14. Benji
Benji
There is so much more to this girl than I thought.
Fuck, it terrifies me how intrigued I am.
It’s the reason I’m standing here, donned in boxing gloves and headgear, ready to get my ass handed to me.
I can hear Coach Henderson screaming in my ear to stop being an idiot, but I’m not exactly known for my stellar choices. Why start now?
I had to call her bluff, knowing anything intimate would only have happened on her terms, and at her pace.
The extra taunting had been a gamble, but it paid off.
The fire in her eyes as she braids her hair and sizes me up is unlike anything I’ve seen before.
I can see why she considers this place home.
She’s completely at ease here, not hunching down to make herself smaller or casting nervous glances around.
She’s showing me more of her confident, bold side, a side that I’ve only seen rare glimpses of here and there.
And if I’m being perfectly honest…the question about her date had been burning on the tip of my tongue since I woke up.
I would have found any way to incorporate it into our conversation today.
Jordie has been painfully silent about the date, and Grant has been watching me carefully since my admission about Lisa, as though any comment on the matter will set me off again.
I miscalculated when I taunted her, though.
The thought of kissing her – and more – is burning me up inside, so I’m happy for the distraction of the ring.
I’ll follow her lead and see if I can pull any more of her real self out in the meantime.
If I can leave with even one more truth, I’ll be happy, and this seems like the place to get it.
She puts on some music and slips into the ring, motioning for me to follow. The music floods the ring and the strong, rhythmic beat echoes off the brick walls.
I raise a brow at her. “I didn’t take you for a fan of rap,” I comment, but she ignores me. Instead, she begins bouncing, her increasing energy palpable. Oh, yeah. She’s in her zone now, and it’s attractive as hell.
I duck into the ring, and she immediately approaches me. Whatever distance she’d been keeping before has completely cleared now that we’re on her turf. The corner of my mouth curls up as she taps my hip, taking it upon herself to touch me.
“Take a step back with your dominant leg,” she instructs, and raises a brow as I step back with my left, instead of the right hip she’d poked. “A southpaw, huh?”
I grin. “If you watched my games more closely, you would know that.”
She simply rolls her eyes in response, and I find myself enjoying the casual dismissal.
It’s such a drastic change from the people who know all of my stats, keeping a closer eye on my future plans than even I do.
It’s my career, and where most of my best friends have come from, but it’s not everything I am.
It’s refreshing to be with someone who can talk about other things – like coaching me in a new sport.
And on that front, she’s an absolute drill sergeant.
“Raise your back toe and start bouncing,” she barks, showing me as she twists her back foot and begins springing off it. Her braids fly in time with her bouncing, swinging across her shoulder blades. “Always keep your legs wide. You don’t want them too close together, or you’ll get off balance.”
I snort, but comply, and she pulls up her fists, instructing me to keep them close to my chin.
She then shows me how to step forward and backward, keeping my legs shoulder-width apart.
When I make a mistake, she scolds me, I can’t help the reply that slips out.
“Always keep my legs spread. Got it, got it.”
It catches her off guard, and a smile twitches at her lips for the briefest moment. I don’t miss the flush that blooms across her cheeks, but then she shakes her head and continues.
“The jab – full extension, then retract it back close to your chin. This is important; it’s how you know how far your opponent is from you.
And now the cross. Shift your hips, twist and extend.
Remember, your power comes from that dominant leg.
Cross and rotate your fist – there you go!
” Her praise is exuberant, and I’m struck by the warmth of it.
Before I know it, I’m trying that much harder, working to get her approval once more.
She shows me the uppercut and the hook next, repeating, “Load – release.” She glances at me. “Do you see that? My hips are driving up, and my feet are twisting.”
‘It’s so technical,” I comment.
She responds with a snort. “You’re telling me hockey isn’t? I’m sure there’s a wrong way to skate, a wrong way to shoot, that loses power or momentum.”
I mirror her movements for a few strikes, considering. “You’re right. I suppose that’s the case in every sport. You need the form down first, then you can build on the foundation.”
She takes a swipe at me and grins as I step back and curse, realizing I’ve already lost the footwork. “Exactly. It needs to become muscle memory. Okay, now let’s try it all together. Jab – back hook – front hook – back hook – jab – back upper – front upper.”
I lose myself to the movements, trying to balance having the proper form with the way my eyes are devouring her in her element.
She’s small but toned, impressive muscle showing with each move, lightning quick.
She’s exuding confidence, and above all, joy as she works through the series of punches.
Her cheeks are flushed again, now with the effort of coaching and going through the movements herself, but it almost seems like it energizes her more than slowing her down.
Her blue eyes shine as she steps closer into my space, and then she breaks out into a broad grin as I bounce back, keeping my fists tucked to my face. “There it is!” she exclaims proudly.
I want to claim it’s the workout that has me breathless, but it’s her grin that stuns me. It’s broad, unburdened, genuine.
I’d come here every day and work out with her if it meant I could see that smile, especially when it’s directed at me and something I’ve done to earn it.
Fuck.
The realization stuns me, and I drop my hands for a brief moment.
The whack against my left cheek is instant, loud and powerful against the synthetic leather of the headgear. I go stumbling to my right and trip over my own feet, landing with a thud on the ring floor.
I take a moment to gather my bearings, and from the other size of the ring, the muffled sound of a laugh reaches me.
I shrug the headgear off before turning to narrow my eyes at Lisa.
She takes a few steps forward and crouches down, unable to hide her grin as she assesses me.
She’s trying to contain her laughter now, but her body still shakes with the force of trying to fight it.
As soon as we lock eyes, her composure shatters.
She laughs openly, the sound growing louder until she lets out a ridiculous snort.
