fbi- lrh

.12

Evelyn. 

I absolutely love training in the ring. In there, there was nothing but me and the boxing ring. Nothing but me and the punching bag.

Better than sex.

I swung at the punching bag, my heart-rate raised with every punch I aimed at the sack. My mind was completely empty, all my frustration and anger poured out.

I took a harsh breath through my mouth, blood pumping to my ears as I went on rapid-fire, punching quickly and immediately after the other for a minute straight.

With that, I took a step back, shaking off the slight tension in my arms above my head before going again.

I began once again and swung once more, hitting quickly.

"How is your left hook stronger than your right, but you're right-handed?"

I groaned, pausing my workout and pinching my nose with my punching gloves, the finger holes allowing me mobility.

"Agent Hemmings."

I nearly forgot that we had booked this place together.

God damn it.

My eyes turned to him to see his body. His frame was covered by a thin muscle shirt, accentuating muscles I knew he had but chose to ignore. His athletic shorts exposed strong calves.

I glanced down at my own outfit for just a moment. I too was wearing a muscle shirt, meant for women, though. The nylon shorts meant to give me more mobility, a free range of movement.

Sweat had already drenched my body, my two braids thick with it.

Not that I cared.

Luke placed his duffle bag on the floor, hooking his leg over the ring barriers easily and jumping up. I watched him expectantly as placed his towel down and turned to me.

Then, he raised his hands in front of him. I blinked at him with a stare, my eyes narrowed at the man in front of me. Does he want me to spar him?

"Come on," he gestured, smacking his fingerless gloves together, "Let's go Agent."

Alright. If he wants a fight, he'll get a fight.

Let's fucking dance.

Right off the bat, it was clear that he was stronger than me. He was faster than me, and he was the best part of a foot taller to boot. He did, however, lack finesse.

Driving me back step by step across the ring,  he had good reason to feel he was dominating our match.

For now, of course.

With one particular swing, I ducked. He left his abdomen open, and I took full advantage of that. I jolted forward, knuckling his ribs as he huffed from the force.

Somehow, that was the only swing I could make contact with.

My jaw clenched, pushing all my anger from yesterday and his belittling into this fight.

I raised my fists up to eye level, my brown eyes piercing his blue. He got a good hook in my jaw, backing me up as I jolted from the pain.

He blocked my next few moves easily, protecting himself from my strong swings. Luke swung again, hitting my jaw once more.

"You leave your jaw exposed."

I paused, confused, and frustrated at his words. That was impossible- my gloves were right up against my face. There was no way.