Going the Distance

by Meg Maguire

  “I don’t. I’ve never hit anything before.” She eyed the bag, nerves seeming to overshadow the petulant brat act.

  “Just give it a whack. With whichever’s your dominant hand.”

  The limpest, saddest jab.

  “Come on, that was pathetic. Hit it hard. Pretend it’s my face.”

  “Oh, yeah, like my sister would ever forgive me for that.”

  Rich ignored the remark, as well as the hot jolt of satisfaction it gave him. He’d done too well today at avoiding thoughts of Lindsey to relapse now.

  “Hit it.”

  This time, she did. Not an elegant punch—absolutely no technique, but a good thump. “Not bad. Knock that stance open, right foot in front. Keep some bounce in your legs. Good. Now hit it again with a cross.”

  “A what?”

  “With your left. Keep punching till I tell you.”

  She did. Lazily at first, though after a dozen hits and a couple directives from Rich, she got into it. The strikes landed harder and louder, and that mean glint had returned to her eyes.

  “Let that back heel come up. Don’t force it—let it come up naturally. Better. Get that left fist up next to your face.” He adjusted her guard. “Keep that there or I’ll whack you in the ear.”

  “I like Mercer better,” she huffed between punches.

  “Now switch feet, and show me your right.”

  She shifted her stance and Rich circled to her other side. He flicked her unguarded ear and she swore, dutifully raising her fist.

  “Cross. Cross cross cross until I say stop.”

  Damn, this girl was good. Rich whistled across the gym. “Hey, Merce.”

  Mercer’s brows rose. He gave the departing web designer a final handshake and wandered over. Three members tailed him, intrigued by the novelty of a teenage girl doing anything in Wilinski’s aside from waiting for her boyfriend to finish his workout.

  “Check this out,” Rich said, nodding at Maya.

  She shot the new witnesses to her torture a glare, but the annoyance only seemed to sharpen her focus. This girl would move a mountain just to spite somebody. Rich’s kind of student.

  “That’s not bad,” Mercer allowed. “What kind of jab’s she got?”

  “What’s a jab?” Maya asked Rich.

  “Hit it with your front fist.”

  She tried a few, quickly finding her power, then tossed in a cross.

  “She’s got a combo!” teased one of the members.

  Rich flicked her ear and she swore again.

  “Oh, she’s clearly yours,” Mercer said. “What’d you teach her first? Crosses or cusses?”

  “She came standard with those. Switch your stance. Check out this left.”

  A couple more guys wandered over, drawn first by the oddity, but kept rapt by the undeniable fact that the girl could hit.

  Maya was red in the face, winded and possibly mortified, but no way was she quitting before he let her. Stubborn as he’d been at that age. And still was.

  “Okay, okay, break.”

  She stared Rich right in the eye and gave the bag a final, resonant whack before dropping her arms. Her eyes said what her lips didn’t. I hate you.

  “Grab some water. I wanna see if you can kick at all.”

  He watched a dozen R-rated retorts pass over her face before she stalked to the water cooler.

  Mercer laughed. “Dude, she wants to murder you.”

  Rich grinned. “Ain’t it beautiful?”

  “Girl can hit, though. If she actually enjoys this, I’d love to break Steph in on her next week.”

  Rich shook his head, smile deepening. “This one’s all mine.”

  * * *

  LINDSEY LOOKED UP from her email as Jenna entered the office, surprised to find it was pushing four. Maya had said she was working downstairs for only a couple hours, but they must have found some extra tasks to keep her occupied. Fine by Lindsey. She’d tackled a ton of paperwork with the office all to herself, and staved off distracting memories of what had happened the night before, one floor down. Mostly.

  “Hey, boss. How was your PR thing?”

  Jenna had been out since lunchtime, a meeting for a publicity opportunity. There was something weird about her face. Her mouth was twitchy, expression stiff.

  Lindsey frowned. “Are you suppressing good news or awful news?”