Her eyes widen as she realizes the sound she just made, and it sends me over the edge.
I throw my head back as my own laugh bubbles up my chest. Our combined laughter ricochets off the walls of the gym, and I feel tears prick my eyes.
I’ve just had my ass absolutely handed to me by a pint-sized fighter with big blue eyes and more secrets than I can even begin to unpack.
And it’s fucking hilarious.
Finally, when my ribs begin to ache from the laughter, I take a deep breath and roll over, getting to my feet. I begin to strip the sparring equipment off, and my gaze travels back to her.
She’s gone quiet, but while her gaze is still on me, her expression is distant. Again, I wonder what’s going on behind those eyes – things she hasn’t uttered aloud; memories she’s bottled up into nightmares. Does she have anyone she shares her secrets with? I hate the thought of her being lonely.
“Well, you were right. You could punch me harder,” I say, flashing her my most charming grin.
The edge of her mouth ticks up, but it doesn’t reach her eyes like it did mere minutes earlier.
“I’m going to need to start calling you little fighter.
And I think we might need to incorporate some of this into our dry land training.
It’s a better workout than half the stuff we do. ”
Again, that twitch at the corner of her mouth. “It would be fun to have a real opponent to spar with besides Andi. Though I think you’d still end up on the floor more often than not.”
“Careful,” I quip, “I might just like that.” Then, before she can retreat further into herself, I jerk my head towards the front door. “Ready to head home?”
The ride home is fairly quiet, filled only by the soft stream of music.
Lisa seems to be in her own thoughts, and I give her the space she needs to sort through whatever it is.
Though she doesn’t say as much, she seems grateful for it, content to tip her head back and rest her feet on the dash as she bobs along to my music.
When we arrive home, I offer to take her all the way to her door, and she simply nods, giving me a small win that I wasn’t expecting.
As we go up the elevator, she lets out a sigh.
I slide my eyes over to her. “Everything okay?” I finally ask.
She tilts her head as she looks up at me. Finally, she shifts her feet and casts her gaze down. “I just can’t figure you out.”
I let out a soft chuckle. “Well, if that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black.”
“No. Seriously.” The elevator halts and pings, the doors springing open. She exits, but turns back to face me, walking backwards down the hall. “You make all these… comments, and yet you don’t make a single move to actually do anything.”
“Comments?” I repeat, staring down at her curiously. Where is she going with this?
She comes to a stop, presumably at her door, and makes a helpless gesture. “You know. All these comments about…spreading legs, being on the floor, all that stuff. But even when you were suggesting we sleep together, you’ve never actually done anything about it.”
My brows knit together. Is this what she was thinking about the whole drive home?
“Like I said earlier, you seem like the type who needs to make the first move. And you’ve made it very clear in the past that if I wanted to do anything, that was strictly between me and my hand.
” I play it off with a small smile, though I can’t help but add, “Do you want me to do something about it?”
She lowers her gaze to the floor and bites down on her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth. Christ. My eyes narrow in on the movement, all the blood rushing to a singular point between my legs. Finally, she lifts her eyes to meet mine again. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Well.” I step forward and put a hand on the door, watching her carefully. She doesn’t step back or shrink down, but I catch the glance she gives my arm resting above her, eyes widening.
It’s not quite the same reaction as she gave Jordie, but still…I purse my lips, considering. Finally, I add quietly, “I won’t touch you unless you ask me to.”
Her eyes dart back to mine, surprise etched in her every feature. Her lips part and her stare drops to my mouth, hovering there. She raises a hand to my face. It’s cold and tentative, but the second she touches me, her lips come back together in a firm, decisive line, and she gives a slight nod.
I slowly move my arm from the door and place my palm over hers.
Her eyes are back on mine, and I don’t let go of her gaze as her other hand reaches for my shoulder.
The touch is featherlight, as if she’s just as surprised that she’s doing it as I am, but then she steps into my space and I take the invitation, wrapping my other hand around her waist. I wait for her to jolt back or wince away, but she doesn’t.
The second my hand hits her waist, she bends into me, and my breath catches at the small but significant reaction.
I gently pull her closer so that we’re flush against one another.
Her hand drops from my cheek to my chest, leaving me to use my newly freed hand to brush the hair away from her face.
It’s just as soft as I imagined. I shift to graze my thumb across her cheek and watch as her eyes flutter.
She tilts her head ever so slightly into my palm.
It feels like I’ve won a small, precious treasure, seeing how receptive she is to my touch.
It makes me curious about running my hands everywhere else, to see how she’ll move for me, but right now, I just want to kiss her.
I want to feel how softly her mouth moves against mine and suck on the spot on her lip she bit just moments before.
I want to breathe her name into her ear to praise her, like she praised me earlier.
It’s then I realize one very important thing.
“I can’t kiss you without knowing your real name,” I murmur.
She goes rigid in my arms, and I realize we’ve come up to a hard line she’s drawn in the sand between us.
I scramble to stop her from shutting down completely, eager to bring back that warm, receptive side of her.
I rub my thumb across her back and nuzzle my face against her ear, closing my eyes. “Tell me your name.”
I’m borderline begging and if I’m being honest, I’m not above doing so.
We’re still so intertwined that I hear the shaky breath she exhales and feel the soft shiver that follows. She pulls back, and just like that, the moment is shattered.
When our gazes collide again, her eyes are watery, shining against the light of the hallway. I open my mouth to question it, to take it all back, to ask what I can do to help – but before I can do any of that, she has her door open.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. The two words sound like a gavel pounding down, echoing with the finality of them. “I can’t.”
Just like that, she closes the door in my face. I can’t help but feel like I’ve been closed off from so much more.