Page 9 of Punchline
I shrugged. “This is Vegas, it’s full of people who like totest their luck.” Seriously, I’d had more people get up in my face since moving here than I ever did at home. They backed down quick enough, but it still sucked. “Any questions?”
“Um… ” He scratched the back of his head for a second, rucking up his dark hair. “Do you really think I can get good enough not to embarrass myself on the ice like that?”
“We all get embarrassed sometimes,” I replied. “But I can guarantee that you’re going to do a hell of a lot better.”
Ethan released a heavy breath, like he was shaking off a weight. “Okay,” he said, and nodded. “Okay, let’s do this.”
“Great. The first thing we’re going to work on is your frame.”
“What… do you mean by that, exactly?”
I extended my arm in front of him. “When it comes to a fight where you want to tie up with someone and hold them at a particular distance, you’ve got to have a good frame.” I bent my elbow a little bit. “You want to keep an oblique angle here. That’s way stronger than once you get past ninety.” I bent my arm further until the angle was acute. “This is weak. It’s hard to maintain and it lets people throw you around. I’ll show you what I mean.” I positioned his hands on my shoulders. “I’m going to lean in on you, and I want you to hold me up,” I said.
“Oookay.” Ethan looked a little spooked, and I laughed.
“I’m asking you toholdme up, notpickme up. You can do it, I promise. Here.” I bent his elbows a little. “Now hold me up.” I leaned into him, and after bracing one leg back he did a decent job of keeping me at bay. “Great, now let your elbows bend past ninety degrees.” He did, and immediately I crashed into his chest. He ended up with his back against the wall, me still leaning all my weight into him. I felt hishands flex against my T-shirt and pushed down a frisson of interest.
Not the fucking time.
“Try and straighten your arms out again,” I said. Ethan gave it a good shot, but he couldn’t. After a few seconds, I pulled away and made space between us. He was breathing a little heavy but seemed okay. “Once you let that frame break, it’s hard to get it back,” I said. “So that’s where we’re going to start—keeping your frame. You need to be able to maintain your distance like a fucking boss in here if you’re going to be able to do it while sliding around on ice.” Nowthatwas some crazy shit. “You ready to go to work?”
Ethan grinned. When he did, everything about him went from nervous student to?—
Oh damn. Was he cute? Did I think he was cute? I had a hard time knowing my own mind when it came to guys. I’d only ever acknowledged that I was attracted to men a few times. Women were easier to tell with, but this guy…
Yeah, he’s cute. Get over it, he’s your student.
“I’m ready.”
I shook off my revelation and got my head back in the game. “Good. Let’s start over here. I want you to brace on the bag, and I’ll shove it. Move your feet however you need to, but keep that frame, okay?”
“Got it.”
I put him on the body-length bag hanging from the ceiling in the corner of the gym, checked his stance, then gave it a push. Solid. I pushed harder. Still unmoved. “Good,” I said. “Let’s take it up a notch.”
We spent a solid half-hour working on his frame, with me doing everything from running into the bag to kicking it to rattling it back and forth on its chain. Ethan got rocked a few times, but he mostly managed to maintain his position.We moved on to the half-length pad next, with me closing the distance with it in my arms and him framing against it. The last part of the session was him finally framing off my body, the way he would if he were in a game.
“Don’t put yourself in a good position to be punched,” I cautioned him as he framed off the front of my chest. “Until you’re more confident with your ability to punch back, you want to make it as hard for that asshole to hit you as possible. You already know he’s going to be aiming for your face.” No liver shots in hockey fights—their padding was too thick for it to be effective. “So frame a little off to the side, like this. Make him have to cross the center-line to punch you, that’ll take the sting out of it even if he makes contact.”
I put my hands on his shoulders and positioned him where I wanted him. “Right here,” I said, nestling his right forearm up until it was across my throat. “Feel good?”
“Ye—” Ethan stopped and cleared his throat. “Um, yeah.”
“Cool. Now maintain that frame, because I’m going to manhandle you a bit, okay?”
“Okay.” His voice had gone a bit squeaky—from nerves, I guess.
I took it easy to start, just moving us around the room without pushing too hard. It was almost like a dance at first, then I picked up the pace and started bearing into him. He handled that well, but then I put my hands on his waist and shoved, and he folded like a pair of scissors.
“Oh shit, ticklish?” I asked him.
“Ah, no.” His face was red. “Not—not so much, just—” His voice trailed off, which meant he was embarrassed about something. I checked the clock. The hour was almost up, so he was probably getting tired and didn’t want to admit it.
“Good job,” I said. “I know it probably doesn’t feel like much, but you made a really good start today. This is the foundation that’s going to set you up to be immovable, so it’s pretty important. We’ll get more into strikes soon, though.” A thought occurred to me. “I don’t think we’ve set a schedule yet. How often do you want to meet?”
“How often do you have time?” Ethan countered.
“Most mornings. Tuesday and Thursday afternoons between two and six.” I shrugged. “Weekends are pretty flexible too.”
