by L. G. Kelso
He stared at my feet, or maybe the mat.
"Those aren't MMA scars. The ones on your back. Max, I'm not scared of you. I wasn't protecting Nicole. I just wanted the bitch to stop hitting you. I knew you would stand there and let her do it."
Finally, he looked up. "Really?"
"Yeah, really. I understand now why my reaction bothered you, but I just wanted her away from you before I punched her in the face."
The tight line of his lips relaxed, the corners of his mouth turning up a fraction. "I think that's the first time that I've been saved by a girl. Well, since I was like two feet tall anyway."
"If you're friends with me, you might as well get used to it."
"It doesn't usually come out this way," he said. "It's not something that bothers me anymore. But the thought of you being scared of me, well, that upsets me. I don't want you to be afraid."
"This?" I said, first grabbing his wrist and then running my fingers over the date on his forearm. "Is this when you decided to move forward?"
He nodded. The year tattooed dated six years ago.
"That time near the cage," he said. "It was the first time I felt scared that you were scared. The way you looked at me…" He cleared his throat. "I never want anyone to look at me like my mother used to look at my father."
I didn't know how far I could go in this conversation. He was being open, and I didn't know that I could give him the same honesty. I wanted to, but the words died off in the lump in my throat before I could speak them. Still, I knew I couldn't brush it off, either. Max had faith in me, and he needed to know I had it in him.
"I was scared," I said, licking my lips. I took in a breath that trembled in my chest. "But, not because of you. It was my own issue. It was never meant for you. Can I ask why one scar is covered and the other isn't?"
Finally, he rolled his shoulders and some of the tension eased. Starting from his face, the pinched skin between his brows eased, to his torso, to his hands, which relaxed out of tight fists.
"I saved up for the tattoo. At sixteen, I found a place to do it. I wanted it covered. I thought I'd be able to forget about it if no one could see it. My mom couldn't even look at my back. She'd always start crying. So, I had the guy do whatever design he wanted that would cover the scar."
He rubbed the back of his neck, his gloves brushing the edge of his hair. He moved again, shifting his weight. Each movement eased the anger that had formed a pit in my stomach. Anger over seeing him hurt.
He smiled.
"I had enough money to do the other side at eighteen. I had had my first fight, that one I told you about. I was angry. I lost. I don't know what happened, but the minute I got in the ring and that guy started swinging at me, I lost it. Afterward, I realized that me losing it hadn't helped anything. It set me back, since I broke my hand.
"I had done something to myself that my father had done years before. I lashed out. I had hurt myself because I couldn't move forward. I'm not saying I forgave him. I don't know that I ever have. But I found martial arts. It helped me let go of the anger. It gave me a direction and a purpose, and I felt like I could actually do something with my life."
He looked down, and I realized I still had a hold of his arm. My thumb grazed the numbers.
"And I realized that all the positive things I had in my life were because of who I was, and I wouldn't be me if I didn't go through those things. I like who I am. I fought to become who I am. So, I left that scar alone and had this tattoo on my arm done. After all, we live by the scars we choose."
My hand trailed down his arm, and his pulse jumped under the warm skin on his wrist. His wrist slipped out from under my fingers, and his hand clamped around mine.
When had he moved closer? I looked up. His face was only inches away.
"And the scar on your eyebrow?" I asked. I reached up, and ran my fingertip over the jagged skin partially hidden in his eyebrow.
"A fight."
"The one by your ear?" I touched that one, too. He leaned into my hand.
"A fight." His voice grew quieter.
"The one on your chest?" Even though he had a shirt on, I knew he had a scar there. I pressed my hand against his chest. His heart rate sped up, and feeling it under my flat palm relaxed me.
"Trying to jump a fence when I was little."
"Before your ninja skills?" I said.
"Before my ninja skills."
"The one on your thigh?"
"My father. The same beer bottle that cut my back."
