Breakable

‘Make sure you get that shit on tight,’ he reminded me. ‘Fairfield got nailed in the junk last fall after some sloppy padding up. We’re teaching these ladies not to hold back and they don’t. I don’t think he could stand for a full fifteen minutes, poor bastard. I laughed till I cried, of course.’

When called back to order, the women separated into two groups, prepared for the bear hug assault, which was just what it sounded like. Then Watts said, ‘Don, Lucas, let’s have you two switch off, mix up the attacker tactics.’

This landed Jacqueline in my line, as well as my department admin, who volunteered to help demonstrate the move – a series of possible defences against being grabbed in a full body hug. Little wonder Jacqueline looked freaked and ready to make a dash for the door. I felt no different. I would have my arms all the way round her, in front of everyone, within the next few minutes.

I explained the moves – head butt, shin scrape, instep stomp, elbow to the midsection, and the hands-down class favourite every time, the balls-grabbing-twisting-yanking lawnmower. Watts came over and used me to demonstrate. ’Reach back and grab the goods, twisting and pulling straight out like you’re startin’ a lawnmower.’

He ended with, ‘Vvvvrrroom!’ The women howled with laughter, and I bit my lip and probably reddened when Watts asked them to please dramatize that move without fully enacting it, to ensure Ellsworth and I remained capable of future fatherhood.

One by one, the six women in my line took turns facing the others while I came up behind them and grabbed all the way round, banding my arms and pinning theirs. They used whichever of the defences they wanted to use, most doing a facsimile of the lawnmower at the end, complete with sound effect. Jacqueline’s friend, Erin, performed every single defence, full throttle. I smiled, imagining her attacker on the ground begging her to run away. Her group cheered while she asked, completely serious, if she should kick him before running away.

I liked this girl.

Finally, it was Jacqueline’s turn. I knew that her nervousness was because of me, and I was determined that she not be at a disadvantage because of that. She needed to learn these moves. She needed to feel the power behind performing them. She needed faith in herself, and it was my job to give that to her.

When my arms surrounded her, she froze. Dammit. My fault, my fault, my fault.

‘Hit me, Jacqueline,’ I prompted softly. ‘Elbow.’

She obeyed.

‘Good. Foot stomp. Head butt.’ I led her quietly, and she followed. ‘Lawnmower.’ She did the move, without the sound effect employed by the others.

I released her and she stumbled towards her group, who were cheering as if she’d medalled in an Olympic event. Erin enveloped her in a protective embrace, and I decided she was the worthiest friend my girl could have.

My girl.

The front bear hug rendered me dumbstruck. Even with the padding and the audience and the objective behind the interaction, I looked into her eyes, inches away, and felt my desire for her like a kick to the gut. Luckily, my body went on autopilot to imitate a full-body frontal assault, and she did the defence moves without prompts, attuned to the voices of her group’s enthusiastically shouted directives and calls of encouragement.

One more week of economics classes.

One more self-defence module.

Over.

20

Landon

‘See, Standish, here’s the deal …’ Boyce sometimes sounded like a long-suffering parent, which in a way was just meaner. It made people think things weren’t as serious as they were. ‘You’ve gotten yourself into some deep shit, dude.’

I rolled my eyes¸ arms crossed over my chest, one hip braced against a chipped sink.

Eddie Standish faced Boyce but eyed me from the side without turning towards me, like a bird. The better to track where I was … without looking me in the eye. ‘I just need a little more time, you know?’

‘Ah,’ Boyce said, pursing his lips. ‘See, that’s the problem. Your time – it’s kinda run out.’

Standish blinked and his face went blotchy. Jesus, I hope he didn’t cry. I hated when they cried. ‘Run out? Whaddaya mean, run out? Y’all know me. Thompson knows me. Can’t I, like, have an extension?’ He turned away and ran both hands through his hair, tugging it – but when he turned back, it was like he’d put on a mask. ‘C’mon, Wynn. Don’t be a dick.’ A superior, better than thou, I’m about to get my ass handed to me mask.

Wynn looked at me. Is he doing what I think he’s doing?

I shrugged. Yeah, man.

A lowerclassman came through the bathroom door then, took one look at the three of us and backed straight out, eyes bulging.

Wynn angled his head and walked up to Standish. ‘So I’m the dick, eh? Not the guy who’s two hundred – is it two hundred, Maxfield?’

‘Yep.’

‘Two hundred bucks in debt for shit he traded for pu**y.’ Boyce laughed, and Standish laughed, too. Idiot. ‘I could make a comment here about the fact that Maxfield and I don’t have to pay for pu**y – ever. I could comment about how sad and pathetic it is that (a) you have to pay to get laid or that (b) doing so narrows the field to girls who’d do a guy for free shit in the first place, but I won’t.’

Boyce stared at his feet, fingers on his chin, tapping – which meant he was about to turn philosophical. Fuck. I had a class to get to.

‘Now, I’ve got nothing against a girl who enjoys her body in the same manner I do mine, though there is a difference between bein’ a slut – like me – and bein’ a prostitute.’ Boyce peered back at Standish. ‘I don’t judge them. A girl’s gotta do – et cetera, et cetera. But guys like you – who only get it when you pay for it? That is just tragic. In a really humorous sort of way, when you want to turn round and call me a dick.’