Below the Belt

  Below the Belt

  By E.M. Lindsey

  Below the Belt

  E.M. Lindsey

  Copyright © 2018

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, places, jobs, or events is purely coincidental.

  I would like to dedicate this book to B- for being the first person who taught me how to love.

  Below the Belt

  A Baum’s Boxing Novel

  Book One

  1.

  “Okay n-nuh-no, this was a b-bad idea. This was…no, I c-can’t.” Noah’s grip on his phone became a little shaky when his palms began to sweat, and he pinched it between his ear and shoulder to swipe his palm over his too-stiff, too-new sweats which he was pretty sure still had one of the pricing stickers attached to his leg, just under his left ass cheek. He could feel his tongue getting tangled, his stutter worse than usual, and he took a deep breath to calm himself.

  In his ear, a deep, gravelly voice sighed into the phone’s speaker. “Yes, you can do this. First of all, it’s not good for you to have this much pent-up frustration. You’re going to explode and end up throwing a desk at some smart-mouthed freshman, and I don’t really have the disposable income to bail your ass out of jail, or house you until you get a job teaching children how to write in cursive.”

  “I would never,” Noah began, but as he had all through their relationship and now through their subsequent friendship, Ryan ignored him and went on, using his lawyer voice which, to Noah’s dismay, always worked.

  “Secondly, you’re strong, and you’re quick on your feet. I wouldn’t have sent you there if I didn’t think you could hold your own. Not to mention it’s a beginner’s kickboxing class, man. You’re going to jump rope until you want to puke and die, then punch a bag for fifteen minutes and be released. Trust me, okay? It’s a great studio, and I’ve known the owners a long time. I spent good money on those passes, and they’re worth every dime.”

  Noah pinched the bridge of his nose, biting back a retort about how the last time he trusted Ryan, he found him balls deep inside the dog-walker like some sort of cliché gay-ass rom-com minus the happy ending he would have deserved with some flustered, adorable barista at his favorite coffee shop. No, instead they parted ways and paid the four grand fee to break their lease, and Noah spent the next three years living in a cramped studio apartment until he found a decent sized apartment near campus, which was convenient now that he couldn’t drive. Noah got the afghans they picked up in Sedona, Arizona and Ryan got the Keurig, and somehow five years later, they managed to retain a friendship—and apparently now a ten class pass to Baum Boxing.

  All it ended up being was proof that you could forgive nearly anything and forget almost nothing.

  “I’m going in,” Noah said after a beat. In truth, he knew Ryan was right. He was fit, he worked out every day at the campus rec center, and he wasn’t some stereotypical weedy Classics department nerd with his tweed suit and wire-rimmed glasses.

  Well, okay, he was all of that, but those things sat on a six-foot frame with decent biceps and a six pack he’d carefully cultivated since he had time for exactly zero hobbies apart from a hundred crunches a night. And Ryan was also right that Noah was starting to feel a little wound up tight. He was presently single, lonely, and dealing with his mother who was not-so-subtly trying to sneak in that maybe his relationships with men hadn’t been working out because he was just waiting to meet a nice Jewish girl, “…and sweetheart, they have a very nice Hillel on campus, I looked it up on the google and they do a lot of events there. Surely you’ll be able to meet someone. There have to be other Jewish teachers on that campus.”

  “I’m gay,” he had said tiredly, though he knew she would never hear him. She loved him but that love wasn’t enough to erase her life-long dream for her sweet boy to be all the things his father would have wanted. Some days he was glad his father never lived to see his disastrous coming out, though he was half-sure his father would have used his quiet, gentle way of shushing his mother and easing her into acceptance.

  Either way, his mother plus his students reaching the all-time high of post-midterm burn-out was starting to wear on him. And beating the shit out of a heavy bag for forty-five minutes once a week might actually have some benefit.

