Tyed(10)

I quickly realize why Jesse was oh-so-amused with me thinking women don't find this sport attractive. Desperate, female fans are found in toxic quantities with every video I watch. Nearly every match online of him knocking out an opponent bears endless comments from adoring women, like: I watched this video three times. Once with the door locked ;-) And the less understated: I want to sit on his gorgeous face!!! CALL ME TY.

Cue to pass the puke bucket, please.

Evidently, I was wrong. Women like men who play hockey, football, basketball and golf (okay, scratch golf). Women love men who know how to fight.

Ty’s ranking in the welterweight division is impressive, with experts predicting that he or Irish Eoghan Doherty could take the title from Brazilian Jesus Vasquez this year.

I spend the night gorging on info about Ty Wilder, creating a self-feeding monster. The more I find out about him, the more I crave. It’s 3 a.m. when I finally slam the laptop screen with a bang, exhaling sharply.

Yes, I will research Jesse and Dawson. But I'll do it tomorrow. Tonight, I've seen enough.

***

On Wednesday, I decide to bite the bullet and take a class at the gym. The workout is both research and minor damage control, seeing as Shane is coming over tonight for our delayed Walking Dead marathon and he’s bringing enough junk food to clog every artery in my body. Yeah, I guess Sunday is forgiven, despite the thigh-gripping incident.

Plus, I'm pretty sure taking a class will get Dawson and Jesse off my case, and I want to play nice with them. They’ve already helped me a lot, even when I e-mailed them each three times on Sunday.

I park my pink Mini in an exceptionally busy XWL parking lot, but this time there’s no sign of Ty. Not that I’m looking for him.

Ginger-Bearded Guy welcomes me at the desk with a big smile, and even calls me “Blaire” a few times just to prove that he remembers my name. He also introduces himself as Scott, which, I admit, is far catchier than Ginger-Bearded Guy.

“So what class should I take?” I study the schedule on the board behind the desk. Every single class sounds foreign and intimidating. Muay Thai. Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. Tae Kwon Do. I run my hand over my hair with frustration. Guess there’s no point asking when the next yoga class is.

“There’s either kickboxing with Jesse or jiu jitsu with Tyler. Both start at six o’clock.”

I think I'll get a better grip of how things work if I take kickboxing. Plus, Jesse is a cool dude, so that's a no brainer.

“Kickboxing, please.”

“Cool. Go all the way straight, and it’s the first door on the right. Ask Jesse for the gear. Break a leg, babe.”

“Trust me, Scott. With my luck, I just might.”

I stroll into class, and even though I’m ten minutes early, there are already fifteen people inside, chatting to each other and swapping class-related advice while guarding their favorite spots.

They obviously know one another and are comfortable as a group, and they all have boxing gloves, mouth guards and kickboxing gear. Being the newbie, I keep to myself. Which is easy, since no one talks to me. A pang of excitement pierces through me. I've always been the sporty one, Izzy being the delicate, girly twin. Me? I climbed trees, rolled around the mud and even played soccer. This could actually be fun, I try telling myself.

Five minutes later, the door swings open and Jesse walks in, hands on his waist. I sheepishly wave to him, grateful for his welcoming smile. He looks surprised to see me. I'd be surprised to see me too. But the truth is, Dawson pushed me to participate in a class, and I definitely don't want to piss him off. I need to nail this baby down if I'm ever going to get my degree.

Jesse hands me an old pair of boxing gloves. They match my lazy attire of black yoga pants and pink, loose crop top I borrowed from Izzy's closet. I listen patiently when he explains what we’re going to work on today, and nod along with everyone else, even though he might as well be speaking in tongues.

He is using kickboxing lingo, and I pretty much understand only every fourth word. My mind drifts and I’m zoning out.

I want an ice cream sandwich.

I should probably stop eating so much sugar.

Is the new Arctic Monkeys album out? I need to buy it.

Hey, whatever happened to that kid from The Shining?

My grave contemplations are interrupted when the door flings wide again. Ty swings it with force, testosterone pouring from every cell in his body. Behind him is a large group of students wearing head and knee guards.

My mouth turns dry just from seeing him. He’s wearing a wifebeater, black fight shorts and a baseball cap. The chatter stops, and all the women stare at him like he’s a red velvet brownie.

His hawk eyes are scanning the faces, searching, until they land on little ol’ me.

His gaze narrows and he shoots me a hard-edged smile.

He found what he was looking for.

“A word, bro?” he asks Jesse in an even voice, but his dark eyes are still trained on me.

They huddle in the corner for less than a minute, bobbing their heads in agreement before Jesse claps his hands and announces, “Okay, class. Change of plans. Today we’ll have a special class. We’ll mash and mix up the techniques and do both traditional kickboxing and jiu jitsu. You will be paired with the other class, and you’ll work together. Both Tyler and I will be instructing this class, so this should be pretty damn good.”