Challenging the Center (Santa Fe Bobcats #6)(53)

But there was canniness now, and she realized she’d seriously underestimated him.

“You think I’m going to improve your tennis game by making you run? Because that’s what tennis is, right? Just running, running, running.” Gary stopped about a foot in front of her, and she suddenly felt three inches tall. “Might as well have you go work in an ice cream shop for all the good that will do you. You wanna run, you do it with your trainer or yourself or your damn dog. You come here for tennis, with your head screwed on straight from the minute you walk in the door, or you don’t come at all.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Kat nodded. “Sorry.”

“Stop being sorry, for shit’s sake. Just hit the f*cking ball.” He started walking back toward the wall, then looked over his shoulder. “And if you raise your shoulders again while you hit a ground stroke, I’ll rip them off your torso and beat you with them.”

“Yes, Coach.” She fought back a grin as Thomas waited for her to take her spot to work on approaches.



Michael walked into the gym on the wrong side of town, looking around the dim area for Kat. Not on any of the free weights, nor was she on any of the cardio equipment. He looked for De’Shawn but didn’t see him anywhere either. Finally, he gave up looking and started asking around. A few guys gave him the piss off look, but finally someone took pity on him and pointed toward a room in the back. If it were that kind of gym, he’d consider the walled off area where they might host classes like Zumba or yoga. But this was definitely not a yoga kind of place.

He heard the barking commands of a drill sergeant as he walked in and found Kat standing in what looked like a trumped-up, makeshift boxing ring. She wore headgear and gloves that looked ridiculous on her and bounced around on her bare feet across from a tall man Michael didn’t recognize. De’Shawn was standing beside the man, looking at Kat. None of them noticed him.

“You’re not anticipating. You can do this on the tennis court, so why can’t you do it here?”

“Uh, twenty years of experience on the court?” Kat asked, then shrieked and ducked out of the way when the man’s gloved fist flew toward her.

Michael froze, everything in him tightening. What the hell was De’Shawn doing?

“Anticipation and instinct aren’t just something you’re born with. You hone them. Sharpen them with time and use. Learning to anticipate what someone does across the net is connected to watching his body move across the mat.”

“But they’re not going to hit me with a fist when I get it wrong,” Kat pointed out, her words thick and a little distorted by the mouth guard she wore.

“You wanted help, I’m helping. This is going to do you a world of good, trust me.”

Michael knew from experience that stepping outside of your chosen sport was a great way to learn new skills or to give you an edge. It’s why so many coaches had their football players take ballet classes every so often, to encourage added flexibility and range of motion.

But this… this was dangerous.

“De’Shawn,” he said, and three heads swiveled his direction. “C’mon, man, isn’t there something else she could be doing?”

Kat’s face was mutinous, and she slammed her gloved hands together in a near-comical self-high five. “Let’s do this.”

“Five seconds ago you were arguing with the man,” Michael pointed out. “Just get out of the ring. You don’t have to prove anything.”

Her face said she disagreed with him. Because of course she did. She wouldn’t agree with him if it would save her from being torn to pieces by a pack of hungry wolves. She was too stubborn a woman.

“De’Shawn,” he said again, but the trainer ignored him. So did the guy Kat was apparently going to be sparring with.

They touched gloves, De’Shawn spoke a few words into the other man’s ear, then he yelled, “Go!”

Kat came out swinging, with zero style that Michael could see. But it put the other guy on the defensive and he took a few lunging steps back. Then went for a shot of his own. Kat anticipated, weaving to the left to avoid getting knocked in the shoulder, then jabbed out with her own glove to get her opponent in the stomach. He doubled over with an audible, “Ooof!”

Kat stepped back with a cheer, bouncing on the balls of her feet, arms raised in the air. “Oh yeah, oh yeah. Who can’t anticipate now?” she asked, grinning with the thick plastic mouth guard over her teeth. She did a little dance and started singing—badly—to “Eye of the Tiger.”

Michael realized he was smiling and forced himself to scowl when she turned toward him.

“How do you like them shots?”

“Huh?” he asked, just to f*ck with her.

She rolled her eyes, reached in and clumsily took the mouth guard out. Instead of putting it down, she slipped it up and under her sports bra strap that was peeking out from her tank top.

“I said—”

“I heard you. I was kidding.”

“You can’t tell,” she said dryly, holding up her gloved hand, “but I’m flipping you off right now.”

Her trainer walked over and helped her remove the gloves and headgear. “Go get showered off,” De’Shawn said, patting her on the shoulder. “We’ll talk about the week’s schedule when you come back out.”