Holding Strong
Page 98
Alarm bells had been dinging, but now they blared. “Come on.” He grabbed Vanity’s hand and dragged her over to Denver, who was wrapping up a class with the older boys.
Denver said to the group, “I want you to always press forward. Keep your opponent on his back foot. You don’t want him to know what’s coming, whether you’ll be shooting in, throwing a punch or aiming a kick. As long as he’s backpedaling, he’s off balance. But that also leaves you open to walking into something...”
Waiting off on the sidelines, Stack folded his arms and nodded agreement with Denver’s instruction.
Vanity nudged him with her shoulder. Speaking low, she said, “There are so many rules and moves and they all seem to be contingent on other factors. How in the world do you guys learn it all?”
“Muscle memory,” Stack said, still watching the boys. “You do drills often enough, you practice moves, spar a lot, and it becomes automatic. Or at least it should.”
“Does that mean the guy who loses didn’t do enough practice?”
“Not necessarily.” Girding himself, he turned to her—and damn, the sight of her looking up at him with interest hit like a wild haymaker. Did she know the effect her getup had on him?
Probably. Vanity Baker was not an obtuse girl.
Not all women looked good in clinging workout clothes. Vanity could be a walking ad for them.
“Some guys just have more heart and more innate ability. You have to be able to take the pain and keep your head, and you need to be able to adjust. If a move goes wrong, if the guy you’re fighting is especially proficient at something, switching gears can help.” His gaze dipped to her chest, but only for a second. She watched him so closely, she’d know if he started thinking lewd, awesome things. “And sometimes you just get caught. Happens to the best of them. You do one thing wrong, no matter how small, and it can change the entire fight.”
“Wrong, like what?”
“A punch you don’t dodge. A submission setup you miss. Hell, occasionally you can trip, or slip on sweat or blood. Break a hand or pop a joint.” He shrugged. “Anything.”
Nose wrinkled over that last comment, she asked, “Have you ever been caught?”
Big-time. The night she’d asked him to take her to the wedding would count. The second she’d mentioned having sex, all his better sense had flown the coop.
“Stack?”
He locked his jaw and tried to clear his mind of smoldering carnal images. Luckily Denver, who’d finished while they were talking, saved his ass by asking, “What’s up?”
Redirecting his focus, he said, “I think your stepmama might’ve made nice with Cherry’s wayward foster brothers.”
Vanity said, “What?”
Before Stack could explain about the trinity of troublemaking brothers, Harper jogged over carrying the phone for Denver. “It’s Cannon. He said he called your cell and when you didn’t answer, he figured you were still in the middle of the class.” She handed over the phone and then went back to the front desk where she often helped out.
Stack sensed plenty of things going awry. When Denver took the phone, he didn’t excuse himself so Stack and Vanity were privy to the convo. From what Stack could tell given the one-sided dialogue, Armie had gotten a call from the brothers confirming they were in town.
Not good.
Soon as Denver ended the call, he said to Vanity, “Tell me what you saw.”
She didn’t ask any questions, didn’t need clarification. She repeated to Denver almost exactly what she’d told Stack, but with more detail.
“Shit.” Denver rubbed the back of his neck. “Carver claims he’s here. He threatened Armie again, says he wants to see Cherry...”
“So it probably was him with your stepmama then, right?”
“Call her Pamela, okay? I don’t claim any relationship.”
Stack agreed, although given the hostility between her and Denver, he had no plans to call the woman anything at all. “If he was just outside, that means—”
“He’s aware of the rec center.” Denver’s gaze went to Vanity and then back again. “And everyone coming or going from here.”
Understanding just how risky that made things, Stack frowned at Vanity.
She lifted her brows in query.
“You’ll take care of it?” Denver asked.
Meaning would he take care of Vanity? Stack inhaled. “Got it covered.”
“Good. Cannon’s going to set up a network to keep an eye on things, but it’ll take at least a few hours, if not a day to get that in motion.”
Denver said to the group, “I want you to always press forward. Keep your opponent on his back foot. You don’t want him to know what’s coming, whether you’ll be shooting in, throwing a punch or aiming a kick. As long as he’s backpedaling, he’s off balance. But that also leaves you open to walking into something...”
Waiting off on the sidelines, Stack folded his arms and nodded agreement with Denver’s instruction.
Vanity nudged him with her shoulder. Speaking low, she said, “There are so many rules and moves and they all seem to be contingent on other factors. How in the world do you guys learn it all?”
“Muscle memory,” Stack said, still watching the boys. “You do drills often enough, you practice moves, spar a lot, and it becomes automatic. Or at least it should.”
“Does that mean the guy who loses didn’t do enough practice?”
“Not necessarily.” Girding himself, he turned to her—and damn, the sight of her looking up at him with interest hit like a wild haymaker. Did she know the effect her getup had on him?
Probably. Vanity Baker was not an obtuse girl.
Not all women looked good in clinging workout clothes. Vanity could be a walking ad for them.
“Some guys just have more heart and more innate ability. You have to be able to take the pain and keep your head, and you need to be able to adjust. If a move goes wrong, if the guy you’re fighting is especially proficient at something, switching gears can help.” His gaze dipped to her chest, but only for a second. She watched him so closely, she’d know if he started thinking lewd, awesome things. “And sometimes you just get caught. Happens to the best of them. You do one thing wrong, no matter how small, and it can change the entire fight.”
“Wrong, like what?”
“A punch you don’t dodge. A submission setup you miss. Hell, occasionally you can trip, or slip on sweat or blood. Break a hand or pop a joint.” He shrugged. “Anything.”
Nose wrinkled over that last comment, she asked, “Have you ever been caught?”
Big-time. The night she’d asked him to take her to the wedding would count. The second she’d mentioned having sex, all his better sense had flown the coop.
“Stack?”
He locked his jaw and tried to clear his mind of smoldering carnal images. Luckily Denver, who’d finished while they were talking, saved his ass by asking, “What’s up?”
Redirecting his focus, he said, “I think your stepmama might’ve made nice with Cherry’s wayward foster brothers.”
Vanity said, “What?”
Before Stack could explain about the trinity of troublemaking brothers, Harper jogged over carrying the phone for Denver. “It’s Cannon. He said he called your cell and when you didn’t answer, he figured you were still in the middle of the class.” She handed over the phone and then went back to the front desk where she often helped out.
Stack sensed plenty of things going awry. When Denver took the phone, he didn’t excuse himself so Stack and Vanity were privy to the convo. From what Stack could tell given the one-sided dialogue, Armie had gotten a call from the brothers confirming they were in town.
Not good.
Soon as Denver ended the call, he said to Vanity, “Tell me what you saw.”
She didn’t ask any questions, didn’t need clarification. She repeated to Denver almost exactly what she’d told Stack, but with more detail.
“Shit.” Denver rubbed the back of his neck. “Carver claims he’s here. He threatened Armie again, says he wants to see Cherry...”
“So it probably was him with your stepmama then, right?”
“Call her Pamela, okay? I don’t claim any relationship.”
Stack agreed, although given the hostility between her and Denver, he had no plans to call the woman anything at all. “If he was just outside, that means—”
“He’s aware of the rec center.” Denver’s gaze went to Vanity and then back again. “And everyone coming or going from here.”
Understanding just how risky that made things, Stack frowned at Vanity.
She lifted her brows in query.
“You’ll take care of it?” Denver asked.
Meaning would he take care of Vanity? Stack inhaled. “Got it covered.”
“Good. Cannon’s going to set up a network to keep an eye on things, but it’ll take at least a few hours, if not a day to get that in motion.”
