Chapter 4
Tori
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, bouncing off the mirrors lining the walls and creating a dizzying hall of reflections. I’d taken up MMA years ago — not for fun, but to keep my temper in check.
Situated in a low-slung corrugated warehouse, crouched at the edge of a tree line and half swallowed by the shadows of the surrounding mountains, this place had quickly become a second home.
Rust was creeping along the edges of the building, but it was still one of the top-ranked facilities in the state.
As soon as you stepped inside, you were greeted by the sound of chains rattling where the heavy bags hung and of gloves thudding into pads, the percussive impacts echoing off the metal walls.
I wasn't looking forward to the afternoon ahead, but I didn't have much of a choice.
I didn't own Black Bear MMA and I wasn’t the boss. Merely lucky enough to land one of the sought-after positions working here.
Striking, grappling, and the discipline of MMA as a whole had saved me more times than I could count, so losing this job wasn’t an option. It simply meant too much to me.
I sighed, inhaling the familiar scents of sweat, disinfectant, rubber mats and iron. Just like I did when guy after guy hit on me at the Neon Possum, I bottled my feelings up. Swallowed down the resentment for men and their entitlement.
I’d become quite good at this particular skill over the years. My face still seemed to be determinedly set in a permanent resting bitch face, no matter how hard I tried to look friendly.
My thoughts wandering back to the afternoon ahead, I shook my head in derision. Of fucking course, it was me who had to put up with a whole pack of testosterone-driven jocks. The universe’s punishment for whatever I’d done wrong just never stopped.
Huffing out a breath, I parted my hair and began sectioning it off, twisting the strands into two thick French braids. There's nothing worse than having hair in your face while you're rolling around on the mat or trying to keep your eyes on your opponent.
Sunlight was sneaking in through high, dirty windows, cutting thin gold slashes through the dust as I cast a disdainful look at my boss, Rachel, out of the corner of my eye.
“Tell me again why they want to do this?”
“Cross-training is what their coach called it, I think. Something about shaking up the usual drills and making his team less predictable.” She shrugged like she had no concerns whatsoever.
Apparently, it was the brU football team's summer training camp, and the new coach — my fucking neighbor, incidentally — was experimenting. I still wasn’t entirely sure where he and his nephew were from exactly, since their accents seemed to differ here and there, but I’d heard through the grapevine they had a rugby background.
He’d contacted Rachel a couple of times about training with us, and, to my eternal dismay, she agreed. I get it. It's good PR for the gym and a collaboration like this could gain us lots of new clients.
Didn’t mean I had to like it, though.
I wasn’t one for participating in campus life. Between my two jobs, my own training, my classes and Gran, I had more than enough on my plate.
The gym and this part of my life rarely crossed paths with the college side of things, and I quite liked it this way. Of course, there were other students training with us, but I still managed to be more or less invisible on campus.
I was already on the mats when the football team arrived, having just finished a series of shadowboxing combinations and footwork drills. Clenching my fists, my nails biting into my palms, I scanned the newcomers like a hawk.
Some of these guys were going to make the cut. Some wouldn’t. It was all the same to me, I didn’t really care about football. But one of them, in particular, was more familiar than I’d have liked.
Kai.
All of them were tall and broad-shouldered, but none of them had his smile. They waltzed in like they owned the place, noisy and with the particular brand of swagger and confidence team sports seemed to breed.
My toes flexed against the mat as I surveyed them one by one. I made a conscious effort to keep my gaze from wandering back to the one familiar face in the crowd.
I shifted my weight and rolled my shoulders, trying to shake off the faint twinge of recognition.
“Afternoon, folks,” Rachel called, stepping forward with the natural authority she always displayed. “Welcome to our gym. I’m Rachel, your guide to not falling flat on your faces today.”
A chorus of greetings bounced back, and a couple of the guys tried to flash what they clearly thought were charming smiles.
Kai’s uncle stepped forward, hand extended. “Thank you so much for having us.”
“Our pleasure.” Rachel smiled and indicated her head toward me. “This is Tori, she’ll be teaching your boys a thing or two today.”
“We’ve met.” Tāne nodded.
Rachel’s head snapped around and she cast a furtive look in my direction. “You have?”
“We’re just neighbors,” I quickly clarified.
