Project Produce(44)

“I knocked you off the couch, remember?” I shook my head. “Looks like Harry, from When Harry Met Sally, was right when he said men and women can never be friends because the sex thing always gets in the way.”

“Does that mean you fake your orgasms, too?” He smirked.

I gasped, then smacked him.

Rubbing his arm, he chuckled. “You’re gonna have to do better than that if you want to defend yourself against someone like the Midnight Molester.”

“I’m here, aren’t I? Bring it on, Dukeypoo.” I tried to mimic his bob and weave move.

“Well, all right, then.” He grinned. “Get on in there and change out of your Eskimo gear. We’re not dog sledding.” He pointed to the locker room. “And we only have the ring for another thirty minutes.”

“Not funny.” I stormed off to the locker room, my huge insecurity wiggling all the way, and I didn’t even care. I had a few moves of my own that I didn’t plan to change one bit, and if he didn’t like it, he could lump it.

Five minutes later, I marched back through the doors with my head high, and his grin died. “Still haven’t done laundry,” I said, standing before him in my purple Spandex biker shorts, feeling completely vulnerable. “And I haven’t owned gym clothes in years.”

“Th-Those’ll do.” He cleared his throat.

Maybe I didn’t look too bad after all. “So what now?” I asked and stepped into the ring.

“Now, you put these on.” He handed me a pair of boxing gloves. After I slipped them on, he tied the laces. “We don’t need mouth guards or helmets, because we’re not going to spar for real. I’m just going to show you some moves to protect yourself.”

“Well, that’s good, because I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” I grinned. The verbal sparring was even more fun than the prospect of clobbering him in the ring.

“Yeah?” He smiled back. “Let’s see what you got, Mac.” He kept the weight on the balls of his feet and circled me with his fists up.

“I can hold my own if I have to.” I raised my fists. “You don’t stock shelves all your life and not gain a certain amount of strength and agility.” I swung my right arm, but he blocked it.

“Drop your left arm like that, and you’ll leave yourself wide open.” He tapped my cheek with his glove and winked.

I shoved his glove away and threw my left arm.

“Watch the right arm.” He tapped my right cheek this time.

“Darn it.” I grunted. “This isn’t as easy as it looks.”

“You’re doing fine. Find your rhythm, and do what comes natural. I see you’re right-handed.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Focus your power on that. Jab twice with your left to throw your opponent off, and then swing hard with your right. Left, left, right. Left, left, right.” He demonstrated with his own hands. “Got it?”

“I think so. Left, left, right. Left, left, right.” I smiled as I swung my fists, getting into it.

“Good, now move your feet. Never stay in the same place. Confuse your opponent.”

I danced around the ring, throwing punches and laughing. “This is fun.” Narrowing my eyes, I danced in his direction and sent him a devilish grin. “Let’s see what you got, Dukeypoo.”

He fended off several of my punches. “Watch it. I don’t want to hurt you.” He bobbed and weaved around the ring, perspiration soaking his T-shirt, and his breathing picking up.

“What’s the matter, scared?” I bounced from side to side.

“Of you? Never.” He jabbed my gloves, then danced around behind me and tapped my bottom, and I wished for an insane second that he didn’t have a pair of two-inch thick gloves on.

“Hey, watch it.” I spun around, trying to at least sound decent, even if my thoughts weren’t. Blood surged through my veins, and my chest heaved from exertion, but I felt alive. More alive than I had in years.

“What’s the matter, scared?” He winked.

“Of you? You wish.” I threw a few jabs with my left hand, and--

“Yo, Cabrizzi, time’s up,” the gym manager shouted.

Dylan looked up.

Crack!

--and there came my right. Right across his left eye, knocking him flat on his back. “Oh, no. Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. You okay?” I flew to him and dropped by his side, untying my gloves with my teeth.

“I’ll live, if I could just get these damn lambs to stop circling my head.”

Yanking off my gloves, I cradled his cheeks with my palms and inspected every inch of his face. “Oh, Lord, you’re bleeding.” I touched his eyebrow.