by Amity Cross
“Whenever you like,” I replied, smiling like a fucking idiot.
“Whenever?”
“I’m free, believe me.”
“But I thought…” She glanced at the boxing ring. “Do you usually do this? For people like me?”
I could lie and tell her I did this shit all the time, or I could tell her the truth and make her feel welcome. That she mattered. I don’t know why I hesitated, but in the end, I went with the truth.
“No,” I replied. “Not usually. I train a couple of boxers looking to go pro, but I don’t usually take on any other people.”
“You’re a boxer?” she asked, beginning to open up to me.
“Was,” I said with a shrug. “So… When are you free? I assume you’re going to say yes.”
The hint of a smile ghosted across her pink lips. “I don’t know.”
Glancing away, she looked outside, her expression hardening once more. Following her gaze, all I saw was the darkening street outside.
She was still hesitating. Turning to the notice board, I picked up the pencil that was tied to the frame with a bit of string and tore a sliver of paper from one of the posters. She watched me closely as I scrawled down my mobile number, my personal one, and her brow creased in confusion.
“Here,” I said, offering it to her. “Take my number. If you change your mind, just give me a call. Or a text. Whatever. Anytime.”
Juliette took the paper from my fingers and stared at it. Knowing the conversation had turned into uncomfortable waters, I backed away, leaving her be.
She took the opportunity to gather her bag and scurry away, trying her best to get away as fast as possible. Had I scared her off already? Fuck.
I could tell myself it was about helping her all I liked, but it wouldn’t erase the fact that the more I thought about her, the more interested I became. It was a fine line between being chivalrous and something else entirely. If I was going to do this, then I had to walk the talk I’d given Tommy.
Hands off.
7
Juliette
After two weeks of self-defense classes, it was clear I sucked. I sucked so hard, it forced someone to approach me for personal training, and not with just anyone, but with Caleb.
I must be a special case if he never took on outside clients. It only made me feel worse about my lack of coordination. Mel had been the sporty one. She was the surfer chick with the toned abs, and I was the twin with the flabby thighs and a book in her hand. Mel would be all over this, complete with an elbow in my guts to push me out of the way.
Sitting at my desk in the Slattery Press offices, I stared at the piece of paper with Caleb’s number on it, my to-do list for the day completely forgotten. In my other hand sat my phone, my thumb poised.
Why the hell did I clam up and stutter like a fool every time I stepped into Beat? What was it about the place that had me quivering and afraid to open my mouth? I wasn’t like that at work. I was a different person entirely here. Maybe it had something to do with facing my inner demons or something.
I jumped when I saw Hayley hovering in my peripheral vision.
“Jules…” she began, eyeing me suspiciously.
I turned off my phone and stared at her. “What?”
Her lips curled into a wicked smile. “Okay, you held out on us the other week. Now I know someone’s got you all hot and bothered.”
“I don’t know what—”
“Did you get his number?” Dom asked, appearing out of thin air and picking up the piece of paper Caleb gave me last night.
Flailing miserably, I attempted to snatch it back. “It’s not like that,” I complained.
“Then what’s it like?”
“Give it back!” I swiped the paper from his hand and shoved it into my pocket. “I’ve got to go out for Jade in a minute, and I don’t want to leave you unattended with a poor guy’s number.”
“So it is a guy’s number!” Hayley squealed in delight. “Who is he? Where’d you meet him? What’s he look like? Spill.”
“It’s not like that,” I said again. “I’ve been going to self-defense classes, and he asked me if I wanted personal training. It’s not like that.” Even as I said the last part, I couldn’t help feeling disappointed. It would be nice if a guy paid that much attention to me and didn’t want money at the end of it. Great, now I was comparing personal training to another kind of gymnastics. Caleb wasn’t a gigolo.
Dom snorted. “Well, he’s obviously hot. I say call him.”
“I can’t call him,” I wailed.
“Then text him,” Hayley said.
“He’s the guy… I clam up and make a moron out of myself every time he’s around,” I said, staring at my phone. “It would be an hour of utter humiliation.”
“It would be an hour of him feeling you up,” Dom said with a grin. “Imagine all the correcting he’d have to do.”
“Dom,” I scolded.
“The first step in facing your fear of humiliation is to go,” Hayley said. “You might suck, or you might do better with some one-on-one.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
She was right, but I was having a much better time avoiding the situation altogether. Which was another problem. Seemed I had another fear to add to the never-ending pile I was trying to overcome.
Opening the bottom drawer of my desk, I pulled out my handbag, my gaze falling over the forgotten manuscript I’d pilfered the other week. I hadn’t even started it yet. The Fighter. Maybe it was an omen. I’d be a class A hypocrite if I gave up now.
Slamming the drawer shut, I sighed, dumped my bag into my lap, and unlocked my phone.
“Fine,” I said to no one in particular, but Hayley and Dom gave each other a high five.
“We want details,” Hayley said. “No holding out on us.”
“Yeah, we want to live vicariously through you, and don’t you forget it!” Dom chortled.
Ignoring them, I opened my text messages—which were empty as they always were—and pressed the top right corner to compose a new one.
