He grinned at me and commanded, “Josie, just do it.”

I studied him a moment before I prepared my rope and started skipping and I did this by literally skipping over the rope, one foot and then the next, like I learned decades ago on the playground at school.

Jake watched my feet and he did this smiling big then he looked at my face and he was still smiling big.

And his voice was shaking with humor when he ordered, “Stop.”

I stopped.

He kept ordering by saying, “Now watch.”

I watched.

Jake started skipping rope but not like me. I was pretty certain my lips had parted in wonder as the rope went so fast it whistled through the air and he jumped on the balls of his feet, sometimes lifting one but an inch to jump on one foot, then moving to the other, then using both of them.

He ceased doing this and asked, “Can you do that?”

“Absolutely not,” I answered truthfully because I…could…not. I might kill myself and this was not an exaggeration. Me, rope, speed and jumping was not a good mix. I knew this about myself completely.

He was smiling again when he noted, “Slick, it isn’t hard.”

“Jake, I think it isn’t lost on you that I’m not the most graceful of females,” I pointed out.

Or males. Or any being with legs.

I didn’t go on to include these options.

“Yeah, in heels,” he replied.

“Also not in heels,” I shared.

“And when aren’t you in heels?” he asked.

“This morning, when I slammed my head into your jaw.”

“I surprised you.”

This was true.

“Try it,” he encouraged.

It was then I found myself wondering how I was wearing Amber’s workout clothes, had a donut in my stomach, far less caffeine than was required for me to face the day and was in Jake’s gym at the ungodly hour of seven fifteen in the morning contemplating the idea of taking my life in my hands to skip rope for Jake Spear.

My eyes wandered to his body-hugging t-shirt and I had my answer.

Thus, I arranged my rope and started.

First pass was good, second pass I caught the rope on my ankle and tripped.

“Shake it off, try again,” Jake murmured then began jumping rope.

I took in a deep breath and tried again.

Three jumps into it, I failed again.

“Again,” Jake said, still jumping.

I gave him a look and tried again.

Ten seconds later, I failed again.

“Don’t give up, babe,” Jake urged.

I sighed and tried again, failed again, tried again and failed again.

Jake stopped jumping and I looked to him.

“Right,” he said, his voice again trembling with humor. “Do that schoolyard skipping thing instead. It’s not as fast but it’s something and we need you warmed up.”

“I feel like a fool,” I murmured, looking down and preparing to start again, the girlie schoolyard way with Jake beside me doing it the manly boxing gym way, but my hand was stayed by Jake’s fingers wrapping around my wrist.

I looked up when the fingers of Jake’s other hand curved around my jaw and I saw he’d gotten close.

Very close.

“You are not a fool,” he whispered. “You can never be a fool. You’re total class from top to toe. You’re also a klutz. Own that, baby, because it’s cute and because it’s you. If you learn to accept yourself just as you are, learn to laugh at your quirks instead of hating them, show the world all that’s you without tryin’ to hide things that are not even a little unattractive, that makes you more attractive. What you got is a fuckuva lot. You own all of it and let it all hang out, you’ll go off-the-charts.”

My heart was racing and not from exercise when I blurted, “You’re very sweet.”

“And you’re very cute,” he returned immediately then grinned. “Even cuter standin’ in a fighter’s gym skippin’ rope the way you do it. So own that, Josie.”

That was so nice, his words made me feel so lovely, I could do nothing but nod.

So I did.

After years of Gran saying much the same thing and me not taking it in, for Jake, I’d own it.

For Jake, alas, I had a feeling I’d do anything.

He unfortunately let me go and stepped away.

He started jumping rope and I began skipping it. I continued to do this for some time without catching my rope on my ankles or any other mistakes and suddenly found it was kind of fun.

On this thought, the phone in the office rang.

Jake stopped jumping rope and said to me, “Keep doin’ that, Slick. Only stop if you get too winded.”

I nodded.

He moved to the office just as the door behind me opened.

Still skipping and doing it concentrating so I wouldn’t falter, I turned to it and saw a brawny man walking in wearing workout clothes and carrying a workout bag over his shoulder. He was, perhaps, two or three inches shorter than Jake (which, I should note, still put him at tall) and he had his dark brown hair clipped close to his skull in an attractive cut. He was quite muscled, and although his muscle was bulky, it was not as pronounced as Jake’s.

