Below the Belt. Sarah Mayberry

saw it, he frowned. The fifth time, he swore under his breath.

      “What are you doing, man?” he muttered as Jamie took hit after hit, the price for those hesitations and that poor footwork.

      He could see the writing on the wall by the end of the first round, but he had to sit through all five of them and watch Jamie get pummeled around the ring before it was over. She took every hit and came back for more, even though it was clear to everyone that there was no way she was going to win unless she scored a lucky shot and knocked the other woman out.

      By the time he was shaking his head in grudging admiration of her sheer pigheadedness, the final bell rang and Jovavich was declared the unanimous winner on points.

      Cooper watched Jamie’s old trainer tend to her in her corner, taking her mouthpiece, mopping at her face, checking her for cuts and bruises. He was saying something to her, but she was shaking her head vigorously, her gloved fists thumping down onto her thighs as she emphasized her point. Finally, the old man gave up and simply held the ropes open so she could exit the ring.

      The crowd was still cheering Jovavich as Jamie made her way to the change rooms. She didn’t slouch or slink away from her defeat. She held her head high, staring out into the crowd as she passed, daring them to pass judgment on her loss.

      He couldn’t look away, even if he’d wanted to.

      Then their eyes met across the sea of people, and he saw her burning defiance and determination.

      She’d be back. Even as part of him admired her chutzpah, the fighter in him regretted the lessons she was going to have to learn the hard way until she broke her bad habits—or they broke her.

      Not your problem, man, he told himself. She’s nothing to you.

      He watched her all the way to the change room.

      

      WHY DID he have to be there? Jamie slammed an uppercut into the long bag two days later. She punched again, throwing all her weight behind it.

      Better yet, why did I have to notice that he was there? She kneed the bag, then followed up with a roundhouse kick that sent it rocking on its heavy chain.

      Of all the people she could have locked gazes with in that huge auditorium, it had to be Cooper Fitzgerald. What were the odds? Too high for her to calculate. And yet she’d stared straight into his deep blue eyes as she walked away from the first defeat of her professional boxing career.

      “Remind me to never let you get near me with one of those kicks,” Ray said.

      He was working the speedball behind her in his lavishly equipped home gym, the rhythmic thudding of his punches a constant in the background.

      Her years of Tae Kwon Do had given her the leg strength, speed and accuracy to ensure that her kicks were a force to be reckoned with. She’d been club champion for six years and state champion for two before she’d dropped out to start training for the boxing ring six months ago, following her grandfather’s heart attack. She thought wistfully of the days when she was at the top of the food chain in her chosen sport, rather than the bottom. From where she was sitting right now, they seemed a long way off.

      “Let’s take a break,” Ray said, hitting the speedball one last time. “You need to give yourself some recovery time after that fight.”

      Jamie kept her focus on the bag, slamming another combination into it—cross, jab, cross, hook, cross, jab. She was sweating bullets and her face ached from the bruises she’d scored in her fight but she wasn’t even close to being ready to stop.

      “Not yet,” she panted.

      Ray shook his head.

      “You are the most stubborn person I know,” he said.

      It was the same thing her grandfather had said to her after the fight. He’d been upset by her loss, angry that she’d ignored his advice and gone into the ring before he thought she was prepared. But she couldn’t back down. She was doing this for him, to reclaim his reputation.

      Since it wasn’t too hot a day yet, they’d pushed the folding doors that formed one wall of the gym all the way open, and Ray sauntered straight out to where a sun lounger waited beside the pool. She watched him stretch out, momentarily toying with the idea of joining him and taking a break. But she had more work to do.

      She hit the bag with another round of punches then, just for fun, some kicks. There was nothing like the buzz she got from the power of a great roundhouse kick slamming into the bag.

      She wiped sweat from her brow and caught her breath. Turning, she leaned her back against the heavy long bag and opened her mouth to start giving Ray shit for having less stamina than a girl. And promptly shut it again when she registered who was standing beside the pool talking to him.

      Cooper Fitzgerald.

      Just like last time, she felt instantly at a disadvantage as she took in his designer denim jeans and crisp white linen shirt. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, and his hair looked as though it had been cut by one of those fancy hairstylists to the stars. He looked like a million bucks, while she was covered in sweat and bruises.

      She pushed herself away from the bag and turned her back on both men. She didn’t care that he was here. He didn’t matter. And it didn’t matter that he’d seen her lose the other night.

      Concentrating on her combinations with renewed determination, she attacked the bag some more, trying to keep all of her grandfather’s advice top of mind: keep your guard hand up; shuffle forward, never step; snap your punches, don’t push them; punch through your opponent, not into her.

      After four minutes of hard work, she paused again.

      He was still there, she could sense him. Damn him. Why didn’t he get his business with Ray over with and leave?

      Sucking much-needed air into her lungs, she began to rain kicks on the bag—a snap kick from the knee, then another thundering roundhouse and a spinning back kick that sent the bag swinging.

      “That’s some kick you’ve got there.”

      She ignored him. Asshole.

      “What style do you do, Tae Kwon Do? Maui Thai?”

      She kneed the bag and followed up with some elbow work.

      “Tae Kwon Do. State champion three years in a row, right, Jimmy?” Ray answered for her.

      She spun another kick into the bag. “Two years,” she corrected.

      “You’re good,” Cooper said.

      Because she was out of breath and gasping for a drink, she stopped and tugged one of her gloves off so she could grab the water bottle.

      “Thanks. Coming from you, it means so much,” she said.

      He lifted an eyebrow at her sarcasm and, even though he was wearing those dark sunglasses, she could feel his gaze slide over her body. She felt a ridiculous, completely unwelcome surge of awareness and covered by throwing back her head and gulping water.

      “How are you pulling up after your fight?” he asked.

      She swallowed then brushed at the sweat beading her forehead. She knew exactly how she looked: red in the face, shiny with exertion, hair stuck to her forehead and neck. She was also sporting one badly bruised eye, a swollen lip and numerous bruises across her belly and ribs.

      “I’m fine,” she said. She didn’t want to talk about the fight.

      “You found yourself a trainer yet?”

      “What is this, twenty questions?” she asked, reaching for her towel.

      “Just wondering if you’ve got someone other than that old man to tell you where you’re going wrong,” he said.

      Jamie’s hands curled into the towel. If he had any idea who her grandfather was, he’d know how stupid