  “I’m not— Well, fine. I am.” Jenna dropped her charade and grinned. “It’s good news.”

  “You’re already engaged, so... Oh, crap, are you pregnant?”

  Jenna made an exasperated noise and set down her briefcase. “It’s good news for you, and for the business.”

  Lindsey sat straighter, intrigued. “Really? What?”

  “Well...”

  “Spit it out, you’re killing me.”

  “Here.” Jenna opened her case and pulled out a copy of a slick Boston arts and culture magazine. “You’ve read this before, right?”

  “I’ve seen them around.”

  “They called a couple of weeks ago. They’re doing their yearly feature on Boston’s most eligible bachelorettes. They wanted to know if I could recommend any of our clients.”

  “Oh, that is cool. Who were you thinking of? Oh! What’s-her-name! That woman who started the combination tattoo parlor and bakery. She’s hilarious.”

  “Not her. But they did love my recommendation—so much so, they want her to be the woman featured on the cover as the lead story.”

  “Wow, excellent. So who?”

  Jenna bit her lip. “You.”

  Lindsey blinked. Then frowned. “I’m not a client.”

  “No, but you’re single. And you’re awesome. And you’re a matchmaker and a former wedding planner. They loved the idea of an independent, single woman, so comfortable helping others find their happily-ever-after. Plus you’d look great on a newsstand. What do you think?”

  “I think...I think I don’t know.”

  It was at once thrilling and terrifying. Lindsey wasn’t desperate to settle down, but her breakup was recent enough that she wasn’t exactly wearing her bachelorette status as a badge of honor.

  Still, this would be great for business. And she was undeniably intrigued by the prospect of having a big deal made of her, if only for a day. How often did a nonbride get to feel that special?

  Jenna clutched the magazine. “Please say you’ll think about it,”

  “I’ll definitely think about it. It’s, um... Oh gosh, thank you for even suggesting me. It’s incredibly flattering. But give me a day or two to hunt down the last issue and see if they made the women look empowered or completely tragic.” She recalled a certain episode of Sex and the City, not eager to suffer Carrie Bradshaw’s humiliating fate in a similarly spin-able situation.

  “You’d be perfect. Like Spark’s high-profile ambassador. And you do so freaking much around here, you deserve some spotlight.”

  Lindsey pictured all the photo shoots she’d witnessed for engagement announcements, all those fancy lamps and lenses, makeup and hair people fussing over the bride. She could enjoy that, and without the fiancé, even. Tempting.

  “So this is business-relevant, right?”

  Jenna nodded.

  “So if tomorrow my morning is as quiet as the calendar makes out, could I spend it looking into this...proposal?”

  “You may. In fact, if any unexpected client issues pop up before lunch, I’ll tackle them for you.”

  “Okay. Sold.”

  Jenna did an undignified little celebration dance, spinning around on her chair.

  “Calm down. I didn’t say yes.”

  “Last year they did Boston’s most eligible bachelors, so check two autumns back.”

  “I will.�
��

  Maya appeared in the doorway, and it took one glance at her posture and her beet-red complexion to know that something was amiss. Lindsey’s mood went black.

  “You okay? You’re all flushed.”

  “Tell your stupid boyfriend I quit.”

  Jenna looked to Lindsey so fast her ponytail should’ve cracked like a whip. “Wait. Whose boyfriend?”

  “Either,” Maya snapped. “Her boyfriend, yours—tell any of those guys I so quit. I’m never going down there again.”

  Lindsey ignored whatever puzzled look Jenna was surely shooting her on the topic of an undisclosed boyfriend.

  This was no simple tantrum. Protective older-sister mode kicked in, and Lindsey wheeled her chair over, dead serious. “Sit down. Did something happen? With one of the guys from the gym?”

  Maya chewed on her answer, tears glistening in her lower lashes.

  Lindsey touched her arm. “Tell me.” Tell me, and may God have mercy on whatever man said or did something to make you cry.