A prickling sensation began to travel down my spine as I tapped on the screen, my fingers shaking and my palms sweating. What if he’d changed his mind?
It’s Juliette. I’m interested. When can we start?
I pressed send before I could chicken out and immediately felt like vomiting into the bin under my desk.
There. He would text me back or he wouldn’t. Either way, I was too embarrassed to go back to self-defense class tomorrow night.
Throwing my phone into my bag, I rose to my feet.
“What? You’re going?” Hayley complained. “You’ll tell us if he texts you back, right?”
“Sure,” I replied, my wits scattered. “I’ve got to go out and run some errands for Jade. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Not wanting to be put through the third degree by my well-meaning workmates anymore, I scurried across the office, through the glass doors, past reception, and jammed my finger on the call button for the elevator.
Caleb was just doing his job. It wasn’t anything more, so why was I getting all hot and juicy? There was no way he was interested in me like that. That being romantically. Sexually. An awkward, meek, frightened little bookworm like me? No way in hell.
An electronic tone signaled the arrival of the elevator, and I stepped inside, beginning to feel sick. I shouldn’t have texted him. I couldn’t handle rejection right now. I was still getting my bearings with the city and my job. I couldn’t handle a setback after such an upheaval. After the night in the bathtub…
Luckily, I was alone in here, so if I did upchuck, it wouldn’t be on anyone else but me.
My phone beeped in my bag, muffled by the layers of cheap vinyl pretending to be leather. The elevator began to descend, and I hesitated, my hands shaking. I was sure I’d forgotten what tone I’d set on the stupid thing it’d been that long since I’d heard it.
I wanted to ignore the little beep, but it came again, remindin
g me I had a message waiting to be read.
In the end, curiosity won out, and I pulled my phone out of my bag, bringing it to life.
Tonight, was his reply. Six p.m.?
Shit, shit, shit… My palms began to sweat as the elevator dinged and the doors opened on the ground floor. Stepping out of the car, I looked at the message again. What did I have to lose? Only some dignity. Yeah, only.
Don’t be such a scaredy-cat, Jules.
Deciding to dive in head first, I typed back, Okay and hit send.
I was the classic definition of an overthinker.
On the way to Beat, all I could think about was how I looked, what I would say, what Caleb would think of me, what would he teach me first, what I’d do if I embarrassed myself…then times all that by a billion, and there I was, standing out on the street, a ball of nerves ready to pop.
The roller door was closed tonight, so I pushed gingerly at the side door, testing to see if it was locked or not. It swung in easily, and the now familiar interior of Beat came into view.
The place seemed empty, though all the lights were still on. No one was waiting for a class to start, and those intimidating, tattooed fighters who usually hung around were absent. It was eerie without all the ruckus I’d become used to seeing. Even the radio was switched off.
“Hello?” I called out, my meek little voice sounding loud in the empty studio.
I was just beginning to wonder if I had the right time or not when Caleb emerged from upstairs. He saw me lingering inside the door and clattered down the stairs, striding across the mats to meet me.
“Juliette,” he said, smiling from ear to ear. “Hey.”
“Where is everyone?” I asked. “I’m not keeping you… Am I?”
“No classes on Wednesdays,” he explained, ushering me inside and locking the door behind me. “I thought it might be better to start on a night things are quieter around here.”
I began to fidget, my fingers worrying the strap on my bag, and I glanced back at the door.
He frowned at my reaction. “You don’t mind, do you?”
I shook my head awkwardly.
“Greg’s still in the kitchen, and Henrietta and Ahmed are here cleaning the change rooms, so…”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I didn’t think…”
He nodded and gestured for me to follow him through the studio. “Well then, since you’re already changed, we’ll get started.”
He led me to the spot the self-defense class usually took place and kicked off his trainers, setting them against the wall. He was barefoot, the bottoms of his shorts were sitting mid-thigh, and his chest was covered with a dark gray tank with the Beat logo on the front. His muscles rippled as he swung his arms back and forth, loosening himself up as I set my bag down and took off my runners.
I already felt intimidated just looking at him. What planet were we on? Was the doorway to Beat some kind of inter-dimensional portal to a plain of existence where a guy like that gave a crap about a damaged girl like me?
“When you came here looking for a class, what did you want to achieve?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” I muttered, searching for the answer that would placate him.
“Some people take self-defense for general safety, others to work on their confidence, and some to be able to take charge of their lives,” he explained. “You’re new in the city, right?”
I nodded. He must’ve spoken to Tommy about me because I never told him.
“The city can be intimidating,” Caleb went on, prodding me to answer.
“I, uh… A little of everything.” I stared at my feet, unable to hold his gaze any longer. “I… Something happened. Back home.” An image of my sister’s bloodied face came to mind, clear and sharp as if she were before me.
“Juliette,” he said, stepping forward.
For a moment, I thought he was going to pull me in for a hug, but he just stood there. He didn’t know me. No one recognized me. I had a different name. A different look.
“It’s just… With everything… You and this place intimidate me.” There. I’d said it. I glanced up.
He frowned, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I don’t want you to feel intimidated.”
