the remaining Kincaids, plus Jon and Jack, saunter in. Izzy walks in behind them with a stupid grin and her painfully enviable body. I can see her abs. I can see the lines between each stupid ab.
“The noodle?” Jimmy complains instantly. “You’re hitting her with the noodle? I’m disgusted in you, B.”
