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Stopping in front of the bag, my legs shoulder-length apart, I bounce on my feet a few times, relaxing my body before I lift my hands, keeping them close to my head.
The first jab I throw is sloppy at best. I can feel the punch bounce back at me, the bag barely moving. I pivot back, trying to keep my stance. Gritting my teeth, I throw another jab and another. With each throw, more of my lessons start coming back to me. I add a cross to the mix.
Jab-jab-cross.
Jab-cross-cross-jab.
Jab-jab-cross.
Jab-cross-hook.
My feet dance over the mat as I move effortlessly. Soon enough, I’m a sweaty, panting mess. My breathing is hard and rugged, and sweat coats my skin. Eventually, my movements grow slow since I haven’t done them in forever, but even then, I don’t stop. My gaze is zeroed in on the bag as I throw myself into every movement, putting all the frustration I feel, every drop of fear coursing through my body, into punch after punch.
Jab-cross-hook—
A shadow appears out of nowhere in the corner of my eye. I’m so startled, I don’t think. I just react. I crouch down, sweeping my leg under the person’s feet.
Wide brown eyes meet mine as he hits the mat.
“Holy shit, are you okay?” I ask, pulling off my gloves.
Prescott lets out a loud groan. “Do I look fucking okay? I think you rearranged every freaking bone in my body.”
“That’s because you snuck up on me.” I give him a pointed look. “Again. Seriously, are you hurt?” I take in his body, looking for any sign of injury. He’s wearing a loose tee and a pair of shorts, faint red lines marring his leg.
Prescott pushes upright, his face twisting in pain.
“What’s wrong? Is it your leg?”
“My leg’s fine,” he grits through clenched teeth.
“It doesn’t look fine. It looks like you’re in pain.” I look up, noticing the weight bench a few feet behind him. Jumping to my feet, I loop my arm through his. “Let me help you.”
“I don’t need help.”
“Who’s a brat now?” I lift my brows pointedly. “Don’t be an ass, Wentworth, and let me help you.” He tries to pull his arm out of mine, but I tighten my hold on him. “Up.”
“So freaking bossy,” he mutters, but lets me help him.
“You should be used to it by now.”
I lower him to the weight bench. Prescott extends his leg, rubbing his side. He looks up, those dark eyes meeting mine. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you.”
My stupid heart tightens at his gruff words.
Get a grip, Jade. You don’t even like the guy.
I start to look away just as his hand slips underneath his shirt, revealing a patch of dark blue skin.
I suck in a breath, crouching down in front of him. “What the hell…”
I slip my hand next to his, pushing his shirt up and revealing a massive, nasty-ass bruise; and I just flattened him to the ground.
“What happened?” I ask, my fingers gently trailing the dark flesh. Goosebumps appear on his skin, and I’m pretty sure he shudders.
“Practice,” he shrugs, pulling the shirt down. “It was a hard hit.”
“What the hell are you doing here then? Shouldn’t you be in bed? Icing this?”