  Noah ended the call without a by-your-leave and slid the phone into his back pocket. He had the stamped pass in his hand, and his small gym bag hooked over his left shoulder. The first thing he noticed after opening the door was that it was hot and humid. The second thing was that in spite of those things—likely due to over-worked, sweaty bodies—it didn’t smell like the inside of a gym bag and for that he was eternally grateful. He didn’t think his barely-manageable curls were going to love the humidity, but it was only for a short while.

  The man at the desk was tapping away at the computer but looked up when the door chimed, and his face stretched into a welcoming smile. He was attractive in the typical, I work at a gym way, with bulging muscles. His hair was short, thick and dark, clipped at the ears, eyes so brown they were almost black, skin a rich, deep tan, and his fingers were impossibly thick—the third one on his left adorned by a simple, elegant band.

  “Can I help you?” he asked, his voice surprisingly higher than Noah was expecting.

  “Yeah,” Noah said, shifting his bag just to give himself something to occupy his hands with. “Yeah, I’m here for the b-beginner’s kick boxing class. I got this pass as a gift.” He set it on the counter and the guy snatched it up. “Not sure what I need to do for that.”

  “Waiver,” the guy said, and went back to the computer. The credit card port screen lit up with some instructions for Noah to initial and sign with the stylus. “And we can get you some wraps for your hands unless you have your own. We sell them here for fifteen bucks if you want to add that. The public ones aren’t bad but uh…”

  “A little gross?” Noah offered with a half grin.

  The guy laughed. “We try to be accommodating, but I like to offer.”

  “A set is fine.” He dug into his pocket and handed over his card. It only took a moment to pay the fee and sign the waiver. The guy initialed his first stamp, then pushed the card back to Noah. “S-so can I change or…”

  “The class starts in twenty,” the guy said and came around the counter. “Why don’t I show you around first and see what you’re comfortable with. I’m Wes by the way.”

  Noah noticed a plaque on the wall off to the side bearing some sort of award and the name Westley Baum in bold, italic cursive. “Is this your place?”

  Wes puffed up his chest a little, looking proud. “It is. Opened it seven years ago last month. We had a big to-do for the anniversary and everything. Had some of my old Marine buddies come by, it was pretty sweet. Too bad you missed it, but we do one every year.”

  Noah was taken aback by just how open and friendly Wes was, like Noah was an old friend and not some stranger off the street. He followed the guy past a row of hanging bags, stopping in front of a long mirror with rack after rack of free weights.

  “This is a great place to warm up if you want to come in early before class. You get a half hour before and after each class to yourself to warm up and wind down. Most of the beginner classes don’t really use the time, but it’s open to everyone.” He clapped Noah on the shoulder, then steered him around the corner to a room which opened up to two boxing rings. One of them was occupied by one man and one woman.

  Noah could see the woman’s face plain
as day. She was tall, muscles well defined, her long hair tied in a bun just under her helmet. Her lips were stretched around her mouthguard, and her bright brown eyes were wide and playful. She had her gloved fists raised as she danced a little in front of the guy.

  Noah couldn’t get a good look at him. He was in shorts only, his naked back and legs covered with severe, mottled scarring. It didn’t detract from the rippling muscles of his shoulders, or the round curve of his ass. His right arm was covered in intricate, black swirling tattoos that rippled with his movements. He had short, thick black hair in waves and from his profile, Noah could see a sharp jaw covered with a five o’clock shadow.

  “Ah. This should be fun. Sibling rivalry,” Wes said with a chuckle. He waggled his eyebrows at Noah. “My best friend and his sister like to duke it out from time to time. Safer than when they were teenagers wielding kitchen utensils.”

  Noah snorted and shook his head but watched as the guy took a swing at his sister. She dodged expertly, got him in the face with a couple of short pops. Noah knew next to nothing about boxing, knew there was probably some technical terms for what she was doing, and for how the guy was blocking her. But he didn’t much care. They moved fluid and gorgeous, like a vicious, violent dance he would be too terrified to join in.