  She huffed out a breath, rolling her eyes. “He made me punch the stupid bag.”

  “Who did?”

  “Rich.”

  Lindsey frowned, suddenly more confused than angry. “Okay... Why are you crying?”

  “Because he was a jerk about it. And everyone was watching and he made me feel like an idiot.”

  Rich was grating sometimes, but Lindsey never would have described him as cruel. “I’ll talk to him.” She shot Jenna a questioning look and got a nod of approval. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  She stomped down the steps, her protective side melding with a zillion unresolved, uncomfortable emotions regarding her and Rich’s noncourtship. He was chatting with Mercer by the bags.

  “Hey.” She marched over, resisting an urge to give him a sharp shove. “Why’s my sister crying?”

  His smile dissolved. “Crying?”

  Mercer looked deeply uncomfortable and excused himself.

  “You made her hit stuff while everybody watched?”

  “I—”

  “That girl doesn’t have an athletic bone in her body, and you go and haze her about it in a gym full of guys who must seem like middle-aged men to a seventeen—”

  “Whoa, whoa.” Rich put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off, taking a step back. He steadied himself on his crutch. “I didn’t haze anybody. And everyone was watching because she’s frigging good.”

  Lindsey frowned. “What?”

  “She’s good. She can hit. Listen—I was just having a little fun with her. I wasn’t making fun of her, I swear.”

  “She’s a teenage girl. You can’t just make her do that while a bunch of older men watch. Do you have any clue how uncomfortable that would make her?”

  His brows rose. “No. I guess I don’t. The teenage girls where I grew up were as tough as the guys.”

  “Well, Maya’s not one of them. And you freaked her out.”

  “Where is she?”

  “In the office.”

  “Lemme apologize to her.”

  Lindsey crossed her arms. “I think you’ve done enough damage.”

  “C’mon. I got a sister, too. Don’t take her home before I can say I’m sorry.”

  She considered it. “You can follow me up, but if she doesn’t want to hear anything from you, you leave her alone.”

  “Deal.”

  They made their way up the steps, Lindsey not slowing for Rich’s benefit.

  “She really is good,” he huffed between hops. “I’d train her if she’d let me.”

  Maya Tuttle, a kickboxer? Lindsey wanted to laugh at the very idea, but part of her was intrigued. Maya had never shown a protracted interest in any particular activity or subject, or been stand-out talented enough to be praised as special by any authority figures. Surely that was part of the reason she was ambivalent about going back to school.

  “Stay here,” she said when they reached the foyer. She entered the office, finding Maya on her laptop, checking Facebook. Jenna was in the private meeting room on a call, judging by the muffled, halting conversation.

  “Rich would like to apologize to you,” she told Maya.

  “I’m not going back down there. Ever.”

  “He’s come up. Would you like to hear him grovel, or shall I send him away?”

  Curiosity passed over Maya’s face, something that told Lindsey she liked the revenge inherent in this offer. She’d always been keen to guilt an apology out of her parents and siblings. “Yeah, I guess.”

  Lindsey went back to the hall, feeling like a principal. “Okay,” she told Rich, “you get five minutes.”

  He followed her back inside. Lindsey loitered by the door as he took a seat on the edge of her desk.

  “Hey,” he said, laying his crutches on his thighs.

  “Hey,” Maya muttered.

  “I’m sorry if I upset you. I thought you were just mad at me for bossing you around. Since I’m kinda your boss.”

  Her lips quivered, undermining her tough-girl act. “You guys were making fun of me. Because I suck.”

  He laughed, shaking his head. “You don’t suck.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “I’ve been boxing forever. I’ve seen plenty of guys come through those doors who’ve been punching stuff since they were toddlers, expecting to be told they’re the next Frazier or Silva or Victor Ortiz.”

  “I don’t know who any of those people are.”

  He smiled. “No, I bet you don’t. But hardly any of those kids who show up, thinking they’re something special, turn out to be much good.”

