Taking the Fall (5 page)

The roll-up door of the converted—at least, I hoped it was converted—garage rattled loudly.

“Sounds like they’ve already started.” I approached the single door that appeared to be the entrance. At any rate, it looked like the only way in, other than the roll-up door.

Blythe said, “Just have fun, Bren. Make friends. You don’t have anything to prove.”

I mumbled noncommittally. I most certainly did have something to prove, to one Officer Pufferfish Will Riggins. And yes, it was stupid, to risk getting injured by some brash guy with a big ego. But that was one of the benefits of not having to worry about being healthy enough to make it to the next World Cup, wasn’t it?

And I definitely wasn’t here to make friends. At least not the way Blythe had in mind. Blythe liked men, but she still didn’t understand them the way I did. To be fair, I’m not sure she
wanted
to understand them the way I did—in a completely unromantic way. I was here to earn a little respect. Friendly terms would follow. That was the key to getting along with men, and making sure they didn’t get in my way.

I opened the door, and was greeted by a waft of warm, sweaty air. Wow. I never thought I’d miss that, but I realized immediately that I had. I couldn’t hide an eager smile as I entered.

“You came!” Maybe it was just an involuntary response to my ridiculous smile, but Riggins looked very un-pufferfishy.

He all but ran over to us the second he saw us walk through the door. He smiled right back at me, and a dimple appeared in his left cheek. For a moment, I had the urge to touch it. And his mouth. Very full. Very kissable. What was wrong with me? I knew better than to be fooled by a handsome face, an athletic physique.

The better looking they were, the sleazier. Some of them were just better at hiding it than others. I had to admit, Will had that genuine, happy look down like a pro. I’d almost bought it there for a second.

I turned my eyes to the mat instead. A handful of guys in ill-fitting judo gis sat in a circle, stretching out. Blythe and I had come dressed in our judo pants, unsure whether there would be a changing room. I dropped my bag, took out my judo gi top, and shrugged it on over my T-shirt.

“Great. We’re the only girls here,” Blythe whispered.
 

“Just trying to be nice and friendly like you wanted,” I whispered back.

She crinkled her nose at me.

“Look,” Riggins said, “you don’t have to if you’d rather not, but it would be really cool if you could teach us something.”

“Who usually teaches?” I asked.

Riggins said, “Me.”

I tried not to make it too obvious, but he saw me look down at his brown belt.

“I got it in college, after only a couple of years. I won some local tournaments, and the instructor promoted me. I still don’t know much, but I love it too much to stop. There’s no one else around here who can teach. It was either do it myself, or say good-bye to judo.”

I groaned inwardly. Here was Riggins, tugging at my heart strings. Humble, loving judo beyond even what was reasonable. Sharing his limited knowledge with these guys, just so he could have someone to practice with. Even though he knew they really needed a black belt here.

And here I was, getting suckered into teaching them. Before I knew it, they’d be begging me to volunteer three times a week. Well, I hadn’t come here to volunteer. I’d come here to start a business and a new life for myself, teaching kids—not grown men, some of whom would undoubtedly not take long to start resenting being told they didn’t know what they were doing by a girl. Olympian or not.

But I could do it just this once, couldn’t I? Especially since my stomach was so full, and teaching would be much easier on my digestion. “Sure,” I told Riggins. “After you guys are done warming up.” It was stupid and I knew it, but I couldn’t help myself.
 

“Thanks.” He threw another dimpled smile over his shoulder as he made his way back to his class.

I told myself that killer smile had nothing to do with why I’d said yes. Absolutely nothing. It was the hamburger in the pit of my stomach, and the fact that teaching would be less of a workout. Yeah, that was it!

Riggins introduced Blythe and me to the guys, and I fell into my
Teaching-a-Judo-Seminar
mode surprisingly easily. I’d done enough of them, trying to raise money for training and travel. I had a few simple, effective moves that I’d put my own twist on, moves that worked for judo players of all skill levels. Riggins offered to let me demonstrate on him. Of course he would. I just smiled sweetly and told him I preferred to use Blythe.
 