  It didn’t last long. The woman was good, but the man had an advantage in spite of a limp Noah picked up on a few minutes in. He wasn’t nearly as mobile, but he was strong and got her twice in the face before she held a hand up to surrender. Or give. Or…whatever. He’d learn the terms eventually.

  The two of them touched gloves and then the guy pulled one off and gave her a pat on the back before using her as a support to get over to the side of the ring. Noah watched, feeling some type of way as the guy took off the helmet and spit out his mouthguard, and for the first time showed his face. He was stunning. Not in a usual way, not in a way that would grace magazine covers.

  He was scarred across the left shoulder, up his neck, and along his temple near his left eye. It was like someone had taken a paint brush full of burning coals and flicked it at him. There were signs of reconstructive surgery which left places there pulled tight, the skin shiny. The rest of his skin was a rich tan, his nose almost Grecian in a way, sharp and thin, and his mouth full and set in a frown.

  He didn’t appear to notice them right away, and Noah reached up, rubbing at his blind eye as was a bad habit of his since he’d lost it three years back. He focused his sighted one on the guy who had lowered himself into a chair and was taking two orthotic braces from his sister. The last strap done, he finally looked up and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline when he realized he had observers.

  “What the fuck, man?” he asked in a gruff, rich voice.

  Wes laughed. “You know you love an audience. Anyway, this is our fresh meat—taking the beginner kickboxing class. That there’s Anna, she’s the head instructor for kickboxing and this asshole’s brother.”

  The aforementioned asshole stood up by bracing himself on the side of the ring. His steps were slow, but they were steady as he walked over, mopping his sweat with a long, over-bleached towel.

  “And this is Adrian. He doesn’t actually do anything here except take up space and beat the shit out of people who have a little too much ego,” Wes said, giving Adrian a punch to the shoulder. “He does hold a couple of titles, but he doesn’t like to brag.” Wes’ tone was mocking, but in a playful way, and Noah was certain that even under the dim lights, he could see a faint blush rising on Adrian’s cheeks.

  He remained silent though and looked almost relieved when Anna walked up with two bottles of water and a huge grin on her face. “Don’t listen to anything Wes tells you. He might have opened this place, but he hasn’t been able to beat me in a match since we were twelve.”

  “Don’t mind her. She’s just the kind of woman who will pick on a paraplegic without remorse,” Wes said, and when Noah looked a little stunned, he laughed and clapped his shoulder. “I’m talking about myself, I’m not actually being insensitive. I had an SCI during my last deployment when our truck crashed, and I can walk, but my legs are still pretty fucked up.”

  “And he knows I’ve been able to beat his ass since we were teenagers and he likes to make excuses,” she said, winking.

  “She’s also my wife and the mother of my child,” Wes said in a low tone, looking suddenly and absurdly fond as he grinned at her.

  “If you kiss her in front of me, I am leaving and never coming back.” They were the first words Adrian spoke, his voice very rich, very hoarse. If Noah didn’t have iron control, they would have gone straight to his dick. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the guy, which was probably dangerous. He suspected Adrian was ex-military just like Wes, and there was every chance in the world he was straight and probably not interested in some gay, nerdy professor mentally divesting him of what little he already wore.

  The three of them bantered and Noah felt distinctly like an outsider, no matter how welcoming they were being. He also half expected Adrian to bolt. He kept looking over at Noah nervously, like he was seconds away from exploding, but he held fast in his silent way of socializing.

  “So, Noah was it?” Anna asked, sizing him up for a moment. “What do you do?”

  “Oh…I’m at the University,” he started.

  “Oh shit, Adrian too!” she said with a grin, glancing over at Adrian who seemed to be suddenly fascinated with the water cooler. “What school are you in?”

