Page 35 of Simon Says

And she watched him. His every move.

Every so often, she even took notes, and it made Simon crazy wanting to know what she wrote. Pointers on his style? Or something else?

Today she only slumped down to sit on the floor, her back propped against the wall. She looked at Simon for a few moments, then closed her eyes.

She looked beat. Defeated. Not at all like her usual perky, determined self.

For some reason, that bothered Simon even more than her galling upbeat enthusiasm.

For the next ten minutes, he divided his attention between his sparring partner and watching Dakota. She swilled down a whole thermos of coffee in no time flat. She rubbed at her eyes, chewed on a fingernail, then stretched and sighed—and Simon took a heel to the center of his torso.

It hurt like hell.

“Nice shot,” he gasped, and he felt himself going down. He landed on his knees and struggled to get oxygen into his lungs.

Dean tried to call a halt, but Simon waved him off. “No,” he wheezed. “I’m okay.”

Billy, his sparring partner, bounced back and forth on the balls of his feet, anxious to keep going after a taste of success. In a real fight, he’d have finished Simon. Luckily, this wasn’t a real fight—but Billy should have treated it as one just the same.

The trainer in Simon briefly took over. Once he got upright again, he said, “You should have followed through with some ground work, not stood back and waited for me to recover. Until Dean says otherwise, you go one hundred percent, got it?”

Being young and stupid, Billy laughed. “Whatever you say.”

So Simon put it to him.

The laughter died as the other man backpedaled, but not fast enough. Simon threw one punch after another, forcing Billy into a corner and giving him no defense except to cower and give up.

“And that,” Dean told the other man, “is why you don’t laugh. If Simon Evans gives you advice, you soak it in. You’re getting something most fighters would love to have, but couldn’t afford, and here at my gym, you’re getting it for free.”

Between desperate gasps for air, Billy panted out, “Free, hell.” He lifted the towel from his bloody mouth, shook his head, and stretched his swollen lips into a grin. “But, yeah, I’ve got it. Thanks.”

Simon knelt in front of him. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He laughed again. “You’re fast.”

“So are you. That kick might’ve done me in if you’d followed through.” Simon looked at Dean. “How’s he at grappling?”

“Better than he is with his stand-up game.”

“Really?” Simon’s brows lifted with respect. “Then I’d say you’ve got real talent.” He clapped Billy on the shoulder and stood.

Dean followed him to his corner. “You’re letting her get in your way.”

“I know.”

“That’s stupid.”

“I know that, too.” Simon sucked air into his lungs, chewed over his thoughts, and looked at Dakota. Again. She’d sat so long on the floor waiting for him that she’d fallen asleep. Her head had slumped to the side, and her limbs were boneless.

To keep his next suggestion private, Dean leaned in close. “Do something about it, Simon, before she screws up your comeback.”

Simon chugged down a gulp of water without taking his gaze off her. After he wiped his mouth, he asked, “What do you suggest I do?”

“Whatever it takes.”

Simon glanced at Dean, his brow raised.

“But do it,” Dean insisted. “Preferably today.” And with that, he walked back to Billy to give him a few more pointers.

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