Free 12 Rounds by Lauren Hammond Page B

“Why are you here?”
    I bite my bottom lip and my eyebrows bunch together. I'm confused by his question. “Excuse me?”
    He backs away from me and folds his tatted up arms across his chest. “I said why are you here?”
    “Um...What?” I don't know this guy. Though, the soft yet deep, comforting register of his voice is achingly familiar. “Um. My therapist thought it would be a good idea if I took self-defense classes, only that didn't work out so well.”
    He raises both of his perfectly arched eyebrows. “Your therapist?” Then he slants his eyes, plants his forefinger against his lips like he’s thinking hard about something. Now he points it at me. “Weren’t you a blonde?”
    “Yes.” How does he know that? I pick up a lock of my chesnut hair and examine it thoroughly, wondering if maybe Lara missed a few strands when she helped me color it. “I dyed it brown.”
    He looks thoughtful for a moment, but then the hard edge to his features return. “You shouldn't be here.” He sounds stern and authoritative.
    He uncrosses his arms and moves toward me, but I back up into the vending machine, creating a loud thump with my back. “And why is that?” I find a bit of boldness somewhere deep inside of me, a bit of boldness I haven't seen resurface in a year.
    “Because I said so.” He lowers his voice. “You should leave.”
    I stare up at him incredulously, with my mouth hanging open. Who in the hell does this guy think he is? “Maybe you should leave,” I snap at him. He scowls at me and I throw my hands over my mouth, as surprised as he seems to be at my outburst. “I'm sorry,” I mutter. “That was rude.” Then again he was being rude by telling me to leave in the first place. At least I'm the one with manners. “Anyway, I can't leave. My roommate is my ride and she's still in the class.”
    I wait for him to say something, but he says nothing. Instead, he picks up the gym bag he threw on the floor, slings it over his shoulder, and storms out the door while I slump down in a chair wondering how in the world someone I've never even met could hate me so much.
    ~ ~ ~
    Thirty minutes later Lara emerges from the class while I sit in my chair, sipping on my water thinking about Sean Reilly. I'm trying to place the sound of his voice. I'm trying to grasp why it sounds so familiar to me.
    Is it the slight Irish brogue?
    The deep rasp in it?
      Lara interrupts my thoughts when she snatches the bottle of water from my hand and takes a sip. I peer up at her. Lara is almost six feet tall almost a full foot taller than I am, and sometimes she appears to be intimidating, but she's not.
    I remember one time when we were at a dance club our sophomore year of college, we were in line for the restroom while some guy in line waiting for the men's room told her she was sexy, but looked like a bitch. Lara just shrugged and I wound up scowling at the guy. I don’t know why I cared more about his comment than she did. Or why to some guys she comes off that way. Honestly, Lara is the kindest, most genuine, and heartfelt person I know. She's anything but a bitch.
    After chugging down half of my bottled water, she wipes her mouth with her long, lengthy arm and hands the bottle back to me. “Boy I've got some moves to show you, tonight.” She winks at me and I laugh.
    “Is that so?”
     “Yeah. Hey, you can go back now. Melissa is waiting for you.”
    I get up from my seat as the rest of the women, from the class walk out the exit and make my way back to the small room with blue carpet. The door is open, so I lift my fist and tap softly. Melissa is sitting Indian Style in the middle of the room filling out some papers. At my knock she lifts her head and a soft smile spreads on her lips. “Come in, Hadlee. Come in and have a seat.”
    Timidly, I walk toward her and sit down in front of her. I immediately start playing with my fingers. It's a nervous tick of mine. I do it every time I feel uncomfortable, or am trying