He also had his eyes on me as he moved into the gym and he further had his lips turned up into a grin.

I kept skipping rope, doing it owning it as Jake said I should and I saw as the man approached that he did not seem to think I looked a fool. Not if I read the look in his eyes correctly.

“Hey,” he greeted, stopping close (though not too close, my rope was still swinging).

He had lovely blue eyes.

“Good morning,” I replied, still leaping over my rope.

He looked me up and down before he again caught my eyes. “You new to the female league?”

“As I don’t know what that is, the answer would be no,” I answered and his grin got bigger.

“Female fighters,” he explained.

“Yes, my answer is no,” I confirmed.

“Good to know, seein’ as no one should put a glove to that face,” he remarked.

Since I agreed I wanted no boxing glove hitting my face, and since I thought this was an unusual but quite nice compliment, I said nothing.

His grin turned into a smile. “Name’s Mickey,” he informed me.

“Josephine.”

“Nice t’meet you, Josephine.”

“Likewise,” I replied.

“Please tell me that Jake’s opening the gym to aerobics classes and you’re the instructor,” he begged good-naturedly.

“Alas, I must dash this dream,” I told him.

He burst out laughing and I found the sound of it most attractive.

When he stopped, he asked, “So, seein’ as this gym is fighters only, you wanna share what you’re doin’ here skippin’ rope?”

“She’s with me.”

This came from behind me and it came from Jake.

Mickey’s eyes moved to Jake and I looked over my shoulder at him (yes, still skipping rope).

“You can quit, Slick,” he said to me.

I stopped skipping.

“We got a new gym policy?” Mickey asked Jake as Jake came to a stop close to my side.

“Yeah, the policy is, seein’ as I own the joint, I can let anyone I want in,” Jake answered.

“Well, in case you want feedback, I approve of your choice,” Mickey returned and I looked to him and smiled.

When I did, I felt Jake get closer to me.

Mickey looked at me. “You comin’ to the Saturday night match?”

“The what?” I inquired.

“Adult league,” Mickey stated and it was clear he felt he answered my question but he didn’t.

So I queried, “Pardon?”

“Adult league,” Jake repeated Mickey’s words and I looked up at him. “Mick and me belong to an adult league. We box in Saturday night league matches.”

Intriguing.

“Every weekend?” I asked.

“Can’t fight that much, Slick,” Jake answered. “One match every month, short matches, three rounds.”

“You wanna come, I’ll leave tickets for you at the office,” Mickey invited at this juncture and I looked to him.

Before I could answer, Jake put in, “She wants to come, I got her covered.”

I looked to him.

“You got three kids and DeeDee to cover. I got her,” Mickey returned and I felt my insides squeeze.

DeeDee?

Who was DeeDee?

“Dee’s gone, Mick,” Jake said in a quiet voice that strangely also sounded quite lethal. “You know that,” he finished and that sounded even more lethal.

My insides relaxed.

“You been on and off for two years, Jake,” Mickey remarked.

My insides seized again.

“We’ve been off for five months, Mick,” Jake returned, his voice still quiet, but now tight and also terse.

“Right,” Mick murmured but it was the odd mixture of both taunting and disbelieving.

I wasn’t entirely certain what was happening. I just knew it was dangerous and I also knew I was the only one there who could do anything about it.

Therefore, I did and I did this by turning to Jake and noting, “I think I’m warmed up, Jake. Can I punch a punching bag now?”

Jake looked down at me and I saw his face was also tight, most specifically his strong, square jaw.

Oh dear.

It relaxed but only slightly when he replied, “Yeah, babe. I’ll show you how to work the bag then we’ll finish you up on the speed bag.”

I had no idea what was what but I still said, “Excellent.”

He jerked up his chin and stated, “Let’s move.” But he was the one who moved me, doing this by putting a hand in the small of my back and giving me a gentle shove.

I got moving.

Jake said over his shoulder, “Later, Mick.”

“Later, Jake,” Mickey replied and then, clearly to me, “If you come to the match, I’ll have a ticket waiting for you, Josephine.”