“That’s easy for you to say. I want to spend time with her, but I keep saying stupid shit and swallowing my tongue, and whenever I get something smoothed out, she clams up and freaks out about adding complications to her life. We’re together three times a week, but we’re not getting anywhere.”
“So just start small. Train her. You’re already not sharing.” His eyes come up to mine. “You charging her PT rates, B, or class rates? Because at the moment, she’s getting one on one sessions with a world champion, and she’s paying twelve bucks a pop.”
“I’m not gonna charge her to hang out with me.”
He smirks playfully. “It’s none of my business what you do with your time. Just pointing out the inequality. Ninety-two year old Marv doesn’t get free PT.”
“Because his balls hang outta his shorts when he does sit-ups.”
He snorts. “Whatever. Justify it however you want to. I like her, so I’m not sad she’s around. Give her free PT, whatever. It doesn’t bother me one bit, but you need to relax. Talk, hang out. Let it happen naturally. Stop giving yourself a heart attack because the pretty girl didn’t kiss you once she was sober.”
I turn to him with a scowl. “You’re an asshole, Aiden. But you helped. Now that I got that shit off my chest…” I flip up into a crouch and dive at him.
* * *
Jimmy’s sweaty fist shoots out and skims across my aching jaw. He’s getting faster and faster every damn day. I duck to escape the next jab, but his speed has him swinging around and snapping my head to the side with a perfect right hook.
I’m so fucking sick of Jimmy getting through my guard. He’s getting faster, but it’d be a fucking lie to say I’m at the top of my game. Aiden was right – I’m better than this.
Turning back, hands raised, I charge forward with a flurry of body strikes. Ribs. Ribs. Leg. Uppercut. His head snaps up sickeningly fast, and if he wasn’t swiping away a line of blood and wearing a stupid grin as he resets, I’d feel bad for him.
His smiling eyes look me up and down. Baby brother or not, he’s not a kid. He’s a man, and he’s been training as long as I have. I’m bigger than him, heavier, but that makes him faster and too often, he’s dodged my fists before I snap them back to guard.
A fight with Jimmy is never one-sided, and the only person on this planet who thinks it is, is our coddling mom. He has her fooled, but the rest of us see it.
His fist slams down on my jaw. “Wake up, B, your Kitty Cat’s in the house.”
Without my brain’s permission, my body spins around to catch the first sight for today. I want my hit, my drug of choice, but his foot comes down on the back of my thigh and I slam to the canvas. He jumps on my back and snakes his arm around my throat so fast, my air supply is cut off before I can get up.
I will not look like a little bitch in front of Kit. I won’t tap. I refuse to tap.
His arm tightens dangerously around my neck. Bringing his face down beside mine so our cheeks touch, he laughingly whispers, “Tap for me, bitch. Don’t pass out in front of her, that would be so much worse.”
I tap the canvass instantly, and with a wheezing laugh, he rolls off my back and lets me free. He rolls to his back and holds his gut, and it’s not until several onlookers begin laughing, that I look up in search of her. “She’s not even here, B!” He hiccups on his words. “But fuck, I’ll be playing this shit up for the rest of my life. I found your kryptonite, dumbass.”
Half the damn gym saw that shit, but Kit didn’t. She’s not here. I turn on him with a snarl. “You’ll pay for that, motherfucker. Get up. Let’s go again.”
He snorts and drags himself to his feet, holds out his grappling gloved hand, and bumps my fist. “Go.” We circle and strike, circle and test. Twenty minutes later when the burn of looking like a bitch in my own gym wears off, Jimmy steps in with a body, body, head combo that I deflect easily enough, but instead of stepping in to keep circling, he drops his hands and lets out a stupid belly laugh. “Well, hey there, Kitty Cat. You look pretty.”
“Nope. No way in hell. Hands up, Jim. I won’t pull my shit.”
He snickers and points over my shoulder. “No really, she’s here.”
“Stop fucking around! Fight!”
Our audience is back. Everyone stops what they’re doing to watch this shit, but I’m not giving them another show. Fuck it, he doesn’t wanna lift his hands, that’s not on me. Mom’s ‘no hitting the baby’ rule expired fifteen years ago. I step in and throw jabs. Left, left, right. Instead of covering properly, he parries my fists away like he’s swatting a fly. “Hey Kitty Cat,” he giggles like a girl. “Come over here, protect me.”
“DUDE!”
“Bobby? What’s goi–” I don’t hear the rest of Kit’s sentence, because Jimmy clocks me on the jaw. My head snaps around painfully and bells ring in my ears.
“Fuck!” My roar of frustration cracks like a pre-pubescent teen, which only encourages everyone watching to laugh harder.
“Alright. Time!” Jimmy giggles like a school girl as he escapes the ring and moves in her direction. “Hey girl, you sure you don’t wanna join my class today?” He stops in front of her and holds out his gloves for her to undo. “Bobby won’t mind. We’re working on grappling today, and I need a roll partner.” He’s taller than her by a few inches, he speaks as though he’s a grown ass man, but in reality, he’s barely even legally allowed to drink. Apart from Jack, he’s the baby of our group. “I mean, I’m happy to teach you some moves, since Bobby’s lacking.”
I jump the ropes, stalk across the mats, and shove him away. “Fuck off, asswipe. Stay back tonight, though. We have beef.” This seems to be a reoccurring theme on her training days, now. Jimmy thinks he’s a funny fucker, and I vow to shut him up next time we’re in the ring.
I don’t want to waste our hour. It’s so short, and once it’s gone, I have to wait until Friday, so I grab her by the arm gently and steer her away. “Hey Jack,” I throw behind me when I finally notice him standing there, then, softer, “Hey Kit, let’s get started.”