I’d just shown the guys my favorite choke, and they were partnered up, trying it out on each other. Blythe and I walked around, reminding the guys of steps they’d skipped, adjusting their positioning. I heard an awful, gasping, gagging sound and wheeled around. One of the guys was pulling straight into the front of his partner’s throat, hard.

“Whoa! Stop!” I rushed over and yanked his hand off.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered. He looked genuinely surprised and confused.

“Are you alright?” Blythe asked his partner.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely.

I said, “Remember, apply the pressure to the side of his neck, not the front.”

“Like this?” He lifted his hand, poised to whack his partner’s throat with a chopping motion—right in the front again!

I caught his hand. “No. Don’t hit his throat. You’ll crush his windpipe!”

Did I say my moves worked for all skill levels? I should’ve said all skill levels except for clueless. What on earth had I gotten myself into?
 

Riggins pulled me aside, shaking his head.

“Maybe I should’ve stuck with a turn-over and pin instead,” I suggested.

“No, it’s fine. They’re fine. It’s just Walter. Subtlety is completely lost on that guy.” Riggins turned to Walter. “Maybe we should wait on the chokes until you’re more experienced.”

Walter’s partner nodded enthusiastically.

“I’ll show you something else from the same position,” I told Walter. To Blythe, I said, “Make sure none of the others kill each other.”

Everything was going fine until I went over to correct one of the guys’ technique. When my attempts to move his body around his partner the right way in order to roll him into the choke failed, I gestured for him to move aside, and I took his partner’s back. As I slowly moved into the turn, I grabbed his pant leg to help maneuver him over. The guy was really stiff and resistant. And he was heavy. Pushing two-fifty, with plenty of donuts around the middle.

I gently told him to loosen up, and he tightened even more. I could just call Blythe over so I could show his partner what to do on her, but she was busy helping another pair, and besides, being a lousy partner wasn’t going to help his teammate learn. This guy was going over, whether he wanted to or not.

I threw all my strength into it this time, grabbing a good fistful of pants and yanking him over. A loud ripping sound stopped me mid-move. I stared down at the fabric in my hand.

A very large piece of fabric.

The entire back side of one pant leg, to be precise. The material had ripped right along the seams, leaving a glaringly pale butt cheek entirely exposed.
 

7

Good grief, the guy’s underwear was even skimpier than mine. What kind of idiot wears bikinis to judo practice?

The pair next to us erupted in laughter. “You’re blinding us, Doyle!”

“Boxer briefs, man! Get some boxer briefs!”

If I’d been on friendly terms with Doyle, I might’ve laughed, too. Or, you know, If I’d even known his name for more than two seconds. As it was, one of the most important pieces of a complete stranger’s pants was in my hand, instead of shielding us all from things never meant to be seen in the full light of day—or fluorescent tube lights, as it were. He was new to judo, and I’d venture a guess that he’d never even rolled around the mat with a female judoka before. My face turned red for Doyle, but his turned even redder.

Not just with embarrassment, but with rage. I felt him explode with a surge of energy and violence. By the time I’d opened my mouth to say something calming, he’d rolled me onto my back. He straddled me, staring down with a pair of crazy-eyes I like I hadn’t seen in years. I didn’t wait to find out what he was going to do. Instinct took over. I swept him off me and onto his back. Within a second or two, I had him locked into a tight arm bar. I wanted to lift my hips and finish it so bad, but Riggins and a couple of the other guys dove down and grabbed Doyle. I released him and quickly disentangled myself from Doyle and stood up.

“What?” Doyle said as he scrambled to his feet, the guys holding him by the arms. “Did you really think you had me?”

“I don’t feel like ripping your arm off today.”
Now get out of my face before I change my mind!
I thought.

“No?” Doyle’s face was still fiery red. “You just feel like ripping my pants off?”

“Come on, man,” his partner said. “It was an accident. No big deal.”

I exchanged looks with Blythe, and we headed off the mat, for our bags.
 

“Brenna—” Riggins said.

“We’ve got to go.”

“I’m sorry,” Riggins whispered as he caught up to me. “I had no idea he had that in him. Eric Doyle’s usually—”

“Not a psychopath?” I said.

“I’m really sorry.”

“She handled it,” Blythe said, a little bit of pride in her big sister creeping into her diplomatic tone.
 