  “Humanities,” Noah said absently, then cleared his throat. “N-not a heavy load this term—University politics. Right now I’ve g-got Classical Greek and Ancient Greek texts which are all done in koine so…”

  Before he could get the rest of what Ryan called his “nerd shit” out, a man wearing a Baum’s Boxing tank top burst in. “Uh, hey man, we got a problem.”

  Adrian sighed. “Is it Mike?”

  The guy looked chagrinned. “Yeah, sorry. I was refilling the paper towels and didn’t see him come in. He’s got Connie in the back and…”

  “We’ve got it,” Wes said. He offered an arm to Adrian which allowed the man to move a little faster, and then Noah saw him grab a cane from the wall before they hurried out.

  After a beat, Anna sighed and shook her head. “I promise it’s rarely drama around here. Normally it’s just a gym with some classes and occasionally a set of twins beating the shit out of each other. Figuratively speaking.”

  Noah raised his brows. “You and Adrian?”

  She shrugged. “Me and Adrian, though the moment we sprung from the womb we decided it would be the last thing we would ever willingly share again.” She winked, then clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you situated before class. Have you boxed before?”

  Noah shook his head as they walked out into the main room again and he saw a few people getting ready. To his surprise, he saw two guys with prosthetic legs, and one with a prosthetic arm. It occurred to him far too late the reason Ryan had sent him here and he faltered.

  Anna noticed and her eyes took on a somewhat hard tone as she turned to him. “People with disabilities can fight just as well as anyone else, they’re entitled to space here and if it’s going to be a problem…”

  Noah held up a hand and couldn’t stop a slight laugh. “My ex—also m-my friend, long story and really complicated—bought me p-passes here and I’m starting to see why.” When she looked confused, he raised a finger to his eye and tapped it. The weird, hollow sound of his prosthetic was heard even over the thrum of the gym music, and her eyes widened. “Three years ago. Bad car accident. The doctors tried to save it, but the eye was dying. It started shrinking a month after the wreck and eventually they had to t-take it out. I also have this st-s-stammer which acts up when I’m nervous, and vertigo from the head injury so I can’t drive, and I think my ex must have realized this…uh. This could be a decent place for me.”

  Her face softened. “Sorry, we just get a lot of assholes up in here with bad opini
ons.”

  “I get it,” he said. He recalled vividly the way the head of his department had questioned his ability to do his job with limited vision, with the new stutter, and with the way he’d get dizzy spells. He’d had to work twice as hard to get the guy off his back, and even after three years the guy still watched him for any sign of weakness. It was exhausting. “My ex just didn’t tell me.”

  “Your ex. The long story but it’s complicated ex?” she asked with a half-smile. She gestured toward a glass swinging door and nodded toward the massive floor mat where several jump ropes waited. “Is it like a friends with benefits kind of thing, or somehow you ended up weirdly friends in spite of your past thing?”

  Noah couldn’t help but laugh as he followed her to the small cupboard where brand new packs of hand-wraps were waiting. He took the offered one and gently pulled the plastic wrapping off. “It’s more the second one. We lived together for a couple of years, then Ry cheated, and things went a little sideways. But after my car accident, Ry showed up when a lot of people didn’t, and it changed things between us.”

  “Pining?” she asked. When he gave her a curious look, she held up her hands in defense. “I’m nosy, that’s all. You’ll get used to it.”

  Noah didn’t want to point out this was a ten-day trial which was not a lot of time to get used to anything. Mostly because he was already feeling at home here, and as much as it annoyed him that Ryan had targeted a place specifically for disability—especially since Noah had been steadfastly trying to ignore his own to keep his job secured—he felt safe. He didn’t feel like the weirdo whose eye moved differently than his other, who would have to make excuses for the accommodations he needed. And Ryan had his faults, but he did care.

  “I’m not p-pining,” Noah said. He gave a frustrated grunt as he dropped the end of the wrap and it rolled away, unraveling across the mat. He turned so his sighted side faced it and reached out to grab the end, but Anna stopped him with a gentle hand.