The kids are laughing as I turn around and head to the punching bags. I can’t let Chase get too uppity, his girl Avery would kill me if I did.
I set a steady pace at the heavy punching bag. My hands feel strong today. I can hear a good thump with each punch as I work the bag. The music in my ear buds is a random collection of Britney Spears love songs. I don’t know how it got to that collection but it did.
I work with it.
Images of the runt, Carson, flit across my mind as I pound into the bag. He is such a waste of space, hurting a girl like that.
I punch really hard and the bag leaps away from me. Each consecutive punch keeps the bag up in the air.
When I slow down and take a step back, there’s a small puddle of my sweat on the floor and a new dent the size of my fist in the bag. My arms are tired but I feel the ball of anger in my stomach lessening.
Standing behind me is Chase and three teens. They must have been watching me work out because Chase smiles at me.
“That Christy, Matt, and Lane is putting the bag through its paces. Bear hits hard and he doesn’t stop.”
They ogle me and I try to wave but my arms are tired. Instead I nod and head over to the leg bag. If I am going to abuse my arms I might as well do my legs today as well. I want the anger gone.
Fuck.
Carson has put something in me.
* * *
Chase is sitting next to me in the sauna as we let the heat sap the will to move out of us.
“How’s the training going?” he asks.
“Good. Still want to work on the floor plan I have for Wade but I feel
good about what I have been doing. He isn’t a guy to go to the ground and mix it up. I want to push that fact home with him.”
“That sounds like a good strategy. What the fuck got into you during my motivational speech? You know it’s hard as shit to keep these kids from thinking we are all party hounds. Those TV shows sure as hell don’t help.”
My face splits open at the thought of that because we have all been there at one time in our lives as fighters. Now that the sport has really opened up to women as well as men it is becoming even more important to instill a sense of self-discipline. We can’t have them acting like little asses, the girls or the guys. Not with the reputation Chase is trying to build with this dojo, he is branding it as a fighting school.
“I met a girl last night.”
“And?” he questions.
I think of ignoring the question but just like Brett, Chase doesn’t allow me to be my usual quiet self. Sometimes I swear they are hell bent on making me as chatty as Brett is. That’s not me, I don’t like to talk all the time, it makes me feel odd for some reason.
“Met a friend of Brett’s girl. She looks like a Britney Spears clone, but is completely natural.”
He raises his eyebrows; he knows I have a thing for Spears.
“She does. Spent the night with her but didn’t do anything. She was a bit too tipsy for that.”
Nodding he says, “The other girl you mentioned?”
“She’s got this kick-ass daughter. Kid is smart, funny and way too wise.”
“That’s cool, man. Well, be careful, single mothers don’t need games.”
Nodding my head, I lean my head back against the wall and feel the sweat seeping out of me.
My fight is in a month and a half. Feels like an eternity from now. I want it to be tonight, but I don’t always get my way.
Wade, the Bass, Hampton is a striker. Wade hits hard, making a fucking thumping sound when he does it. That’s how he got his name.