Riggins looked right at me. “But you shouldn’t have had to.”

Those eyes. So dark. So intensely sorry. Protective and full of respect bordering on awe at the same time.

I just stared into them, trying to tell myself this wasn’t for real. And wondering if he knew the effect he was having on me. The fluttering in my stomach turned sour. How couldn’t he know? Guys like Riggins always did, and they liked it just fine.

“Thanks for having us,” Blythe put in when I failed to respond. “I’ll be right back.” She nodded at the bathroom. Poor Bly. She must be pretty desperate to brave the toilet in this place.

Riggins tried again. “Thanks for teaching tonight. I really appreciate it. It’s good for these guys to see really good technique. To realize they have a long way to go. What do you think about making this a regular thing? I promise, the slightest issue with Doyle, and he’ll be gone.”

I
knew
it! “Look, Officer Riggins—”

“Will,” he interrupted.

“Okay, Will. I hate to sound like I’m all about the money, but I spent too many years paying to do what I love. The idea of getting paid for it, it’s nice. And I can’t afford to spend time teaching here, when those time slots could be used at my business, for paying students.”

Also, it didn’t take a genius to guess that the PAL judo program had no budget to pay me, not even minimum wage. If they did, they wouldn’t be working out in this old garage. There wasn’t even a heater in this place. It was fine now, but it had to be absolutely freezing in winter.

“I understand.” He hesitated so long, I would’ve said an awkward good-bye and walked away, if Blythe weren’t still in the bathroom. Then, “What about just teaching
me
?” he said. “So I can be a better teacher. Whatever time slot you end up having available. Your place or here, it doesn’t matter. Once a week or so.” Perhaps my look of revulsion was a bit too obvious. He hastily added, “Strictly business. Whatever it takes to get me up to black belt level.”

Just Riggins and me. On the mat. Alone.
Ri-i-ight
. But, was that just a bit of self-consciousness I saw seeping through his usual confidence? I could only hope he thought I was appalled at the thought of working one on one with him, rather than the knowledge of what effect alone time on the mat with Dimples was sure to have on me.

“Of course, if you can’t, maybe your sister … ”

“I’ll do it.” Dang it! Did I really just say yes? But what choice did I have? No way in you-know-where was I going to throw my sister under the bus again. Blythe would say yes, and she’d fall for him for sure. And then, after he’d broken her heart, Ellison Baxter would be waiting with a nice, blazer-clad shoulder for her to cry on.

I was doing this to save my sister from disaster. Maybe I’d even build up some useful goodwill with the police department. Surely the local police were well-known and well-liked in a small town like this. Except maybe Crazy Eric Doyle. How anyone could stand that guy was beyond me.

Thankfully, Blythe didn’t emerge from the bathroom until after Riggins had thanked me profusely and gone back to teaching his class.

I breathed out a sigh of relief as I shut the door after Blythe and me—cutting off yet another friendly wave from my sister to the guys inside. Except for Doyle. Now clad in sweatpants, he was still glowering in our direction.

The street lights illuminated the twilight. A brisk breeze swept over the rocks, from the water. It was so quiet, I could hear the tide lapping the shore. Instantly, its comforting rhythm began to calm my nerves. Had I really made such a mess of things in just one day? I imagined the waves washing it away. The ocean was so big, so powerful. The sad ballerinas, the angry moms, the reporters—Blythe and Ellison, humiliating Eric and bringing out his crazy side—maybe none of it was really such a big deal.

“It was clean!” Blythe interrupted my attempt at deep, cleansing thoughts.

“What was clean?”

“The bathroom. I mean, not sparkling, and the seat was up, of course. But it was decent. It didn’t even smell like pee!”

“Mmm.” I tried to tune in to the sound of the tide again.

Blythe nudged me with her elbow. “Will’s really a nice guy, isn’t he, Bren?”

“He probably has a sister who cleans the bathroom or something,” I muttered irritably.

“It’s not just the bathroom.”

“You like him that much, huh?”

“No,
you
do.”

“Blythe!” And she didn’t even know about our little arrangement yet. I couldn’t wait to hear what she had to say about that.

Blythe opened her mouth to say something, then abruptly pulled her phone out of the front pocket of her purse to check an incoming text message.