Chapter 196 | A Body That Could Kill Him
Chapter 196: 196 | A Body That Could Kill Him
Jordan pocketed his phone and shook his head.
Kumiko Yamanaka was going to be the death of him. In the best possible way.
He spent the next two hours reviewing Brooke’s documents, responding to emails, and pretending to be a functional adult with a legitimate business plan. By three-thirty, his brain felt like mush and his eyes burned from staring at legal jargon.
Time to hit something.
Jordan headed to his apartment to change into gym clothes. The drive took seven minutes, and he spent most of it thinking about dinner with Chloe and Kumiko later that evening. Two girlfriends. Same room. Same meal. Same him.
The logistics alone made his head spin.
But Chloe had suggested it. Chloe, who had admitted she wasn’t entirely comfortable sharing him but was trying anyway. Chloe, who had texted him earlier using the word love like it was just another word.
Jordan unlocked his apartment and stepped inside.
The place still smelled clean. Fresh. Like someone who had their life together actually lived here.
Amazing what a few weeks of not being pathetic could accomplish.
He changed into basketball shorts and a black tank top, grabbed his gym bag, and headed back out. Kyle’s truck was already idling in the parking structure when Jordan arrived, Leo slumped in the passenger seat looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.
Jordan climbed into the back.
"You look alive," Kyle said, pulling out of the structure.
"Barely," Leo groaned. "I’ve been doing pushups every morning. My arms hate me. My chest hates me. Everything hurts."
"That’s called progress."
"That’s called torture."
Kyle merged onto the highway toward Huntington Beach. Traffic was light for a Tuesday afternoon, the Pacific Ocean glittering in the distance like someone had scattered diamonds across blue silk.
"How was your date with Kumiko?" Kyle asked, glancing at Jordan in the rearview mirror.
"Good."
"Just good?"
"We went to the aquarium. She likes jellyfish."
Leo twisted around in his seat. "You took her to look at fish? That’s your game? Fish?"
"Jellyfish aren’t fish."
"Whatever. The point is, you could have taken her anywhere. Nice restaurant. Beach house. Private yacht. And you chose an aquarium?"
Jordan shrugged. "She mentioned she liked jellyfish once. I remembered."
Leo stared at him for a long moment.
"That’s disgusting," he finally said. "That’s the most disgustingly romantic thing I’ve ever heard. You’re making the rest of us look bad."
"You don’t need my help for that."
Kyle laughed. Leo flipped Jordan off without any real heat behind it.
The drive to Iron Coast MMA took twenty minutes. They pulled into the strip mall parking lot and found a spot near the entrance. The gym looked exactly as shabby as Jordan remembered, rust stains on the sign and faded paint on the walls.
Inside, the familiar smell of sweat and rubber hit Jordan’s nose.
Home.
Or something close to it.
Reyes nodded at them from behind the reception desk. "Boys. Back for more punishment?"
"Wouldn’t miss it," Kyle said.
"Maya’s in the back. She’s running an intermediate class right now, but the bag room’s open if you want to warm up."
They moved through the narrow hallway, the sounds of impact and shouted counts getting louder. The main training area appeared on their right. Maya Santos stood in the center of a loose semicircle of six students, her body coiled and ready. She demonstrated a combination—jab, cross, hook—each strike landing on the pad her partner held with a sharp crack that echoed off the concrete walls. No flourishes. No wasted energy. Just brutal efficiency.
Leo stopped walking.
"There she is," he whispered. "The love of my life."
"She literally told you she doesn’t date," Jordan reminded him. His eyes stayed on Maya as she reset her stance. The students mirrored her movements, none of them matching her precision.
"She said she doesn’t date. Present tense. That means it’s not a permanent condition. It’s a temporary status update."
"That’s not how language works."
"That’s exactly how language works. Grammar is on my side. She didn’t say ’I will never date.’ She said ’I don’t date.’ Completely different semantic implications."
Kyle grabbed Leo’s arm and dragged him toward the bag room before he could launch into a full linguistic analysis. "Come on, Romeo. Let’s get you warmed up before you embarrass yourself again."
The bag room was cramped. Four heavy bags hung from chains bolted to the exposed ceiling beams, each one scarred and patched from years of abuse. A wall of mirrors covered the far side for form checks. The rubber floor was stained with sweat and scuffed from countless pivots.
Jordan wrapped his hands the way Kyle had taught him two weeks ago. The process took less time now. Loop around the wrist. Between the fingers. Around the thumb. Back across the knuckles. The familiar routine settled his mind, gave him something concrete to focus on.
He positioned himself in front of the first bag.
One-two. One-two. One-two.
The impact traveled up his forearm with each strike. His shoulder rotated properly. His hip turned. His foot pivoted on the ball, weight transferring forward through his body into the punch. Everything connected the way Maya had shown them during that first brutal session.
Better than last time.
Still not great. The bag barely moved. His power generation was weak. But his form was cleaner now, less sloppy.
Progress.
Small, measurable progress.
Kyle worked the bag next to him, his combinations crisp and clean. Leo fumbled through basic strikes on the third bag, his form terrible but his effort genuine.
Progress.
Even for Leo.
Thirty minutes later, Maya appeared in the doorway.
She looked the same as before. Sports bra. Compression shorts. Black hair in a tight braid. A body that could probably kill him in seventeen different ways before he hit the ground.
"Beginner session starts in five," she said flatly. "Get to the mat."
They filed out to the main training area.
The class was smaller today, just Jordan, Kyle, Leo, and two other newcomers. Maya had them line up facing the mirrors and began reviewing the basics from their previous session.
Stance. Footwork. Jab. Cross.
Jordan’s body remembered most of it. The movements felt less foreign now, more natural. He caught Maya watching him during the drill portion, her dark eyes tracking his form without comment.
"Better," she said when she passed by him.