His gaze felt heavy. I titled my head back, and our eyes locked. His pupils constricted; his chest raised quicker and quicker. My hand fisted his shirt. I wanted so badly to reach out and kiss him.
"And you? This one?" His hand brushed against my hair; his fingers trailed the scar at my temple.
My skin tingled under his touch, and warm arrows shot down my cheek, down my throat. When had it gotten so hot in here?
His question registered in my muddled brain. Between that and wanting to kiss him, I did the only thing I could think of. I threw a jab jab, putting distance between us, followed by a cross.
He slipped the cross, and this time sent one of his own back. I slipped it, went in for a hook, but he moved. Still in close. As I grabbed his neck and yanked him forward, I sent out a right Thai knee, angling my hips open, landing my knee rib level. He grabbed my thigh, and wrapped his arm underneath it.
I tightened my arms, and prepared for punches or to be dropped to the mat. Instead, he yanked me forward, and my stomach, bare from where my tank top had rolled up, hit his. I dropped my arms, surprised. He stared at me; we were so close now. He no longer held my thigh. His arm wrapped around my back, his palm against the area above my butt, and I pressed my body tighter against him.
I felt the movement before he hooked his foot around my ankle and yanked. I was already off balance, but I didn't even try to stay up. I fell, him on top of me, one arm around my back and the other hand cradling my head.
At first, the movement confused me. He knocked me down all the time and never seemed overly concerned about my head.
With my back on the mat, his fingers touched my hair and trailed down my cheek, my jaw, my neck. Hot skin pressed against my abs. Leather and sweat mixed with Max engulfed me.
With one hand resting on my neck, he kissed me.
His tongue traced mine. His arms, next to me, flexed, the muscles tightening against my skin. He pulled back, taking my face in his hands.
"If I ever do anything to scare you, you'll tell me, right?" The husky edge in his voice made me stomach clench, made my skin yearn to be touched by him, and made the heat swell under my ribs.
I nodded.
"And you're really not afraid of me?"
I shook my head. "Max, it may not mean anything to you, but I'm sparring with you. All alone. I promise, I'm not scared of you."
He slid down my body, and his lips trailed my neck. My fingers tightened in his hair as I hooked my legs around his hips and rolled us over.
I didn't care anymore about getting sucked in too deep. I didn't want to keep a foot in the regular world if it meant not having Max, and not getting to be me.
For the first time ever, I felt like I wasn't alone, like I wasn't the only one who could protect me, like I didn't have to share that weight only on my shoulders. Max took a bit of it with each tight hold, each kiss, each stroke of his fingers as he traced the outlines of my muscles, as he ran his hand down my abs and then down my back.
With my fight approaching and Max kissing me, this was exactly what I wanted, and exactly where I needed to be.
Chapter Twenty
The phone call came at 2 a.m.
A man's rhyming voice drifted into my dream, and I forced myself to wake up. Why was my alarm going off in the middle of the night? I reached out and grabbed my phone from the bedside table.
Jeff's number lit up against the screen. Not an alarm. I answered it.
"Tor, you there?"
"Mmm."
/>
"I've got some bad news, kiddo."
"Hmm?"
Words were not my friend yet.
"My cousin is getting discharged from the hospital with a terminal diagnosis. They're expecting him to pass anytime, but it could be a few weeks. He wants to die at home, but no family can stay with him. I've got to go."
"Okay."
Finally, a word.
"I woke you up, didn't I? You're not getting it. I'm sorry, Tor, but I don't know how long I'm going to be gone. Possibly a few weeks. Probably until after the fights."
Oh.
"I would ask you to come with me and we could train there, but I know you have school. I'll offer the same to Max, but I know he'll need to stay as well. I'm going to have a friend of mine come and keep up the gym."
"I can do that," I said. Talking at this time just felt wrong.
"I know but I want you focused on this fight. My friend's a good coach. He's got some good fighters, though I honestly don't know who he is training nowadays. His top fighter retired a year or so ago. He owes me one. So, he'll take my place for the next few weeks. He can help you come up with a game plan for Tiffs. But, I do think the longer you can her up, the better scoring you'll get."