“I know… It’s just… It’s been rough these past few years.” I felt my throat tighten, and I closed my mouth, not wanting to speak in case I fell apart. I didn’t want Caleb to see me cry. A big, tough guy like him? No way.
He nodded. “You don’t have to explain. We can work on your confidence, bit by bit. Fast, slow, whatever you need.”
I’d wondered that morning what it was about Beat that stripped me bare and turned me into a stuttering fool, but I could see it clearly now. I stepped through the roller door, and my fears, my anxiety, and my past all came rushing at me, trying to pull me under. I’d come here with the intention of facing all of that baggage, so it wasn’t any wonder I was struggling and associating those things with this place.
I was floundering with no way to surface, but Caleb…he’d reached out. All I had to do was take his hand and allow him to show me the way to the light. I had to trust he had my best interests at heart. I had to focus on getting better, not getting laid.
“Can we start from the beginning?” I asked, my voice hardly louder than a hushed whisper. “I… I couldn’t keep up with the others… And I… I want to…”
“From the beginning,” he said, his voice devoid of judgment, and I felt myself begin to soften as some of my anxiety melted away. “The most effective body parts to hit are the eyes…” He pointed out each body part as he went. “Nose, ears, neck, knees, legs, and the groin.”
I felt a flush pink my cheeks when he pointed to the last part, my mind going straight to the gutter. I was staring at his dick. Well, he pointed at it.
“When you’re confronted, you only have a few seconds to react,” he went on. “Before an attacker has gained full control, do anything you can to cause him pain. It’ll buy you enough time to get away. It isn’t about taking him down and making a citizen’s arrest. It’s about getting the hell out of there.” He didn’t have to tell me twice. “In a physical confrontation where you can’t get away immediately, it’s hurt or be hurt. Aim for the parts of the body where you can do the most damage. Kicking a guy in the nuts is the easiest.” He smirked and pretended to wince. “Hurts like hell.”
Despite myself, I began to smile.
Looking pleased with himself, Caleb went on, describing in detail some easy ways I could fight back.
“Depending on how close he is, you need to be able to make a snap decision about where to strike first,” he explained. “Whatever you do, don’t step any closer than you have to. Best not to close any distance, or it’ll give him a chance to grab you.”
I nodded, my mind and my eyes wandering, finding it difficult to listen when he looked as good as he did. Now some of my confidence was returning, I could look at him. He had this boyish cheek that was beginning to shine through, and I was enamored with it. He didn’t want to take himself so seriously, despite his chosen sport, or at least that was what I thought. I liked it.
“Here,” he said, closing his hand around my wrist, the heat of his skin warming straight through my limbs. “When striking the upper half of the body, use your hand.” He guided my palm upward, showing me how to strike his nose from beneath. “Or you can use the outer edge of your hand on the neck like this…” He flattened my hand and made a karate chop motion. “Or a fist to the throat, right in the Adam’s apple.” He curled my fingers into a fist, leaving my thumb out, and pressed my knuckles against his throat.
“Try it out,” he said, gesturing for me to attack. I hesitated, and he shook his head. “No hesitating, Juliette. Don’t worry about hurting me. Smack me one.”
He took a menacing step forward, and I panicked, throwing my weight back and striking feebly with a mediocre karate chop to his neck. Naturally, I missed and fell to the side, my shoulder smacking into his chest. Caleb’s arms w
rapped around me, signaling an epic fail on my part, and he held me tightly against him. Caught.
“Don’t throw your weight back,” he murmured, his breath fluttering against my hair. “It’s natural to shy away when you’re not used to aggression, but the whole point of practicing is to break down those walls.”
“But I suck royally,” I said with a dramatic moan.
“It’s not the ballet, Juliette,” he said, my name rolling off his tongue like honey. “It’s the difference between getting away or getting hurt. No one will give a shit what you look like.”
He let me go, and I turned back to face him, bereft at the loss of his arms across my chest. I was meant to picture him as an attacker, not a hot, muscled, pro boxer who’d given me a special private self-defense class. And who I was now picturing kissing…and doing other things. Shit.
I blew out a heavy breath and closed my eyes.
“Try again,” Caleb said. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Trying to get the vision of his sweaty body out of my mind, I pictured something a little darker. Remembering the night I passed by the crime scene on Sydney Road and the terrible night’s sleep in the bathtub clutching a kitchen knife, I trembled. It was that fear, that helplessness, that had driven me here in the first place. I was sick and tired of being a victim.
Opening my eyes, I felt a surge of anger well inside me, and I struck out at Caleb. I didn’t know what I was doing, but my fist slammed into his cheek, my knuckles colliding with bone. A smack echoed through the empty studio, and I gasped as he stumbled back a step.
“Holy fuck,” he said, slapping his hand against his cheek.
“Oh, my God!” I exclaimed, covering my mouth with my hand. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he said. He bent over at the waist, his hands resting on his knees, and began to laugh. “Man, I wasn’t expecting that.”
I smiled, not feeling so bad about hitting him in the face. I’d never hit anyone before, and man, when I pictured it the way I did…it felt good.
