Chapter 239 | The Housecat Still Has Claws [PS BONUS]
Chapter 239: 239 | The Housecat Still Has Claws [PS BONUS]
Maya grabbed a towel from the corner of the ring and wiped her face. The motion pulled her sports bra tight against her chest, and Jordan very carefully did not look.
"Your friends aren’t coming?"
"Came yesterday. I need the hours."
"Hours?"
"Ninety minutes of physical activity. Daily requirement."
Maya’s eyebrow twitched. It was the closest thing to a smile she ever gave.
"Requirements. Like you’re following a training program."
"Something like that."
She studied him for a long moment. Those dark eyes missed nothing. Jordan felt like a specimen under a microscope.
"You’ve been improving," she said finally.
"Have I."
"Your footwork is better. Your guard is tighter. You’re reading telegraphs faster than you should be after only a few weeks of training."
Jordan shrugged. "Good teacher."
"Flattery is pointless."
"It’s not flattery if it’s true."
Maya made a sound that might have been amusement. Hard to tell with her.
"Get in the ring."
It wasn’t a request.
Jordan ducked through the ropes and stepped onto the canvas. The surface gave slightly under his feet, familiar now after weeks of getting his ass kicked in this exact spot.
Maya tossed him a pair of hand wraps from a bucket in the corner.
"Wrap up. Start with the heavy bag. I want to see where you are."
Jordan caught the wraps and started winding them around his hands the way Kyle had taught him. Left hand first. Between the fingers. Around the wrist. Secure the thumb.
Maya watched him work with that unblinking intensity she brought to everything.
"Faster."
Jordan picked up the pace.
"Tighter around the knuckles."
He adjusted.
When he finished, Maya nodded once. Approval. Probably.
"Bag. Three rounds. Three minutes each. I’ll call time."
Jordan moved to the heavy bag and settled into his stance. Feet shoulder-width apart. Knees slightly bent. Hands up. Chin tucked.
"Begin."
Jordan threw his first jab.
The impact traveled up his arm, familiar and satisfying. He followed with a cross, then a hook. One-two-three. Basic combination. The bag swung and he moved with it, circling, keeping his guard up.
"Faster."
He picked up the tempo.
"Rotate your hips on the cross."
He adjusted his form.
"Better."
Three minutes of constant motion. Three minutes of fists connecting with leather. Three minutes of Maya’s voice in his ear, correcting, adjusting, demanding more.
"Time. Rest."
Jordan dropped his hands and sucked air. His lungs burned. His shoulders ached. Sweat ran down his face and dripped onto the canvas.
Maya hadn’t moved from her position against the ropes.
"Round two. Begin."
Jordan went again.
This time he pushed harder. Threw more combinations. Mixed in body shots with headwork. Let the rhythm take over until thinking became unnecessary and movement became automatic.
"Your left hook is lazy."
He tightened it up.
"You’re dropping your right hand when you jab."
He raised it.
"Better. Harder. Make the bag feel it."
Jordan hit harder.
By the end of round three, he could barely lift his arms. His wraps were damp with sweat. His breath came in ragged gasps.
"Time."
Jordan bent over, hands on his knees, trying to remember how to breathe.
Maya appeared in front of him. Her face filled his vision. Close enough that he could see the individual droplets of sweat on her collarbones.
"You adapt quickly," she said.
"Thanks."
"It wasn’t a compliment. It was an observation."
"What’s the difference?"
Maya’s lips twitched. "Compliments imply I care about your feelings. I don’t."
"Fair enough."
She stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest. The motion pushed her breasts up slightly, and Jordan absolutely did not notice.
"Most people take months to reach your level. You’ve done it in weeks. Either you have natural talent you’ve been wasting, or something else is going on."
Jordan straightened up. "Maybe I’m just motivated."
"Motivation doesn’t give you instincts. Motivation doesn’t let you read a feint that would fool people who’ve been boxing for years." Her eyes narrowed. "What are you?"
That was a loaded question.
Jordan could tell her about the System. The Tune Up trait that had optimized his body to peak baseline. The way his muscle memory seemed accelerated, like his brain was downloading techniques instead of learning them.
He didn’t.
"I’m a business economics major with anger issues and too much free time."
Maya stared at him.
Then she laughed.
It was a short sound, more like a bark than actual laughter, but it was genuine. The first real emotion Jordan had seen from her in weeks.
"Anger issues. That I believe."
"Glad we’re on the same page."
Maya walked to the center of the ring. She rolled her shoulders once, twice, and settled into a stance that made her look like a weapon waiting to be deployed.
"You want to spar?"
Jordan’s brain short-circuited.
"Excuse me?"
"Spar. You and me. Light contact. I want to see how far that adaptation of yours goes."
Jordan looked at Maya Santos. Five foot eight of weaponized muscle. The girl who had knocked out men twice her size in underground fights. The girl whose mere presence made hardened fighters nervous.
She wanted to fight him.
"You realize I’ve been training for like three weeks."
"I’m aware."
"And you’ve been training since you could walk."
"Since I was four. Close enough."
"So this would be like a lion fighting a housecat."
Maya’s expression didn’t change. "The housecat still has claws."
Jordan considered his options.
Option A: Say no. Preserve his dignity. Walk away with his face intact.
Option B: Say yes. Get his ass kicked by the most beautiful and terrifying woman he’d ever met. Possibly learn something in the process.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
DAILY QUEST: Path to Becoming Adonis
Physical: 47/90 minutes complete
43 minutes remaining. Don’t quit now.
Jordan looked at Maya.
"Light contact?"
"I won’t break anything important."
"That’s not as reassuring as you think it is."
Maya shrugged. "I could always find someone else to train with."
She started walking toward the ropes.
"Wait."
She stopped.
"I’ll do it."