Page 11 of Until You're Mine
The girl was competitive as hell—not that I was surprised, considering her family. It made it fun to push a bit, though. My breaths came faster and faster, and her chest rose and fell, rose and fell, and—smack—the rope hit my legs.
She stopped and braced her hands on her knees as she caught her breath.
“You warm?” I asked.
She nodded. “Warm. Possibly also having a heart attack from being out of shape.” She straightened and eyed the cage. “Okay, I’m ready to hit something.” She shot me a grin. “Or more accurately, someone.”
I gathered the gear and Brooklyn scrunched up her forehead. “Are you going to hit me hard enough for the headgear?”
“No. I’m going to have the mitts, so I won’t be throwing punches. Are you going to hit me hard enough thatIneed headgear?”
“Hell yeah.”
I chuckled. I bet she would, too, but I wasn’t wearing headgear. We stepped into the large caged rectangle. When the gym was busy, four sets of guys could spar, with another set in the raised octagon. For tonight, I figured we’d stick to the rectangle, where we had more room to move.
Brooklyn put on one of the boxing gloves and then I helped her secure the other. She smelled good, light and floral and, best of all, not even kind of like the dudes I usually ended up in here with.
“Both your lips are bright pink now,” I commented, not really thinking it through.
“I don’t usually go around with only one of them done. You might recall that I was locked out of my car for a while that day.”
“Hmm. I must’ve missed that.”
She punched me in the shoulder, a light right hook.
I probably deserved that and then some. The other night she’d accused me of being an ass, and I was. Apparently not enough of one to not feel bad about being so sharp with her that night, though. “Chomping at the bit, are ya? Why don’t we start with jabs?” I held up the mitts. “Just remember that for now, your targets are these, not my face.”
“Honestly, I’m having trouble telling the difference,” she said, a wicked grin curving her lips as she bounced on the balls of her feet. Before I could come up with a retort, she threw three jabs in a row.Pop, pop, pop.She alternated between her right and left as we circled each other. She hit nice and hard, her weight behind every punch, her skills on par with the weekend warriors.
We moved to the hook and undercut, then worked on combos. Her skin flushed pink, and I found myself slightly mesmerized by the pulse beating at the base of her throat. I wanted to put my lips there and feel it fluttering against my mouth.
I flinched when the loudsmackto the mitt in my left hand brought me out of my stray thoughts.
She dropped her arms and inhaled and exhaled, working to catch her breath.
I lowered my hands, catching my breath for an entirely different reason. “I did promise you could hit me, so”—I spread my arms and turned myself into a large target—“have at it.”
“Oh, sure. You’re so brave now that my arms are tired.” She lifted her gloves in fighting stance and came at me. She landed a couple of body shots, but she didn’t hit nearly as hard as when I’d had the mitts. I liked to think that meant she didn’t totally hate me. Or maybe I should taunt her and tip the scales back in that direction, because if I thought about all the things we could do if she liked me, I’d dance closer to the fire.
Considering she had a body made for sinning and I was well-versed in that subject, I’d think about fucking her regardless of like or hate and everything that came between. Add in the fact that she was cool as hell, though, and…Yeah, I might already be in trouble with this girl.
Brooklyn flopped down on the mat. “What’s always crazy about punching drills is you throw, throw, throw…” She sucked in a breath and took off her gloves. “And the amount of energy you’ve expended doesn’t hit you until you stop, and then…” She exhaled and tossed the gloves aside. “You feel it.”
I sat next to her, draping my arms over my knees and scanning the empty gym. I loved the buzz of the place during training sessions and how the energy from everyone built and made me push harder, but there was also something nice about an empty gym. Especially since it meant getting closer to a woman who’d started to invade my thoughts more and more, regardless of the wide berth we’d been giving each other. If I was smart I’d shut this down now, but with her sitting right next to me all I could think about was how I wanted to know more. “I reckon you’ve hit most of the bags in here.”
“I reckon so,” she replied, but she added a southern twang.
“Are you making fun of me?” I asked, dropping my jaw like I was shocked.
She laughed that same laugh that had gotten me punched in the head the first day she crashed into my world, and held up her fingers. “Little bit.”
“Oh, it’s on now. After you catch your breath, of course.”
“I really want to act all tough and say I don’t need any time to do that, but my head’s still on the spinny side.” Her gaze moved over the 100 pound bags that hung from chains, the weight benches, and the cardio machines lined up in the back corner. “I grew up here. My dad loves telling the story about how I took my first steps in this gym, right over to a punching bag. As a kid, I loved it. Cheering on the fighters, and the times they’d take a break from their training to teach me moves. During my teen years, my eyes were opened to things I hadn’t noticed before, and that rubbed some of the shiny off it, and then there came a time when I couldn’t wait to break free.”
“Why?”
“Long story. What about you? How’d you get into the MMA world?”
