Page 77 of Green Flag
Everyone across StormSprint had heard about our romance by now, and the number of shoulder claps I received rolled Everly’s eyes so many times they were her first reps of the day.
I introduced her to Marco, my PT, who was running a session in the ring with Ces. I let her take her time warming up with stretches and the step machine. Though I could only last five minutes before wheezing.
“On the mat,” I said, stopping my machine beside hers.
She laughed, but it wasn’t as pronounced as when we were alone. I wanted to make her really laugh again — the crackle of sound that made me grin.
Her face dropped when I didn’t laugh with her.
Her expression stiffened. “You’re serious.”
“Yes.” I reached over to turn off her machine and she sighed. “Go and fill up your bottle. Should be easy for you. You’ve been studying my moves for months.”
Her mouth fell open but no words tumbled out. I left her with her lips parted as I went to the mat and pulled out the paddles from Marco’s bag.
When she came over, she was pouting. “Do we have to?”
“Yes,” I said. “Show me your fighting stance.”
Her eyes widened. “I… don’t have one of those.”
“How would you stand if you wanted to punch someone?”
I could see the cogs turning in her mind, searching for a victim. Then she widened her legs stiffly and turned her hands into fists.
Nowmyeyes widened as I felt the protective streak in me rise to the surface, cutting through the gentlemanly exterior. I thought I’d been mistaken yesterday. “Tell me you did not just put your thumb inside your fist.”
She quickly popped them out. “I didn’t.”
Oh, we were starting from scratch. She was more likely to hurt herself than anyone else.
“Right, copy me,” I said and placed my feet hip-width apart, bending my knees slightly. She mirrored me, but her left foot wasn’t facing the same way as her hip. Instead, it was diagonal. “Bend your knees. You want a 90-degree angle. If your feet were together, they would be heel to heel.”
She shuffled.
“Better. Now drop.”
She dipped a millimetre, knees hardly bending.
“You’re too rigid, Everly. Drop lower.”
“It’s awkward,” she hissed, glancing left and right. The gym was busy, but no one paid us any attention.
“I’m not asking you to slut drop.”
She rolled her eyes and fixed me with a glare. “If I squat, it looks like I’m going to the toilet.”
My laugh was sudden and all-consuming.
She pouted and dropped her half-assed stance. “Everly, trust me, no one’s imagining toilets when they’re looking at your ass. It might feel awkward at first, but it gives you more bounce, more balance, more movement. You’ll be able to dodge better.”
She straightened again while I spoke. I gestured for her to lower, and she did, with another eye roll and her lips in a tight line.
Good girl.
“Punch one of the pads.”
I lifted them both and, with her left hand, she hit my right pad. Straight. No swing, no power, barely a tap.
