In Her Corner

Bella let out a breath. Less than an hour in and she was already picking fights with the boss. She knew she was antagonizing Kyle partly because it was too easy to mess with someone that uptight. Kyle reminded her of her grandfather—as unsmiling and unyielding as a stone gargoyle. The guy had to have a funny bone somewhere beneath all that tightly wound muscle. She could practically see his high blood pressure throbbing through the veins on his corded neck. What he needed was a long vacation.

Or a good lay.

But as much as she wanted to shake him up, she couldn’t keep poking the bear. Bella folded her hands behind her and bowed her head. If she wanted to work with the best wrestler in the biz, she had to dial it back. “I apologize. Again.” She had a feeling she’d be doing that a lot with him. The thought grated. “As long as there are people taking the class, it doesn’t matter what it’s called.”

“It’s half-full now,” he said tautly.

He ran through the rest of the schedule with her. She would teach four classes a week and give physical assessments and personal training sessions. The rest of the time she could spend training.

“Don’t expect my guys to drop everything for you,” he warned. “Some have their own fights to train for and clients on the side. Do you have fights coming up?”

She’d been looking, but opponents in the women’s 155-pound weight class were few and far between. “No.”

“Then you won’t be a priority. We focus on the clients with upcoming matches as we get closer to the dates.”

And just like that, he’d dismissed her again. “I’m still looking for my next fight. But in the meantime, I’m happy to settle in here, learn the ropes.” She tried for a smile but was sure she was baring her teeth at him.

Kyle nodded. “Good. I’ll have Tito start conditioning with you.”

“And then?”

“And then we’ll see.” He started to walk stiffly away, but paused and said over his shoulder, “I wasn’t scared, you know.”

“Scared?”

“When you came up to me on your bike. I wasn’t scared of you. But you messed with my car. If you’d been a guy, I would’ve probably punched you in the face.”

Bella tilted her chin up unapologetically, not in the least intimidated. “This is going to be a thing between us, isn’t it?”

His look was stone-cold. “Just don’t touch my car again.”

* * *

AT THE END of the day, Bella opened the windows in her apartment to let in the damp night air. If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend she was back in São Paulo. Of course, there it would be getting hotter as summer encroached while in New Orleans, the summer season was tapering off. The idea of living through two winters in one year kind of depressed her—not that winter in New Orleans would be like anything she’d experienced when she’d gone to university in Canada. She was grateful for that.

She checked her watch and right on time, the phone rang. She picked up.

“Querida, tudo bem?”

“I’m good, Mamãe.” Her mother, Ana, had called every day since she’d arrived in New Orleans. “I started at Payette’s today.”

“Did you make any friends?”

“I suppose.” Except for Kyle, she thought acerbically. But that had been partly her fault. “Cómo está o Papai?”

“Your father misses you, but Fulvio keeps him too busy to mope.”

“Is Fulvio still mad?”

“Your grandfather?” Ana blew out a breath noisily. “Who knows? He hasn’t said anything, but that’s Fulvio. You know what he can be like when he doesn’t get his way.”

“I guess the silent treatment is better than the yelling treatment.” Though Bella wasn’t entirely certain that was true. They’d parted on terrible terms, and the guilt of storming out on him ate at her conscience. She loved her grandfather—he’d taught her almost everything she knew about fighting. But she couldn’t let him dictate her future.

She asked after her brothers, and her mother went on at length about their various clients, fights and adventures in the gym. Bella was content to simply listen. She could tell Ana missed having her daughter around to talk to. She missed her mother, too. But Ana understood why she’d had to leave.

“So, did you get your driver’s license yet?”

“I told you, my bike is enough. I didn’t go through the trouble of shipping it here so that I could buy a car.”

“No one in America rides bicycles. Some crazy idiot in an SUV is going to get you killed.”

She thought about her encounter with Kyle and smiled to herself. “I’ll be fine. My apartment is barely a thirty-minute ride from the gym. I rode everywhere back home, and you never complained.”

“You never heard me complain is all. Worrying about you took years off my life.”

“I wear a helmet. Besides, I face worse every time I spar.”

“Don’t remind me.” She sighed. “I realize this is your dream, Bella, even if no one here approves. But I want you to know I love you and all I want is for you to be happy and safe.”

“I can promise I’ll be one of those things. But probably not both. Not by your definition.”

“Bella...”

“I’m taking all the precautions. I never do anything I don’t think I’m capable of. I was trained by the best.”

After they hung up, Bella was restless. Her first day had been a paperwork and orientation kind of day, and while her brain was tired, her body wasn’t. She got dressed and went for a walk.

She wasn’t too far from Bourbon Street, so she pointed herself toward the district. As she meandered along the famous strip, she was surprised by the number of people out on a Monday night. Weaving through the crowd, it was hard to imagine what the weekend would look like.

She peeked into the bars as she passed, then walked into one that suited her—clean, classy, with modern furnishings and an extensive menu. TV screens showed sports highlights, a baseball game and, more importantly, an MMA fight.

She parked herself at the corner of the bar closest to the screen showing the fight. She ordered a bottle of beer. She didn’t normally drink when she was training, but it didn’t seem right to order water.

She nursed her drink as she watched the fight, studying the two lightweights’ techniques. She knew of one of them—Alessander Mortensen, an up-and-comer who specialized in judo. He’d trained briefly with her brothers in São Paulo. His opponent, Mike Bourne, danced out of the other man’s reach, striking and weaving, but not getting any significant hits in. The guy was afraid.

“Oh, c’mon!” she yelled at the screen. The match ended to a round of boos. Bourne had let the clock run out, evading Mortensen as long as possible, scoring points with cheap kicks to the shins. Sadly, she couldn’t say that Mortensen was doing any better.

“I didn’t know chicks watched this stuff.” A man slid up next to her. He smelled like uncooked ground beef. “Can I buy you a drink?”

She barely spared him a glance. “No thanks. I already have one.”

The man asked the bartender for two beers anyway. “What is it about these fights that chicks like? Two greased-up guys mounting each other? That’s pretty gay.”

She turned cold eyes toward him. He might have been okay looking in a certain light, but the words coming out of his mouth spoiled any such illusions. “I like watching the fights because it’s what my family and I do for a living. And as for your homophobic comment, I won’t even dignify that with a response. Now take your cheap-ass beers and go away. I’m trying to enjoy the fight.”

He slid closer. “Aw, don’t be like that. I didn’t mean—”

“Read between the lines, asshole.” She raised her voice so everyone in the place would hear. “You insulted me. You blew it. Now leave me alone.”