"Jeff—"
"I know. But I used to work with him. Twenty or so years ago, but he knows his stuff. You'll do great, kid."
"Thanks. I'm sorry."
"Me too, me too. I'll be in touch."
The phone clicked as Jeff hung up.
The rest of the night dragged by as I tried to chalk up the anxiety to the fight in general, and not the news I had received.
#
Max's shin hit my arm. Thank goodness my arms were up and ready to block, otherwise I would have a leg in the collarbone.
The arc of Max's leg was phenomenal, but I didn't have time to think about that.
That, and my Thai kicks were pretty damn awesome if I said so myself.
I rushed him, closing the space between us. Hook, uppercut. His skin next to mine. Block. Slip. Switch. Time to create space. I shoved, pushing him with my shoulder. Perfect pocket spotted on his torso. Left hook, liver shot.
But as I made contact, so did he, with the exact same move.
A little more space. Jab. And another, but this time I grabbed around his neck, pulled him forward, and brought my front knee into his stomach, purposely avoiding any of the more serious spots.
He moved his gloves enough so that I could see his eyebrows raise. "What target were you going for?"
"I didn't want to really hurt you."
He frowned.
"Fine." I moved in quick, same exact combo, but this time, I kneed him in the face. Or, well, I would have if he hadn't blocked. He rolled under my hook, and ended up next to me. With my arm raised, pushing against his, I couldn't see him. My shoulders curled in, allowing my elbow to block the shovel hook he sent my way.
I felt a little off as I moved. The anxiety had stayed with me through the night, implanting itself in the middle of my lungs. Unable to immerse myself into the moment completely, the batch of nerves continued to grow.
"What's going on, Tor?" Max asked.
"Nothing," I replied.
His warm skin fell away from mine as he took a step away from me. He looked over his fist, and his eyebrow quirked.
It was true, in some ways. I couldn't pinpoint what caused the pit deep in my stomach. It was probably the new coach. When I had been younger, not many coaches were as willing to work with women as Jeff had been. That was probably it. Just nerves over working with someone new.
We continued awhile longer. I cleared his knee, to the outside, and found my stance as usual. I did something stupid, and looked beyond the triangle of his chin and at all of him. Shiny skin under the lights, damp hair. Chest expanding and recoiling faster than usual, even for our sparring. We had only done one round.
I wiped at my stomach and the smooth skin around my sports bra. The AC was having issues, and my sports bra and fighting shorts were a reasonable solution. Even so, it was still hot. Hair plastered against my face, and I swiped at it with the back of my glove. Sweat had steamed the windows, and the more we worked, the more heat we created.
Max's hands had lowered so I could see his face. My chest seemed to match his speed. Too fast. A cloudy film covered his dark eyes. His stare left almost tangible marks on my skin. First my face, then my arms, my stomach, my legs.
We hadn't talked about what happened last night.
That only made my nerves sizzle more.
I took the opportunity to rush him.
And I caught Max, the Lobo, off guard. I landed more punches on him than I cared to count before he managed to slip and block me. Our bodies pressed against each other again, my left arm blocking my face and pressed against the warm skin of his arm. He moved to the side, stance wide, but in the midst of his slipping my hook, his chest somehow touched my bare stomach.
I gasped.
He startled.
We stood there, looking at each other, our stances matched and so close that the inside of my left hip touched the inside of his.
"We should probably talk," I said. "But we also can't lose focus. We have to train."
"I know. How about a short talk? And then back to business?"
He dropped his front knee to the ground between my legs. His ear pressed against the inside of my hip bone, and his hands settled behind my knees.
His fingers against my leg made my mind go blank. He was going to take me down, and I was going to let him.
We tumbled down, but before we reached the mat, he spun so that his back pounded onto it, absorbing the impact. I fell on top of him.
