Below the Belt

“I did. I will. I just…I guess I don’t understand why you suddenly want to get in the ring,” he said.

Jamie stared at him, almost tempted to tell him about her promise, about her burning need to set things right for her grandfather, to wipe out the shame that had become her family’s heritage.

“It’s in my blood. What can I say?” Jamie said.

Ray didn’t look as though he believed her, but he also knew her well enough not to push.

“I’ll try Cooper again tonight when I call him,” he said.

“Don’t bother. I wouldn’t take him as a trainer now if he crawled on his belly. I want someone who believes in me, not some grudging, sexist asshole.”

“He’s a good guy. A smart guy,” Ray said.

She flicked an appraising look his way. “You’re going to go with him, aren’t you?”

“He’s got stuff I need to know. And Lenny’s getting past it,” Ray confirmed.

“Good luck. You’re going to need it,” she muttered.

Ray smiled and shook his head, used to her lip.

“I gotta get back to work,” she said. “Thanks for pitching me today. I owe you one.”

“Do I get to pick what the one is?” Ray asked.

She punched one of his bulging biceps as she brushed past him, keeping things light. Ray had never really gotten over the fling they’d had five years ago. She would have driven him crazy if they’d stayed together, but he hadn’t quite admitted that to himself yet. She’d done him the biggest favor of his life when she’d walked out on him. She didn’t do commitment. She certainly didn’t do love, whatever the hell that was apart from a really great way for a person to let herself get screwed over.

“I’ll wax your car for you, but that’s about as close as you’re going to get to what you’re thinking,” she said as she headed toward the front door.

Behind her, Ray laughed. She felt the small moment of tension slide away, as she’d intended.

“Always with the mouth, Sawyer,” he said.

She swiveled on her heel. “Don’t call me that around anyone else, okay? As far as anyone knows, I’m Jamie Holloway, not Sawyer, and that’s it.”

Ray held up his hands. “Whoa, chill out, Jimmy. I’m not an idiot.”

She nodded. She’d overreacted, but as soon as anyone heard her last name, they’d know. And she wanted a chance to prove herself before the shit storm descended.

Kissing Ray goodbye, she agreed to hook up with him for a training session later in the week and made her way out to her beat-up sport Ford utility. She checked the passenger-side rear tire before she got in and saw that it was running flat again. Fortunately, there was a gas station around the corner where she could pump it back up, and she’d allocated funds from this week’s paycheck to cover a new tire. It was all staving off the inevitable day when the damned rust bucket fell apart, of course, but until that moment came, she’d eke every last mile out of the old girl if it killed her.

For just a second—a weak, self-pitying second—she allowed herself to wonder what it would have been like if she’d finished her naturopath training all those years ago, if her father were still alive and he hadn’t done what he’d done. How different would her world look? How different would she look?

“Pathetic, girl,” she told herself as she swung into the truck.

Twisting the key in the ignition, she waited for the engine to catch, holding her breath as she heard the familiar labored whine of the starter motor turning over. As it had more and more lately, the motor failed to catch on the first try. Closing her eyes, she banged her forehead against the steering wheel.

“Not now, you piece of crap.”

She’d asked her fellow hotel maid and friend Narelle to cover for her back at the Hyatt on the Park while she met with Cooper. But if she didn’t get back soon she’d be missed and the last thing she needed was another warning letter in her personnel file.

The thought of being one step closer to unemployment because she’d rearranged her life to be insulted by an ignorant ape was almost unbearable. Especially when she remembered the shiny red hunk of metal that selfsame ape had climbed out of when he’d arrived at Ray’s place earlier—a Ferrari Spider convertible, no less. And here she was, unable to even get her piece of shit to start.

And he’d been wearing a suit—a dark gray single-breasted number that had clearly been custom-made for him, along, no doubt, with his white silk shirt and his fine black leather shoes. It had thrown her for a moment, seeing him dressed like a businessman. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting—fight trunks and a sheen of sweat, perhaps? Ben-Gay and workout gear?

Whatever, it had all made him seem far less approachable than she’d imagined him to be. It had also made her feel defensive. She hated having to ask anyone for anything, but she’d psyched herself up to approach him. Then he’d walked in looking like some kind of GQ model instead of the fighter she’d been expecting.

No wonder he had a reputation with women. That handsome face of his, those deep set, intense eyes, that big, strong body—she defied any woman to look at him and not wonder what he’d be like naked and hard. Until he opened his mouth, that was. Then the illusion was well and truly destroyed and most right-thinking women would be either reaching for the heaviest object handy, or heading for the door.

Shaking her head, Jamie held her breath and tried the ignition again. She was about to give up and go beg Ray for a lift when the motor caught, coughing to life and belching black smoke out the exhaust.

Crowing with triumph, she patted the dash with renewed affection and slammed the truck into gear.

As always, she’d scraped through. Just as she’d scrape through being rejected by Cooper Fitzgerald. There were other trainers out there—good ones who would believe in her and see the same dream she saw. And when she was finally wearing the world champion’s belt, she’d have the pleasure of cutting Cooper Fitzgerald stone cold dead.

It was an image that appealed a lot, and she was grinning fit to bust as she pulled out into traffic.

Chapter Two

A MONTH LATER, Jamie forced herself to sit quietly as her grandfather taped her left hand.

“How’s that?” he asked.

She flexed both hands into fists, then slid off the massage table in the women’s change room and tried a few punches in the air.

“Good. Not too tight,” she said.

“Let’s get your gloves on,” her grandfather said.

He was a little pale. Nervous for her. That made two of them. She had so much adrenaline pumping through her system right now that she was ready to jump out of her own skin.

This was her first professional fight.

“Stay warm, but don’t tax yourself,” her grandfather advised once her gloves were laced.

“It’s going to be all right,” she assured him. “I’m going to win.”

He nodded and dropped a towel over her shoulders, patting her on the back. “You’re a tough customer, Jimmy.”

She knew it was too much to expect more from him. He’d already leaned on old fighting contacts to get her this match, despite his belief that she should wait until she had a trainer before she started competing professionally. But she was sick of being knocked back, first by Cooper Fitzgerald, then by Bob Godfrey and a string of other lesser lights. None of them had even wanted to see her fight. None of them were interested in women’s boxing. She figured the quickest way to turn the situation around was to burn up the canvas with a few fast wins—then they could all come knocking on her door.

Bouncing from foot to foot, she tried out some combinations—jab, jab, cross, jab, cross.

“Keep your guard hand up,” her grandfather instructed, referring to her left hand. “I don’t want to see it away from your chin unless it’s in your opponent’s face.”

She nodded her understanding and forced herself to be more conscious of protecting her head.

“Told you I didn’t need anyone else except for you,” she said, trying out some body shots now.