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I glance over at Lexie, who rolls her eyes as she gets up from the desk and follows us out.
“Marty Farrell, by the way. I’m the owner here.” He holds out a hand for me to shake, nearly crushing my fingers with his grip.
“Tessa Hooper.” I stick my hand in my coat pocket when he lets go, hoping he didn’t notice me wincing.
“Equipment racks are along this wall here.” He points to shelving units full of gloves, mitts, gauze wraps, and jump ropes. “Aerobic area for practicing with speed ropes and any partner work.” He gestures further down past the office. “Just put up some reflex and double end bags last month. Guys seem to like them.”
I ignore the curious glances I receive as we make our way past a row of punching bags suspended from the ceiling, trying not to flinch at the hard pound of fists striking leather. At least it’s not other people.
“Heavy bags and speed bags on this side. Lockers and showers through that door there. And our two rings take up the rest. One on the left is a twenty by twenty, the other’s sixteen by sixteen.”
“That was your tour?” Lexie asks as we stop in front of the larger ring. There are people in there fighting, but I can’t see over the group of guys. “Where’s the pizzazz? Where’s the upsell? All you did was point things out around the room.”
I glimpse a guy with a large, muscled back in the ring, with dark blond hair tied out of the way. Could that be…
“What are you talking about?” Marty counters. “What’s wrong with my spiel?”
“Listen, I do your books. I know how many new memberships you get a month. Maybe we need to work on your selling technique.”
I move to the right as they bicker, past the group of guys until I have a clear view of the ring. The guy with blond hair is turned away from me, his gray y-back tank dark with sweat in spots. His opponent wipes at his forehead with his arm, face weary as he brings his gloves up to defend himself against the incoming attacks.
“You can block better than that, Johnson,” a third guy in the corner of the rings calls out. A trainer, maybe? “Don’t let him intimidate you.”
The blond rains down blows on this Johnson guy, each one brutally fast. Tension rises within me at the carnal display, a sick fascination growing as I continue to watch. The precision of each punch, the physicality of it, the way the muscles in his upper back flex and release.
He turns slightly, enough to see his profile, and my breath hitches, my brain finally catching up with what my body already knew.
It’s Austin.
He’s methodical as he circles Johnson, waiting for the right moment to strike. Powerful as he lunges in for a hit, connecting with his mid-section with a soft thud as glove meets flesh. Agile as he rears back when the guy swings at him in response.
The entire event occurs within a five second span, but it’s like time seems to slow as it happens. There’s beauty in his movements, as barbaric as they are. A predator playing with his prey as he comes in close, taunting him with quick punches the guy can’t react to in time, dancing away afterward, light on his feet even with as big as he is.
I’m mesmerized watching him for untold minutes, masterfully commanding the ring, untouchable as he leads his opponent to do exactly what he wants. Austin’s at another level, even as Johnson tries his hardest to keep up. No wonder Lexie said he could go pro.
Previously, he alluded to not being smart, but it’s apparent this takes a different kind of intelligence. Balancing speed and strength. Power and agility. Employing focus, discipline, tactics, and control. And all while facing dangerous consequences if you miscalculate.
What he’s doing isn’t blindly swinging at people. There’s strategy there, with a keen, sharp mind behind it. The amount of skill it must take to get to his level is unfathomable, his body and mind working together to create something breathtaking.
I could watch him all day.
“Tessa, you ready to go?” Lexie asks with a light tap on my shoulder, startling me. How long have I been out of it?
At her first word, Austin comes out of his stance, turning to face the room, his gaze flicking over the crowd until it lands on me with a flare of recognition. I swear something passes between us, and a sizzle runs down my spine unexpectedly, but not unpleasantly.
“Tessa?” he says, barely audible from this far away, and takes a step toward me.
Too late, I realize Johnson didn’t get the memo that Austin’s stopped for the moment, watching with horror as he clocks him in the temple.
Austin lurches to the side and there’s a collective groan from the group of guys to my left, one commenting that he’s never seen anyone make contact with Austin like that.
He shakes his head dazedly, holding a glove to the area as he continues to stare at me.
My hands are over my mouth, heart somewhere in my throat as I stare back. Is he okay? Should I help him?
“You good?” the guy in the corner of the ring calls out.
Austin gives one last shake of his head. “Give me a minute.”
