I underestimated him.By tacking on innocuous stakes, he masks the tension between us and turns the challenge into a playful, benign rivalry.
No matter who wins or loses, the employees gathered around the watercooler will no longer see me as the big bad wolf intending to blow their house down, and he’ll gain popularity points for bridging the gap between us.
He may be a few inches shorter than I am, but I’ve learned through experience not to judge an opponent by their looks.His stockier build gives him better balance and an advantage on floor movements, but I’ve never seen him in action before, so his speed is a mystery.
He just watched me waylay on the bag and still challenged me.
His eyes give nothing away.If we were in the boardroom, I’d appreciate his poker face, but in the gym, the lack of feedback offers an edge of personal offense.
“I’m booked for lunch today, but I’m free tomorrow,” I say.
A grin spreads across his face.
“Deal.Blue or red?Full kit?”
I glance at the available equipment.
“I brought my own gloves.Mouthguard, gloves, and shin guards only.No head or face shots.Tap outs, not knockouts,” I say.
He nods and tosses me a pair of shin guards and an individually wrapped disposable mouth guard from the bin on the wall.I grunt my thanks, sit on the bench, and strap the shin guards to my legs before ripping open the plastic and fitting the mouth guard onto my upper teeth.I rise and work my hands back into my gloves before rolling my shoulders and crossing the room.
We square off on the mats and bump gloves before stepping back and dropping into fighting stances.
I test him with a simple jab.He dodges and counters with a one-two combo.I block, step into his space, and land a solid punch to his side.With lightning-quick reflexes, he buries his glove into my stomach and knocks the wind out of me.As my diaphragm seizes, I snap my leg forward and sweep his legs out from under him.
Midfall, he hooks his elbow into mine and pulls me down beside him.We both scramble for dominance and end in a tangled mess of limbs.
“I know what this is about, and I’m here to tell you, you don’t have to worry about it,” he gasps in my ear.
I change my grip and sling my arm behind his neck.
“Oh?Tell me what this is about, then,” I snarl.
He twists and locks his legs around my torso.
“Oh please, you look at Audrey like you want to eat her alive,” he replies.
Her name on his lips short-circuits my brain.I buck and roll until he’s underneath me, then slam my glove into his ribs.
“If it’s so obvious, then why shouldn’t I worry?”I aim higher on his chest.He blocks with his knee.“Have you been pulling your punches?”I goad.
He scoffs and flings his leg over my arm, hooking the back of his knee into my elbow and pinning it to my side.
“She’s not the type I swing for,” he says.
I trap his other thigh to the mat by leaning my weight onto my shin guard and land a solid jab to his chest before he blocks me with his forearm.
“That’s bullshit and we both know it.She—”
“Precisely.She’s a she.Not my type.”
His succinct response arrows through me.I pause with my fist lifted high for another swing.
He punches my stomach and throws me off him with a violent twist.I roll further away, but he lunges onto my back for a headlock.I thank my training and throw my arm into place by sheer muscle memory and prevent him from solidifying his grip.
When his words finally sink into my thoughts, my heart leaps into my throat.His chest vibrates against my back as he chuckles.
“Don’t worry, Mr.Diamond.You’re not my type either.”
