Subject to change.
Probably the last sample 😉
Look for it before Christmas…but NOT now. 🙂
“Try to hit me.”
“Come on, Monica. Imagine I’m… I don’t know, a chipped manicure. Take your best shot.”
Feeling completely awkward about it, I planted my feet how I was supposed to, and tried to jab him – an action that was immediately met with a swipe from the pool noodle. The lightweight foam didn’t hurt at all, but the fact that he’d blocked me with it was strangely… infuriating.
So I jabbed again.
And got blocked again.
This time, I aimed low, only to get blocked again, and to add to my annoyance, He bopped me right upside the head with the other noodle, and then grinned.
Oh, it was on now.
I launched myself at him, pouring all my energy into one jab after another, trying my best to land even a single blow, but I couldn’t. By the time I stopped, bent at the waist with my gloved hands against my knees, trying to catch my breath, I was soaked with sweat and had gotten bopped on the head, neck, shoulders, even my ass, a good fifty times.
He wasn’t even panting a little.
“What’s wrong, gorgeous? I thought you said you wanted to punch something,” he said, still wearing that stupid ass grin.
He chuckled. “Why I gotta shut up? I’m just saying I expected more out of you, but you’re in here playing games, wasting time. You gonna get up and do this or what?”
Without warning, I straightened up and launched myself at him again, determined this time to at least get one hit.
“Oh, shit,” he laughed. “Here we go!”
“Ugh!” I growled, his laughing only making me more frustrated, only making me go after him harder. I could literally feel the energy draining from my body with every blow, and knew I couldn’t keep it up much longer. Something flashed in my mind – something he’d just told me, not even an hour ago.
It’s either you or them – you use whatever move you have, but you take their ass down.
His eyes went wide as I took a step back from him, and then reared back, putting my weight on just one leg as I aimed a kick in his direction.
“Oh, okay Ronda Rousey,” he laughed, again, easily deflecting that too. “That’s right, give me everything, give me all you got! You’ve had a messed up last few weeks, I know you’re pissed. Let it out. Come on! Come on!”
“Ahhhh!” I screamed, right in his face, throwing punches, jabs, kicks, everything I had left, and he deflected it all, over, and over, and… over. There was no triumph for me, no moment of victory where I finally landed a blow, and I wasn’t sure if I was pleased or pissed that he wouldn’t let me win.
Finally, I stepped back and didn’t step forward again, completely spent after digging into my last reserves of energy.
“Ah, man. That’s it?” he asked, dropping the sticks to amble up to me. I was bent over again, wheezing as he leaned to put himself at eye level, looking me right in the face. “That’s all you got? Damn.”
I didn’t even think about it.
It was something like a reflex that had me pulling my arm back, then aiming my glove straight at his face. I didn’t even feel the impact of my fist, I felt in my elbow, in my wrist, reverberating all the way up to my shoulder.
And then I realized I hadn’t hit him at all.
He’d caught me by the wrist, with my glove barely an inch from his face. Once I processed that, I swung with my other hand while he was still holding me, only to have him easily snatch the power out of that jab too.
His next move happened so quickly that I didn’t even realize he’d done anything until I was hitting the padded floor, falling flat on my back. And then he was on top of me, wrists pinned up by my head, legs caught between his, and his head far enough back that my “signature” headbutt was out of range.
There wasn’t shit I could do.
“You know, I’d be pretty pissed at your attempt at a cheap shot… if I wasn’t so proud,” he said, but made no moves to let me up. “I told you to do whatever it took. Good job.”
I let out a huff. “You’re up there, I’m down here. How is that a good job?”
He grinned. “Monica… I have no problem letting you be on top. Just say the word.”