"I have no idea how you did that."
My arms braced me above him, but my hair fell across his face and my chest.
Oh, God. My chest pressed against his pecs; his warm skin sent hot flares through my stomach.
An all too familiar urge surfaced. I felt a yearning to grab him, to touch him, to appreciate every line of his body that he worked so hard for and that was a beautiful indicator of his determination.
He raised his arm, grabbed the wrist Velcro of his glove, and ripped it open with his teeth. He shook it off, and then yanked off the other one. Lifting his hand, he brushed a blond tendril away from my face.
His hand traced from that spot to the nape of my neck. A gentle tug. His core flexed beneath me, his muscle contracting as his body lifted. "We should get off the mats," he said.
I nodded, so much that I probably would have given myself whiplash if he hadn't stopped me. Mats were for a very different focus than this.
He walked and once his feet were at the edge of the mat, and he did this funky attempt at a bow, with me still on him, he took one more large step backward and then pressed his lips against mine. My legs tightened around him, and my stomach and chest arched against his warm skin. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I tried to pull him closer, but my bulky gloves made it difficult.
His lips pressed harder. I traced them with my tongue until both our mouths opened and his tongue slipped into mine.
He pulled back, unwrapping my legs from around him.
Was I that bad of a kisser?
But his hands took my gloves. With a sort of gentle urgency, he removed my gloves, one after the other. They dropped to the ground, and my hands found his back. My fingers pressed into his shoulder blades as his arms wrapped around my waist.
"You're amazing," he said, partially into my mouth. He pulled away enough to look at me, and his wrapped hands settled on my hips.
His fingers traced the dimples in my back as I grabbed his neck and kissed him like I had wanted to for so long.
The hot coal, settled under my ribs flared again, overwhelming the butterflies Max's touch created.
"Well, you two sure put on a show."
Max spun around before I could register the fact that someone had spoken. He stayed in front of me, his back tight.
I took a small step to the sid
e and leaned around his wide shoulder.
A man I didn't recognize stood in the opening of the gym.
"I see why Jeff needed someone to keep an eye on things and coach while he's gone. Looks like otherwise he'd just end up with a lot of sex stains everywhere."
"Excuse me?" I moved around Max, and stalked over to the man.
"I'm sure you heard me just fine. Anyway, I'm here to coach in Jeff's absence. You must be Tori. Jeff's niece." Eyes that sat a little too close together moved from watching me to studying Max. "And you must be Max."
Max nodded.
"Well then, Max. I'm Nick. Why don't we get to work? We've got, what? Four weeks until the bout? I've got one of my fighters coming to keep training with me since he's also preparing for the fight, otherwise I'm all yours and…Shane's? I think that's what Jeff said."
"And Tori," Max said. The gruff tone had been replaced by something cold and deep.
Nick barely spared me a look as he said, "Oh, I don't usually work guys and girls together. Are there other girls you work with?"
Max took a step forward as I took a step back. Why I moved away, I wasn't sure, but I had a feeling it was my body keeping me from punching this guy in the throat. Max, though, looked like he was considering the same.
"You don't what?" he asked, his voice low.
"I prefer girls work with girls, and guys work with guys."
"There are no other girls here," Max said.
"I guess we'll have to make it work." Nick sighed. He walked away, his hands shoved in his pockets as he looked around the gym, nodding here and there.
"You know who that is?" I asked.
He watched Nick with his arms crossed over his chest and his stance wide. The slight breeze of his accent had resurfaced.
"Yes. Nick Croza. He's coached a few of the top fighters. He's one of the top ten coaches in jits or something like that. People used to go all over to his gym. Then he sold it and travels around to other gyms. I guess he still has a few followers who follow him," Max answered.
"Why do you think he did that?"
"He got tired of running a gym? I don't know. His background is grappling, judo, jits. He used to be one of the top judo competitors. I used to look up to him." His frowned deepened. "And he's a total ass."
