Page 57 of House of Scarlett
A slow smile spreads over his face. “You agree to pads, and I’m in. I just might learn something you’ll see show up in a movie.”
“You got a death wish?”
He laughs this time, and I can’t figure this fucking guy out. “No. But I’m a hell of a lot better than you think. Let’s do it.”
I pound my gloves together. “Fine, but it’s your funeral.”
Bohannon walks to his locker and starts pulling out pads. “Just try not to fuck up my pretty face too bad. My shooting schedule is packed.”
Even though I know it’s a terrible idea, I go back to my locker, give Roux a few scratches where she lies in the corner, and grab the rest of my gear. Once I’ve got my pads strapped on, I adjust my chin strap and glance at Bohannon.
“Last chance to back out.”
He shakes out his arms and bounces on the toes of his bare feet. “Let’s do this.”
“Fucking crazy bastard.”
I lift the ropes and slip between them, then do some stretching and shadowboxing. I know I shouldn’t spar without warming up properly, but my blood’s already pumping from Rolo and the miles I walked with Roux. Besides, our skill levels are wildly different. There’s no way Bohannon will beat me, which I’m pretty fucking sure he knows too. Guess we’ll find out for sure in the next few minutes.
We meet in the middle of the ring and touch gloves.
“Clean fight. No low blows, eye pokes, or other bullshit,” Bohannon says.
“Afraid to fight dirty?”
“Against you? Fuck yes. I’m not stupid, and my manager would fucking kill me for stepping into the ring with you.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Then why the fuck do I have pads on in this ring right now?”
Bohannon grins. “Because I’m a grown fucking man, and I do what I want. Let’s go.”
He bumps my gloves again, and we bounce away from each other.
As soon as he throws the first punch, I’m transported to a different place. A different headspace. All the bullshit with Rolo and Bodhi Black falls away. It’s only me, Bohannon, and the four rope sides of the ring. A ring I’m not leaving without a submission from him, because that’s the only way I can end this session and not feel bad about fucking up a movie star. But, first, I’ll soften him up.
Bohannon catches me in the pad at my cheek, and it lights the fire in me.
God, I’ve fucking missed this feeling.
My hands move of their own accord, popping out combinations.
Jab, jab, cross.
Bohannon’s head flies back when I connect.
Jab, jab, hook.
Bohannon bobs and weaves out of the way, and I go right to the body, landing two strikes before he can throw a kick that slaps against my thigh.
After two minutes, I have a new respect for the man across from me, but I also know there’s no fucking way he can win. He telegraphs his moves, making himself predictable. This session will last until I end it. I throw a few more combinations, then a low kick.
We go on for another minute, trading punches and kicks, and my head clears.
God, this feels fucking good.
I’ve spent so much time this last year getting the club up and running, trying to keep my promise to Jorie and become the man she wanted me to be, that I’ve forgotten parts of the man Iam.
I might be able to walk in both worlds, but this is what I know. This is what I’m good at. When everything else is going to hell, I can always step into a ring or a cage and find my footing.
