Identity

“It’s all right. I know you’ve been alerted. This is why I’m here. Show me.”

“He’s got you against the wall, you can’t get your knee up or get an angle with your elbow. Most people’s instinct is to claw at the hands cutting off their air. Don’t bother. What’s his weak spot in this situation? His eyes. Go for the eyes. Fingers are good, thumbs are best. Push your thumbs into his eyeballs like you’re going to shove them right through the back of his head.”

“Can I say ew?”

“After you’re clear. Thumbs, and his grip’s going to loosen because it’s going to burn like the fire of a thousand suns. If you’re upright like this, bust his balls, bring that knee up hard, elbow the gut. If you can get in a punch?”

She took Morgan’s hand, balled it, brought it to her own throat. “Aim there, or here.” Then shifted it to her nose. “Fist or heel of your hand, fast, recoil. Let’s try that.”

They practiced half a dozen times.

“Good, really good.” Jen gave her a light, friendly punch in the shoulder. “You catch on fast.”

“I still have to think about it and, well, I know you’re not going to hurt me, so there’s no panic.”

“It’ll get to be instinct, then instinct will cut through the panic. Trust me. I’ve been there.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Maybe we’ll exchange war stories someday over one of those lavender margaritas. But now, you’ve got twenty minutes left. We’re going to shift focus. When I asked about your fitness regimen, you admitted you don’t have one. You did use to bike in good weather about ten miles a day. That’s why you’ve got strong legs.”

“I sold it when I moved, but I’m thinking about getting one toward the summer.”

“Good. You like biking so you’ll do it. Meanwhile.” Smiling, she gave Morgan’s biceps a squeeze. “We’re going to work on upper body strength and tone.”

Defensively, Morgan crossed her arms as Jen walked to the free-weight rack. “Are we really?”

“Most men who attack women see the woman as weak, as a victim. We’ve gone over some of the actions and defenses you can take against an attacker, one who’s likely stronger than you, bigger than you. That doesn’t mean you can’t get strong, and when you’re strong, those actions and defenses are more effective.”

When she carried over two weights, handed them to Morgan, Jen smiled again. “Let’s get you strong.”

For the next twenty minutes, she didn’t just learn how to curl, extend, press, but how to breathe and stand—two things she’d assumed she knew how to do already—how to stretch the muscles she’d worked until they’d burned.

“Good, very good. You broke a sweat.”

“I’ll say.”

“Same time next week. Meanwhile, I want you in three times a week to start.”

Rubbing arms that made their objection known, Morgan fought not to just deflate. “In here?”

“Out there the other two days. Fifteen minutes cardio—and bump that up so you hit a mile or over. Fifteen upper body, fifteen lower, five—to start—on core, and a ten-minute stretch. If I’m not around to show you the lower body and core work, Ken or Addy will be.”

“I don’t always have an hour to—”

“Three hours a week—for now. Get motivated, make time. Rest days in between.” She handed Morgan a bottle of water. “Hydrate. See you day after tomorrow.”

“Thanks. Sort of.”

Laughing, Jen went out.

After guzzling water, Morgan faced the mirror, flexed. Said, “Ow,” and rubbed her biceps. “Three times a week? Three times a week so I’m not weak.”

Okay, she thought, okay, she’d try it. For a month. Just one month.

She started out, then stopped, faced the mirror again.

“I can’t wear this three times a week for a month. I’ll look like an idiot.”

Outfitters, she decided. With her discount, how much could it sting? It would sting, she thought, but walked out to where people lifted, sweated, ran—by choice.

One month, she promised herself, and she’d consider the gear she had to buy not to look like an idiot an investment in her own strength, fitness, and self-esteem.

It stung, even with the discount, more than she’d expected.

When she reported to work that evening, she reported with sore arms, a sore ass—damn squat lifts—and leg muscles that reminded her she hadn’t fast-walked a mile in a very long time.

Nick beamed at her. “Jen said you did great.”

“Your sister is a monster.”

“Yeah, that’s what they all say. Little sore?”

“What do you think?” After a quick scan of tables and booths, she breezed into the back of the house, did her check there.

“You’ll get used to it,” he said when she came back out.

“I don’t think so.”

“So … we had a crowd for happy hour. Our signatures are moving.”

“Good to know. Catch that guy at the end of the bar, then you can clock out. I’ll get this order.”

“You got it. My mom’s watching the baby, and we’re going to the movies. I love that girl to pieces, but it’ll sure be nice to go out with my sweetheart.”

He drew a draft for the guest at the bar. Set a glass of white wine beside it. “Expecting his wife, running a tab, room 305. I’m out.”

“Have a good time.”

She poured and drew, mopped and served, and almost forgot about the nagging soreness.

Almost.

Near midnight, Miles took a stool.

She set a glass of Cab in front of him. “Not your usual night,” she commented.

“I have a usual?”

“Friday night.”

He shrugged. “I’ve got some work. Haven’t seen you in the gym before,” he said before she could move away and leave him to it.

“My first time. In that gym or any.”

Amber eyes studied her face as if she were a puzzle to solve. “You’ve seriously never gone to the gym? Ever?”

“I had other priorities besides a gym membership.”

“So you streamed workouts at home?”

“No.” Why did that make her feel embarrassed? “Not everybody … some of us … I biked. I biked to my day job most days.”

“Okay.” But he picked up his wine instead of his phone. “And?”

“I biked,” she repeated. “About ten miles round-trip. And things.”

“What things?”

“Like … normal things.”

A smile came into his eyes. She hadn’t seen that happen before. Into irritation snuck a wish she could keep it there.

“Jen work you out?”

“It was supposed to be a self-defense class, and it started that way. Then it’s ‘Take these weights. Give me five more reps.’”

“Feeling it?”

“God, yes. Now she says I have to go into that torture chamber three times a week, and I’m afraid if I don’t, she’ll hunt me down and make me pay.”

“You’ll go in, but not for fear of Jen.”

“Why else?”

“You’re not a quitter.”

Not sure what to make of that, she moved down the bar to fill a table order. When she glanced back, his thumbs were busy texting, so she left him alone.

At last call, she set a glass of still water on the bar. “Are you in here to keep an eye on me?”

“I had work, wanted a glass of Cab.”