Dances with Monsters(19)

Finally, he set his clipboard down and stepped over to her carefully. He made sure to stay within her peripheral vision, not wanting to frighten her like he had the night before. Her eyes shifted toward him automatically and he motioned for her to take her ear buds out. She complied, lifting a quizzical eyebrow at him.

"Hey," he said. "Not to interrupt. Just noticed something. When you throw an uppercut, make sure you lower your shoulder a little and throw from the hip. Twist a little." He stepped up beside her, slightly moving around toward the back, instincts telling him to keep his hands where she could see. "Can I show you?"

She visibly tensed, but nodded hesitantly. He stepped behind her, angling slightly so he was nearer to her right side.

"When you throw the right," he began, gently pressing on her right shoulder, "lower this side a little more." He moved her shoulder for her the way he wanted it to go. "Turn your hips with it and lift your heel off the ground." He knew he might be pushing it, but he let his hands settle just above her hips, lightly, and manipulated the action he wanted them to take. He nudged the toe of his shoe against the heel of hers, prodding her to lift her heel as she rotated her hips. "All the power should come from here." He patted her right hip lightly, then stepped back.

She was flushing. She nodded without meeting his gaze. "Thanks, I'll remember that."

"No problem," he replied. "Otherwise you're perfect." He immediately realized what he'd said and how it might be perceived and cleared his throat. He turned to move back toward his clipboard. When he finished his inventory, he shuffled back to his office and quickly stripped his clean T-shirt off and replaced it with a beat-up, ratty shirt to workout in. He headed back out toward the punching bags, glancing briefly at Drew and was pleased to see she was applying the technique advice he'd given her. She looked much better now.

He stretched his neck and arms, put in his own ear buds, and started in on the bag in front of him. He was so consumed in what he was doing and the music that time flew by. After a while, he felt the tap of fingers on his shoulder and he turned sharply. Drew stood behind him, her jacket on and bag over her shoulder. She gave him a little wave as he pulled the ear buds out.

"You takin' off for the night?" he asked, slightly out of breath as he used his towel to mop up his face.

"Yeah," she replied. "I need to go home and get ready for work."

He cocked his head. It was nine on a Friday night. "The café?" he asked, a note of confusion in his voice.

She shook her head, her ponytail swaying. "No. I bartend over at Cliff's Lounge a couple nights a week. Usually on the weekend."

Cliff's Lounge was a ritzy place in the Strip District. Heath had never been there, but some of his friends had, and they told tales of the bartenders and cocktail waitresses. Supposedly they all looked like models; given the upscale clientele, the owner reportedly hired only the most beautiful women to ensure a high amount of business. He wasn't surprised to hear that Drew had snagged a job there, although it was hard to picture her in anything dressier than the jeans she'd worn when he'd visited the café.

"Two jobs, huh?" he asked. "Must keep you pretty busy."

"Three, actually," she replied, to his surprise. She smiled. "I also teach dance on Wednesday nights and Saturday mornings."

He was impressed. "Dance?" he repeated. "What kind of dance?"

"Ballet," she said. "I teach twelve- to sixteen-year-olds."

"No wonder your posture's so good," Heath said, noting her straight back and elongated neck. It made sense; there was a grace about her movements, everything from the way she walked to the way she threw her punches. Grace certainly wasn't taught to professional fighters. "So you've got a busy day tomorrow."

"Yes," she said with a sigh. "I actually will work all three of my jobs tomorrow."

Heath let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "Sounds exhausting."

"It is," she replied. "That's why I look forward to Sunday so much. The one day where I have absolutely nothing to do. Unless you count Sunday dinner with the family." She tilted her head and smiled.

"If we're talkin' my family," Heath said, "then I definitely count that as a strenuous activity." He smiled when she chuckled quietly. She glanced down at the toes of her sneakers, then back up at him. As she did so, he noticed that he had at least half a foot of height over her.

"Well," she said lightly. "I better be on my way. I just wanted to say good night."

"Good night," he echoed, watching her walk off. He wondered if she'd come in tomorrow, and found himself selfishly hoping she would so he'd be able to see her and talk to her again. He chided himself mentally, knowing she obviously needed rest with as much as she had going on.