Page 7 of Punchline
ETHAN
The first thing I noticed when I walked into the fighting gym was the familiar smell. It was almost… comforting? The mix of rubber, vinyl, and stale sweat wasn’t as strong as it could get in a hockey locker room, but it was that similar funk. I had no idea what I was doing here or if this was a completely terrible idea, but hey, at least no one would bitch if I finished a session and smelled like a hockey player.
Or maybe I was just in a ridiculous headspace because I was still embarrassed over the other night, and I was a little nervous about what I was getting into.
“Hey, Ethan!”
I turned toward the sound of my name as Carson, Marek’s boyfriend, stepped out of what must’ve been an office. I smiled despite my nerves. “Hey. How’s it going?”
“Not bad.” He grinned. “You ready to learn how to fight?”
Cringing inwardly, I said, “At least enough that I don’t look like a complete dumbass next time.”
He chuckled and clapped my arm. “Pretty sure we canhelp you there. And your instructor should be—ah, there he is.” Carson gestured past me. “Meet Jake Radovitz.”
I turned around, and…
Oh, fuck me.
No, really—fuck me.
That was the first thought that crossed my mind when I saw this absolutely ripped white dude coming into the room. I had never envied a tank top in my life, but I sure did now. Holy shit.
He was taller than me by at least a couple of inches, so six-four, maybe? And he wasbuilt. Hockey players were ripped and lean, and our asses and thighs always kept us from buying pants off the rack, but my new instructor? Whoa. He probably could’ve picked me up and folded me into a lawn chair without breaking a sweat. And in that moment, I didn’t think I’d mind if he did, because?—
Christ. Ethan. Get a grip and stop staring.
“Uh.” I cleared my throat as I extended my hand. “Hi. Ethan Bernier.”
He smiled and shook my hand. “Carson tells me you need some help fighting.”
And there went my distraction, popping like a balloon as I remembered why I was here. Yeah, I might be attracted as hell to this dude, but he wasn’t going to be interested in a beanpole who’d gotten his ass handed to him on the ice.
Face heating, I nodded sheepishly. “Yeah. I, uh… I got into a fight during a game and… ” I groaned and covered my eyes. “Oh my God, it was bad.”
His quiet laugh wasn’t mean or unfriendly. “I’m pretty sure I can help you with that.”
I lowered my hands. “You didn’t see me fight.”
His eyebrow arched. “That bad,huh?”
“That bad.”
Jake studied me.
Carson quietly said, “I’ll leave you guys to it.” With a smack to my shoulder, he added. “Good luck, Berns.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” I was going to need it.
Jake watched Carson walk away, then faced me again. “Listen, I know it’s probably not your favorite thing to talk about, but you wouldn’t happen to have a video of that fight, would you?”
“Oh, you’re in luck,” I said, letting the sarcasm drip as I took out my phone. “The other team put it all over their social media.”
“Ouch.”
“Tell me about it.” We stood in awkward silence while I pulled up the app, then connected to the gym’s WiFi because my phone wanted to be slow. Once I’d finally connected, the app still took its sweet time loading, and all the while I wanted to fucking die. Like it was bad enough that I had to show him that clip, but we also had to stand here with our thumbs up our asses while we waited. Because I wasn’t embarrassed enough or nervous enough or?—
“Here it is.” I tapped the video. Then I handed Jake the phone.
