Bachelor Cop. Carolyn McSparren
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he should have been on her case like a praying mantis on a june bug.
So why wasn’t he reacting?
“Detective?”
He turned at the sound of that smoky baritone. For some nutso reason, he reacted to Streak. Maybe it was the slim body he could imagine under those sweats. Maybe it was the voice. She reminded him of Lauren Bacall after five years in a salt mine.
She stood at the corner of the exercise mat with his other students, her legs splayed and her hands on her hips. She wore the same old gray sweats tonight, and her hair was pulled back tight with a rubber band, showing off those cheekbones. The look she gave him was not so much provocative as provocation.
“We’re five minutes late getting started,” she said.
Ellen—Mrs. Claus—sighed. “Oh, for pity’s sake, chill.”
“Let’s get started,” Randy said quickly, before Streak could react to that. “Now, we’re going to begin with some stretching exercises to warm up our muscles.”
“So we can do yoga while the mugger’s cleaning his nails?” Streak sniped.
“Honey,” said Sarah Beth, “relax. You put up with hecklers in your classes?” she asked, glancing at Randy.
“How did you—”
“Everybody knows about everybody in this gym,” said Bunny. She flashed a killer smile that included the group, extended her arms and put her palms flat on the floor in front of her.
“Wow,” breathed Francine. “I can’t reach my knees.”
“Bless your heart,” Ellen said, and patted her hand. “There are other talents. I sure wouldn’t try to mug you.”
Francine shrugged. “Got to be something fine about being a heifer.”
“So maybe Francine can get to take me down tonight. Game?” Randy asked.
“That mean I get to go upside your head with my purse? Probably break your skinny neck.” She snickered. “I carry my life in my purse.”
“I was thinking more about unarmed combat. What do you do when somebody tries to clothesline you?”
The rest of the class went smoothly. Even Streak began to relax, although she still looked ready to chew nails. Or some more sensitive part of his anatomy—interesting idea if she didn’t geld him in the process. Randy worked hard to show her that force wasn’t necessary. Her forward momentum landed her on the mat every time. Did she hate all men, or just him?
By the time the class was over, everyone was sweaty, but exhilarated. Even Streak glowed. Real pity. She could be a knockout. He couldn’t believe she’d always been dowdy and enraged. What had screwed her up?
As they were leaving, he put a hand on her arm. She glared at it. He dropped his hand and said, “Got a minute?”
The others kept walking, but he knew they’d be gossiping.
“I wondered how long before you tossed me out of your class,” she said. “Fine. I won’t come back.”
“I’m not tossing you out.” Of all the women, she needed the instruction most. “Come with me.”
This late in the evening, the weight-lifting, bodybuilding part of the gym was empty except for a couple of hard-core musclemen who didn’t bother to look up. “You must be hell on wheels as a professor,” Randy said.
“I am an excellent teacher.”
“But this isn’t your classroom.”
She didn’t crack a smile.
“Look, Streak, if you don’t lighten up and get rid of some of that anger, you’re going to get hurt.”
“Me? Hah. You, maybe.”
“I mean it. You’re the one who wound up on the floor tonight, right? Don’t let emotions override your control.” He grabbed a pair of boxing gloves off the rack and held them out. “Put these on.”
“Why?” She stared at him with suspicion. “Planning on showing me that right cross to my glass jaw?”
“Not this time.” He held the gloves until she slipped her hands inside, then he fastened the Velcro.
“This is like having sofa cushions on the ends of my arms.”
“You’ll get used to them.” He walked her over to the light bag. “I’m sure you’ve seen enough boxing movies to know how this works. Try it.”
She studied him, then the two-foot-long, pear-shaped bag suspended head high. Before he could give her any further instruction, she let fly as hard as she could. The bag bounced back and caught her square on her cheek. “Ow!” she squawked. “That hurt.” She raised her hand to her face, but obviously couldn’t feel it through the heavy gloves. “Is my cheek bleeding?”
He caught the bag before it could swing back for a second attack. “No, although it may be a tad bruised tomorrow. Sorry. I should have caught it before it hit you.”
“Then why didn’t you?” She rounded on him, but he grasped her wrist and held her.
“You didn’t give me time. Here, try this one.” He half dragged her over to where the man-size heavy bag hung, then walked around behind it and held on. “Okay, hit this one.”
She tapped it gently.
“Not like that. Hit the thing.”
“And get my jaw broken? I don’t think so.”
“This one doesn’t hit back. Drive your fist hard from waist level, right smack in the gut.”
She whacked the bag as hard as she could. With Randy behind it, the bag barely budged. “I felt that all the way to my shoulder,” she said.
“Like the feeling?”
“Certainly not.” But she whacked the leather again, then again with her other hand, for good measure. Her focused expression told him she did like the feeling it gave her. She hit it over and over until she was too tired to raise her arms. She was panting and drenched with sweat.
Maybe he should paste a male face on the front, so she could really enjoy herself.
“Not bad,” Randy said. “Next time, get your shoulder into it. Sit down over there and watch.”
He pulled her gloves off and put them on himself. He tapped the light bag with his left glove so that it swung away and back. He stopped the motion with his right glove. In ten seconds he had established a steady poppa-poppa rhythm.
After a couple of minutes he caught the bag. “See, you hit hard, it fights back. You tap easy and get the rhythm right, you can keep going forever. You do that to somebody’s face, he’ll remember.”
Randy walked to the heavy bag, lowered his shoulder and slammed into it with his left glove, followed by a hard right. The bag barely swung. “Now, this one you can beat the stew out of.”
“Interesting, but not germane to our classwork, surely. I have to go.”
“Let’s say you’re earning extra credit. Can you come early on Thursday?”
“Why?”
“So you can put on these gloves and take out some of that aggression before class.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Unless you learn to use your opponent’s strength against him, you won’t beat him. You’ll beat yourself. That’s what you’re doing now.”
“You afraid I’ll hurt one of the others? Like Sarah Beth?”
“Sarah Beth is in better shape than you are, and she’s more focused. You wouldn’t go for her the way you go for me, either.