Didn’t need anyone to get the wrong idea, after all. While Tāne was certainly attractive, he was rather too rugged and old for my liking. He had total daddy energy, but I wasn’t looking for a daddy.
Or any kind of man, for that matter. Not only did I not have time for a relationship, I also hadn’t met someone who I thought could handle me.
If I were to enter a relationship, it would have to be with someone who could give as good as they got. This ruled out pretty much any guy I’d ever met because I always felt like I’d chew them up and spit them out within the first hour.
Rachel eyed me for a moment longer, then turned her attention back to the group of men in front of us.
“Alright, gentlemen.” Her voice cut through the hum of conversation, sharp and clipped. “Let’s start.”
Tāne turned around to face his boys as well.
“We’re here today because I want you to be uncomfortable.
I want you to step out of your comfort zones, to try new approaches, and to have tools in your arsenal your opponents won’t have.
You might be wondering how martial arts could help you as football players.
Obviously, takedowns are the most apparent overlap, but there’s more you can take away from this.
This training can also improve your footwork, balance and reaction time, as well as potentially preventing injuries.
” He paused when someone snorted and pierced them with his hard gaze.
“Nothing will end your career as fast as a serious injury. You’re taking a calculated risk every time you step on the field.
If you don’t think improving your chances of avoiding injury is worthwhile, I suggest you rethink your priorities.
No matter how good you are, if you get hurt, you can’t play.
Preventing injuries should be at the very top of your list.”
Rachel’s lips curved into a smirk. “Tori, why don’t you give them a quick demo? Show them what proper takedowns and grappling look like.”
I raised an eyebrow, resting my hands on my hips. “Sure. Happy to.”
One of the guys snorted. “Don’t go too hard on us, yeah?”
My eyebrows rose, the corners of my mouth finally quirking, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. Teeth barely flashing, my eyes were cold with amusement. “Oh, don’t worry. I play fair … mostly.”
They were all instructed to remove their shoes and socks before we proceeded further into the gym.
I clapped my hands, cutting through the chatter.
“Alright, gentlemen, here’s the deal.” I gestured to the mat.
“Today, we’re focusing on three moves that’ll give you an advantage on the field.
A single-leg takedown to improve your leverage and drive through an opponent, a wrist-control drill to dominate hand placement at the line of scrimmage, and a balance-shifting sweep to help you stay on your feet and unseat a blocker or tackle.
You will all hit the mat at some point, but safely, of course.
And yes, I expect effort. These moves work in MMA, and they work in football. You’ll feel the difference.”
A few guys groaned, pretending to wince at the thought.
I smirked. “No whining. First move is the single-leg takedown. Keep your base low and your shoulder tight. If you lean too far forward, you lose power.”
“Any volunteers?” Rachel asked.
Predictably, a few hands shot up. Big boys, eager to impress.
I scanned the group and chose the one who looked like he’d been drinking protein shakes for breakfast and dinner for the last ten years.
One of them interjected with a smirk, “You sure you don’t want to pick someone smaller?”
I smiled sweetly. “You sure you don’t want to stretch first?” I squared off against him.
He pursed his lips, making a show of looking down at me. “Just don’t wanna hurt you.”
“You won’t,” I deadpanned.
His reservations were apparently exhausted, as he finally lunged at me. I sidestepped, grabbed his arm and executed a smooth leg sweep, sending him crashing down onto his back. “What—how—?”
“Step two,” I said, adjusting one of my braids before counting off on my fingers. “Timing. Balance. Not being an idiot.”
I beckoned the next guy forward, letting the first recover. He stepped up, a little more cautious than his predecessor, but hesitated for a second too long. I sidestepped, grabbed his arm and twisted it just enough to unbalance him. A few muttered grumbles of disbelief followed.
The big guy stumbled sideways, his hands flailing, and nearly took out a mat bag.
I arched an eyebrow. “Gravity works faster than you, apparently. Heads up next time.”
After getting everyone to work in small groups and giving each player a chance to work through the drill, I called them over to me once more.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed Kai leaning slightly forward, watching. His jaw was tight and his eyes were narrowed, betraying a mixture of fascination and something else I couldn’t quite place.
I turned back to the group, motioning them closer.