Page 3 of Fight for You

“Pretty cool, right?” He nodded and I continued on with the lesson. “Now, put your fists up in front of you, with your left hand in the front. Bring them up a little so your face is protected.” I demonstrated, and he copied my stance. “Perfect.”

I stepped next to him. “I'm going to touch your back, okay?” Boxing was a physical sport, and the best way to teach someone was through touch and movement. But I didn't want to spook Avery; it sounded like he'd had bad experiences with bigger guys manhandling him. Something told me I needed to tread lightly with Avery.

At his nod, I settled my hands on his lower back. My fingers curled around his hips, and my thumbs overlapped on his spine. I could easily encircle his slim frame with my large hands.

“All of your power comes from your hips,” I explained while gently rotating his body to face forward. “When you throw a punch, turn like this and channel that strength up through your torso and into your hand. Try it out.”

As I twisted his body, Avery brought his right hand forward, punching the air. I tried to ignore how good it felt when his muscles bunched and rolled beneath my palms.

When I moved his hips quicker, Avery did the same with his fist. Eventually, I regrettably let him go, and he got the hang of the movement on his own.

“That's great,” I told Avery, stepping in front of him. “Now I want you to hit me.” His eyes widened as I raised my hands, offering them as targets.

“Shouldn't I be wearing gloves or something?”

If we were actually training, I would at least tape his hands, but he was interested in self defense, so I wanted himto experience the movements as he would actually use them. “I want you to feel our skin-on-skin contact.” I didn't realize how dirty my words sounded until Avery’s cheeks flushed, and then I was glad for them.

“Okay.” He let out a deep breath and copied the motions I showed him, lightly tapping his fist against my palm.

“That was good form, but hit me for real. Put all of your strength into it.”

Avery’s eyes bugged again. “Are yousure?”

“I’m sure.” Every inch of my body had been pummeled over the years by some of the biggest and best fighters in the world. I wasn’t worried about an uncushioned strike to the hand.

He took a deep breath and swung as he pivoted his hips. His knuckles hit my palm with enough force that it made my skin sting. “Much better,” I told him with a smile. “Let me give you another tip; tilt your fist down a little when you hit. It will focus the strike into your first two knuckles and make your punch pack more of…well, a punch.” I was embarrassed of my dumb word choice until Avery chuckled, giving the most stunning smile I'd ever seen.

I was caught in a daze and unprepared when Avery struck me again. The tip worked; the sting was stronger, and he even hit a nerve that caused a tingling sensation to run down my forearm.

“Was that better?” he asked in a hopeful voice.

“That was perfect.”

I had him practice again and again, each time improving his form and strength. Next, I showed him how to jab and throw a hook, before we moved on to blocking.

As our lesson marched on, other trainers and clients left the gym one by one until only Avery and I remained. It wasn't a strange occurrence; I often stayed later than everyone else, and I had a key to lock up. Plus, I was selfishly thrilled to have some time alone with him.

But as much as I was enjoying our lesson, I felt it was time to bring it to an end soon; Avery was moving slower, and a layer of sweat glistened on his brow. But before I could suggest we end the session, my thoughts were interrupted by the sound ofbeep, beep, boop…beep, beep, boop.

“Is that your phone?” I asked curiously, but Avery shook his head no. He lifted the hem of his shirt to reveal a small, square device attached to the waistband of his shorts. He pushed a button and the beeping stopped.

“I need to take a break.”

“Of course.” When I noticed how unsteady he was on his feet, I wrapped my arm around his shoulders to help support him as he walked to the far end of the room. Avery pressed his back against the wall and slid down until he sat on the floor.

His shaky hands unzipped his gym bag and lifted out a bag full of raisins. He dumped some into his mouth before offering the bag to me.

“Thanks, I'm starving,” I said instinctively as I poured the fruit into my palm; my big ass was always hungry. But it took only a moment to realize how rude I was being; the poor guy looked a mess and I was harfing down his food.

But to my surprise, it was Avery who apologized as he looked around the empty gym, “I'm sorry; I've kept you way past closing, haven't I?”

“Technically, I've keptyou,” I argued, “And I've enjoyed every minute of it.”

“So have I,” he answered with a tiny smile. I noticed that the color (even though he was naturally pale) was beginning to return to his cheeks. “But I'll grab my stuff so you can get out of here for dinner.”

Avery reached for his bag, but I stopped him with a hand on his. “Let's just sit here until you're feeling better. I don't want you driving away when you're sick.”

“I've been way worse,” he shrugged, which didn't calm my worries.

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