  “How can you tell I’m any good, just from that little bit of punching?”

  He shrugged. “Trust me, your technique’s busted. But for somebody who’s never hit anything before, you’ve got some power. Plus that death glare you were giving me...”

  Lindsey smiled. She knew that glare. Her sister could hold a grudge like no one else.

  “I’ve seen a thousand guys come and go down there, but you got something nine hundred and ninety of them never will. My old mentor used to call that ‘the magic.’”

  Maya looked embarrassed, but from flattery now, not humiliation. “I probably just got lucky.”

  Rich eyed her shrewdly. “Gimme five one-hour sessions with you, after your next set of shifts, and I promise I’ll get Mercer to give you a raise.”

  She straightened. “How much of a raise? Double?”

  “I’m not a magician, kid.”

  “I want twelve bucks an hour. At least. And I want to get paid for the time I spend getting taught.”

  Rich blew out a long breath. “You’re killing me here.”

  “And I’m not buying any equipment.”

  “Fine. I’ll train you on the clock. Twelve bucks an hour. Retroactive after I get my five sessions. And I’ll pony up for your gear.” He put out a hand.

  “Twelve at least,” she reminded him, but shook nonetheless.

  “Come downstairs a sec. I’ll give you some DVDs to watch for homework.”

  Maya made a big dramatic show of reluctance, but followed him out the door.

  Once they’d disappeared, Lindsey laughed aloud.

  9

  THE WEEK PASSED quickly. Lindsey agreed to do the bachelorette article, and was secretly getting more and more excited about it. She’d found the previous issue on the same theme, the profiles all flattering.

  Maya had completed three of her so-called private lessons with Rich, and though she staggered up the gym’s steps complaining of blisters and sore muscles, the second they got home she was cuing up the latest DVD she’d been lent. Lindsey only hoped her sister wouldn’t fall so madly in love with fighting that it would steel her refu
sal to go back to school. She might need to research MMA gyms around Springfield and break it to her parents that their erstwhile couch-potato daughter might possibly be bribed into academic compliance with a membership. She could guess their reaction.

  “We let your little sister stay with you, and within a week she’s into cage fighting?”

  Lindsey had her argument ready. “Beats boys or booze.”

  Saturday and Sunday were gobbled up by unpacking and decorating, and Diana lent Lindsey her car so she could shop for the essentials lost in her quasi-divorce from Brett. Maya was kept busy as well, only at Wilinski’s. There was a two-day seminar for newbie fighters, and Rich and Mercer had invited her to participate, provided she help with the setup.

  Rich might be showing an exceptional interest in her sister, but it was clear any interest he’d had in Lindsey was gone. Snuffed dead in the wake of their messing around. Lucky him, to have burned his infatuation clean away that night in the gym. It still simmered hot inside Lindsey. She wished she could go cool and casual as easily as he had.

  Late on Sunday afternoon she changed out of her housecleaning clothes and into a skirt and tank. She could smell the feast awaiting her—the savory scent of Rich’s mom’s cooking had wended its way up two floors to make her mouth water. Maya got home as Lindsey was curling her hair.

  “Hey. How was it?”

  Maya leaned in the bathroom doorway and shrugged. “It was pretty cool.” Never one to openly enthuse, this translated roughly to It was freaking awesome!

  “Were you the only girl?”

  “Yup,” she said, the word all haughty with pride.

  “What’d you learn?”

  “Lots of stuff. Tons of kicking. I hit this one kid so hard, he fell over backward.”

  Lindsey shot her a look, alarmed.

  “Don’t spaz—he was holding a big pad thing. But Rich clapped for me and everything. Or maybe he was fake-clapping for the kid, for falling over. Either way.”

  Lindsey smiled, secretly wishing Rich would quit doing things to make her like him so damn much. If he could just go back to being an arrogant caricature, she could go back to believing her attraction was purely physical. Maybe once his foot healed, the strutting rooster would return and remind her why this crush was not a thing to be taken seriously.