tell me, but
it was hardly the first time I’d heard it.
She got up to turn
on the light, and I made a face when she pulled on a pair of spandex shorts and
a sports bra.
Even though she
saw my obvious disappointment in her newly-covered body, she gave me a wink and
assumed a more than competent boxing stance, hands up to guard her face,
rocking back and forth on light, agile feet.
“How am I doing so
far?” she asked.
“Pretty damn
good,” I answered honestly, getting up and following her lead by yanking my
boxers back on before I went over to adjust a few weaknesses in her stance.
“Hold your hands like this, though,” I said, pushing them a little farther away
from each other and making her hunch her shoulders more. “You can’t block your
vision with your fists. Remember, a real boxer is wearing gloves, so they’re
even more in the way than this. You can’t fight what you can’t see.”
She nodded,
accepting the adjustments and adjusting. “Okay, cool,” she said.
I watched her from
a couple of feet away, until she waved me over to stand in front of her.
I did as she
asked, pretending to be her sparring partner even though what I really wanted to do was drag her back to
the mattress and have my way with her.
She was gorgeous,
and the light in her eyes as she tried to adapt to a stance so new to her.
Still, the next
thing she said snapped my attention back to the task at hand. “Try and hit me.
Go slow, but don’t treat me like a child, huh?”
“What?” I asked.
“You heard me just
fine. I want to see what it feels like to have a fist coming at you when you’re
standing like this.”
I nodded. “So that
you can show me how to move my feet? You’re really going to try and fix my footwork,
aren’t you?”
She shrugged. “I
can’t watch you just stand there and take that sort of punishment again. And,
more to the point, I don’t think you’re going to win very many more fights if
all you do is try and weather the storm. I mean, what happens when the other
guy is faster than you, or has a longer reach?”
Now it was my turn
to shrug. “I do what I’ve always done, push forward, take the shots and give
‘em hell.”
Sloane shook her
head. “Stupid. Now go easy but try and hit me.”
I sighed. There
was really no point in arguing with her. I knew already that she was going to
do what she was going to do. I could rant and rave, but I wouldn’t be able to
change her course, not once she’d made up her mind.
And I loved that
about her.
So I dropped into
my stance and threw a slow motion punch. She dipped a shoulder and did
something with her feet that let her slip away. The next thing I knew I felt
her small fist against my ribs.
“Show me again,” I
said, and Sloane smiled and reset herself in the stance.
This time when I
punched, I watched her feet.
The importance of
footwork had always been drummed into me, but it wasn’t until right then,
watching Sloane’s bare feet on the polished cement of her apartment, that I
really got it.
Suddenly, the way
she moved connected with me. I watched her a few more times, and then got her
to stand behind me and teach me the steps.
“It’s just like a
dance,” she said, her hands on my hips. “The punch comes from your left, you
move like this,” as she put pressure on my waist and tapped my feet until I
moved them the way she wanted. “You move like this. And counter punch. Is that
what it’s called?”
I nodded, shaking
my head and smiling. Five minutes, and I could already tell this was working .
She laughed.
“Counter punch sometimes. Not always, but often enough that the other guy knows
he can’t leave himself open for it. That way you’ll be in his head, and you’ll
give him something to worry about.”
“Sloane,” I said,
turning around and wrapping my arms around her. “What did I ever do without
you?”
“You got drunk,
hit on an endless parade of girls, got your face punched in and punched in
other
it was hardly the first time I’d heard it.
She got up to turn
on the light, and I made a face when she pulled on a pair of spandex shorts and
a sports bra.
Even though she
saw my obvious disappointment in her newly-covered body, she gave me a wink and
assumed a more than competent boxing stance, hands up to guard her face,
rocking back and forth on light, agile feet.
“How am I doing so
far?” she asked.
“Pretty damn
good,” I answered honestly, getting up and following her lead by yanking my
boxers back on before I went over to adjust a few weaknesses in her stance.
“Hold your hands like this, though,” I said, pushing them a little farther away
from each other and making her hunch her shoulders more. “You can’t block your
vision with your fists. Remember, a real boxer is wearing gloves, so they’re
even more in the way than this. You can’t fight what you can’t see.”
She nodded,
accepting the adjustments and adjusting. “Okay, cool,” she said.
I watched her from
a couple of feet away, until she waved me over to stand in front of her.
I did as she
asked, pretending to be her sparring partner even though what I really wanted to do was drag her back to
the mattress and have my way with her.
She was gorgeous,
and the light in her eyes as she tried to adapt to a stance so new to her.
Still, the next
thing she said snapped my attention back to the task at hand. “Try and hit me.
Go slow, but don’t treat me like a child, huh?”
“What?” I asked.
“You heard me just
fine. I want to see what it feels like to have a fist coming at you when you’re
standing like this.”
I nodded. “So that
you can show me how to move my feet? You’re really going to try and fix my footwork,
aren’t you?”
She shrugged. “I
can’t watch you just stand there and take that sort of punishment again. And,
more to the point, I don’t think you’re going to win very many more fights if
all you do is try and weather the storm. I mean, what happens when the other
guy is faster than you, or has a longer reach?”
Now it was my turn
to shrug. “I do what I’ve always done, push forward, take the shots and give
‘em hell.”
Sloane shook her
head. “Stupid. Now go easy but try and hit me.”
I sighed. There
was really no point in arguing with her. I knew already that she was going to
do what she was going to do. I could rant and rave, but I wouldn’t be able to
change her course, not once she’d made up her mind.
And I loved that
about her.
So I dropped into
my stance and threw a slow motion punch. She dipped a shoulder and did
something with her feet that let her slip away. The next thing I knew I felt
her small fist against my ribs.
“Show me again,” I
said, and Sloane smiled and reset herself in the stance.
This time when I
punched, I watched her feet.
The importance of
footwork had always been drummed into me, but it wasn’t until right then,
watching Sloane’s bare feet on the polished cement of her apartment, that I
really got it.
Suddenly, the way
she moved connected with me. I watched her a few more times, and then got her
to stand behind me and teach me the steps.
“It’s just like a
dance,” she said, her hands on my hips. “The punch comes from your left, you
move like this,” as she put pressure on my waist and tapped my feet until I
moved them the way she wanted. “You move like this. And counter punch. Is that
what it’s called?”
I nodded, shaking
my head and smiling. Five minutes, and I could already tell this was working .
She laughed.
“Counter punch sometimes. Not always, but often enough that the other guy knows
he can’t leave himself open for it. That way you’ll be in his head, and you’ll
give him something to worry about.”
“Sloane,” I said,
turning around and wrapping my arms around her. “What did I ever do without
you?”
“You got drunk,
hit on an endless parade of girls, got your face punched in and punched in
other
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