Tommy straddled the vinyl grappling dummy, pummeling it with quick left-rights and tossing an elbow in here and there. Sweat poured down his face and arms. He’d been grappling for almost an hour, first starting with a live partner to work on his technique, then switching to the dummy so he could strengthen his hits. Satisfaction coursed through him with every loud pop of his fist hitting the torso-shaped bag.
“That’s enough for now,” Mike called. “Let’s take a break.”
Tommy rose to his feet, using his forearm to wipe the sweat off his brow. After tugging his gloves off, he grabbed a towel.
Mike motioned him to the office. When he entered, Tommy noticed a TV set up. “What are we doing?”
“Watching your fight against Ricky Moon.”
He blew out a breath. “Well, that won’t take long.”
Mike didn’t even try to make him feel better about it. Just sighed and said, “Nope, it won’t.”
Mike never sugarcoated anything. If a fighter screwed up, he didn’t get a pat on the back and a “we’ll get him next time.” Nope, his coach let him know exactly how he’d screwed up, then went on to train him to make sure it wouldn’t happen again.
Tommy pulled a chair closer and sat down. Mike cued up the fight, fast-forwarding through all the fanfare of the entrances to the actual fight where Tommy and Ricky were circling each other. Tommy frowned at the laziness of his stance. He wasn’t braced or even protecting his chin correctly. Hell, he didn’t even look like he wanted to be there. Like he was bored. Or so damn cocky that he thought the fight would be easy. Probably the latter.
Ricky took advantage and had him in a clinch within two minutes in the first round. One knee to the face and Tommy was out cold, just as he’d done to Tate the day before. Mike forced him to listen to the announcer declare Ricky the new Middleweight Champion and watch his opponent lift his belt over his head.
Mike paused the fight. “What did you see?”
“A fighter not defending his title.”
“Damn straight. Do you think Ricky Moon will be like that when you meet this time?”
“Nope.”
“No. He won’t. He’s going in this to win, Tommy. He’s not going to give you back your title the same way you let him win it.”
Ouch. But Mike was spot-on. Tommy hadn’t even tried to fight that day. He might as well have handed over the belt to Moon the moment they’d entered the octagon.
Tommy hung his head. How could he ever have stepped foot inside the cage and not given it his all?
But he had. And he’d paid the price.
He lifted his head and looked Mike in the eye. “That won’t happen a second time.”
Mike smiled. “Am I looking at the fighter who won the title from Pete Griffin?”
“You bet your sweet ass you are.”
“Then let’s pull up a different fight to study.”
Mike traded DVDs again, and Ricky Moon came up fighting against Buddy Triton. He hated the fact that his coach had to show a completely different fight for Tommy to really be able to pick apart his pending opponent. But he understood. If he wanted to see all of Moon’s weaknesses and strengths, it wouldn’t be in the fight against him. And he was going in completely prepared to win this time.
Tommy pointed to the screen. “Moon is weak on his feet.”
Mike nodded his approval. Watching Moon, Tommy couldn’t believe the man had won the belt from him by KO. His reach was shorter and any time his opponent went to brawl, Moon tried for a takedown.
“Man, but he’s good on the ground.”
“Almost as good as Richard Sentori used to be.”
Richard Sentori used to be the Welterweight Champion until Dante “Inferno” Jones had won the title from him a year and a half ago. Since then Richard had lost his last two fights, and if his losing streak continued, he would be forced to retire from fighting.
Tommy studied the fight closely, seeing how Moon concentrated on the lower body as he wrapped his body around Triton’s left leg and twisted. “Kneebar.”
“Moon has won with a variety of leg-locks. He’ll win any way he can, but if he’s controlling the fight, most of the time he will go for a submission with the leg.”
He glanced at his coach and smiled. “I guess I need to make sure he doesn’t control the fight then, huh?”
…
Julie sighed as a whirring sound penetrated her sleep. Slowly, she opened her eyes, zeroing in on the noise in the kitchen. What times was it?
She looked at the clock on the cable box.
Almost two in the afternoon.
When had she fallen asleep?
It had been a week since Tommy started training for the fight. While she was at the clinic, the workweek had sped by. But today, her day off, had dragged. She’d stretched out on the couch after lunch and must have dozed off from sheer boredom.
As she sat up, Tommy walked out of the kitchen, holding a shake.
Her stomach growled. A smile split his lips when he saw her. “Hey, beautiful. I was about to wake you up.”
Beautiful. A pleased shiver went through her. “I hope that’s for me.”
He stopped by the couch and leaned down. She didn’t hesitate to tilt her head back to accept his kiss.
She’d come to expect them. Tommy might not be around as much, but when he was, he was touching her, kissing her, or holding her.
When he leaned back, he handed her the shake. “Chocolate and peanut butter.”