Isabelle stood at the gym door, watching as Andy and an unknown muscular woman in black exercise gear circled each other in a boxing ring. John Coltrane’s “Out of this World” was playing on the speakers.
Isabelle loved his music. At times it was soothing and other times intrusive, noisy, and messy.
She’d woken to an empty room. She’d searched through the closet to find Andy’s exercise gear and trainers gone and hoped she would find her here.
Andy feigned a left hook, then went in with a right jab, which too was fake. Instead she lifted her right leg and kicked the other woman against her right side.
“Fuck. Every time,” the muscled woman groaned as she doubled over. “Faking it twice. So not nice.”
Andy kicked her again, but this time the woman caught her leg, dipped her backward and slammed her to the ground.
The breath oozed out of Andy in a soft, painful hiss. She locked her legs around the other woman’s midriff, the muscles straining as she applied pressure. She pummeled her opponent with short jabs as the woman pushed her elbow against Andy’s throat.
“Yield,” demanded the other woman.
“Hi,” Isabelle called, hoping to win Andy some reprieve.
The other woman didn’t look away. “Yield. No way your girlfriend’s going to distract me.”
Andy tapped the floor of the ring.
The other woman jumped up, offering her hand to Andy. “Not bad, Bouchard. But you’re rusty. You better come in twice a day if you don’t want to get killed out here.” She turned to Isabelle. “You too. Heard you’ve never done this before.”
Isabelle couldn’t stop staring at Andy, wearing only boxing shorts and an exercise top. Her body was slick with sweat, her hair tied back in a ponytail that exposed her broad shoulders. Hers abs were defined, strong, just like the rest of her body. She turned to wipe off her face with a towel in the corner of the ring and Isabelle got another view of a gorgeous muscled ass. And a jagged scar on Andy’s right side, three inches long.
She blushed as the woman caught her admiring Andy. Two fingers in training gloves prompted her closer. “Do you know how to defend yourself?”
“I’m Isabelle.”
“René. But that’s not what I asked.”
“Yes,” Isabelle said slowly, slightly irritated. “I’ve taken boxing classes since I was eighteen.”
“With?”
“Horace Gibson.”
“Horace the Menace? Excellent. Heard he died. Big loss.”
She nodded, pursing her lips.
René wiped the sweat from her brow with her forearm. “What’s your best defense?”
“Blocking.”
Behind René, Andy was shaking her head vigorously, indicating something with two wiggling fingers.
What?
“Wrong,” snapped René. “Stop it, Bouchard,” she said without turning around. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”
Andy smiled cheekily, more broadly than Isabelle had ever seen.
“Try again,” René said to Isabelle.
Isabelle looked at Andy’s fingers, still puzzled. “Dancing around?”
“Nope.” René turned, rolling her eyes like a teenager. “Bouchard, you’ve always been shit at charades. Running away. The best defense is to get away as quickly as you can. The fancy stuff only starts when you’re trapped and your attacker is right on top of you. If you can, you leave everything and everyone behind. Even this lazy ass,” she pointed over her shoulder to Andy, “probably can’t even do a mile sub four-forty anymore.”
Andy said nothing.
“You up for a bit of sparring?” René asked Isabelle.
She nodded. “Just give me a few minutes to warm up.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, Isabelle stood in the ring across from Andy. René stood outside, leaning on the ropes, towel slung over her shoulder.
“Go easy on the old lady,” she told Isabelle.
“I’m not even thirty yet,” Andy shot back.
“Might as well be sixty the way you’re moving.”
Andy dropped her hands and looked at René. Isabelle slammed her fist into Andy’s side, causing her breath to escape in a loud whoosh.
René laughed. “I see she’s got a firm grasp on the first rule of attack. Do the unexpected.” She looked at Andy. “I like her.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Andy said, not taking her eyes off Isabelle.
With her hair tied back, fists lifted to protect her head, Isabelle seemed smaller than usual. But damn, those fists packed a mean punch.
Andy moved forward, feigning a right kick to Isabelle’s side. Isabelle moved left so quickly Andy had trouble tracking her.
“Man, she’s fast,” muttered Rene. “What you gonna do, Bouchard?”
Andy advanced with two long strides toward Isabelle. She feigned a slow left, hiding her right coming out of nowhere and hitting Isabelle against the shoulder.
Isabelle stumbled back, surprise in her eye.
“That wasn’t even half-strength, Bouchard.”
“I’m not going to hurt—”
Isabelle danced in under Andy’s fists and pummeled her ribs in quick succession.
Fuck, she was fast. And it sure didn’t feel like she was holding back.
Andy slipped forward, grabbing Isabelle around the waist, absorbing the blows. She lifted Isabelle with ease and slammed her as gently as she could to the floor. She pulled back her fist and stopped an inch from Isabelle’s surprised face.
“This isn’t a real boxing ring,” she said. “There’s no right or wrong. You have to defend yourself with everything you got.”
Isabelle gave a slight smile and nodded slowly. She threw her head back and pushed her right leg between Andy’s legs, searching for her core, moving her hips as if she was arching against her. She leaned into Andy’s neck, groaning like she was on the brink of an orgasm.
Andy jerked back.
Isabelle slipped out from under her and scrambled on top of Andy’s back and secured her head in a chokehold.
“Fucking hell, Bouchard. Really? A little bit of dirty and you lose it like a rookie?” René bellowed, a smile threatening on her face.
She climbed into the ring and motioned for Andy to stay down. “Let me show this woman of yours how to do a proper chokehold.”