on, bright eyes.” James grabbed her hips and tugged her to him.
I jumped to my feet. “Whoa, whoa. Take it to your room, or outside or in the bushes or wherever you animals like to go.” I pushed forward, making my hands a wedge to separate them.
They laughed and made kissing noises and groans and moans even louder and crazier because they knew how uncomfortable it made me. Sure enough when I stepped into the dining-room-turned-dojo, the wall of mirrors reflected my super pale skin flushed a faint shade of pink. That was full-on-mega-embarrassed Desi-style.
I slammed my iPod into the stereo and cued up my workout music. Heavy techno blasted through the speakers and I instantly felt my muscles relax. I belonged here. I could live here. Lost in the music and the movement.
Dropping into a side split, I leaned forward, stretching out my back and hips. James appeared, dressed in royal blue basketball shorts and a white T. Miri stepped out from around the corner and I sat up. This was new. She came into the dojo, her eyes on the floor, her cheeks speckled with the red dots she always got when she was nervous. She wore flannel pajama bottoms and one of James’ band T’s.
I quirked an eyebrow, questioning.
“Don’t mind me,” she said, her voice high and fluty. “I’m just gonna stretch.”
“Uh huh.” I smiled as I leaned over my right leg. I’d been bugging Miri to let me teach her a few self-defense techniques, ever since . . . Well, ever since we started into this new normal life. It would make me feel infinitely better about her being involved if she could at least throw a decent punch.
After ten minutes of stretching I jumped to my feet. “Ready?” I stared down at James as he lay flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He hadn’t stretched at all.
“You know I’m gonna totally kick your butt, right? You’re not even trying.”
“Princess, I learned several beatings ago that with you there’s no point in trying. You’re gonna kick my ass no matter what I do.”
I stared. Not blinking. Not smiling.
“True!” Then I let my biggest smile take over my face.
James shook his head in that aw-she’s-so-silly kind of way, and walked to the wall of weapons. “So what form of torture will it be today?” He surveyed the array of nunchucks, staffs, short sticks, sais, kamas, swords and shortblades.
“Do you even have to ask?” I strode over to the staffs and pulled a shiny graphite one out of the tall clay pot they stood in.
“Aw you’re feeling sentimental, are you?”
“I’m feeling ready to whoop you, whitey.”
“You. You’re calling me white? Have you seen yourself? You’re like a walking ghost.”
He wasn’t wrong. But I swung around fast and low and caught him in the back of the knees with my staff anyway. He fell to the mat with an oof!
I tossed him the staff he usually used and stepped back in a guarding stance to wait.
“You gonna fight?” I asked Miri. I didn’t dare look at her—that would be an amateur mistake and now that I’d laid the groundwork for today’s sparring match, James wouldn’t likely let me get away with it.
“Um, I’ll just watch you guys for now. But maybe if you’re not too worn out you could teach me the basics after.”
We all knew I wouldn’t get worn out. What she meant to say was, “If you’re not mad, you can teach me, but no way am I getting on that mat with you when you’re out to hurt someone.”
James brought his staff around in a whooshing arc and there was no more time for chatter. I blocked his blow with my forearm. “Come on. You’re gonna have to do better than that.”
James grinned. And then he attacked. We’d been working out together every day (pretty much) for two months now, and I knew every move he made—because I’d taught him each and every one. But today he came at me with a thrust and spin that didn’t catch me off guard (I wouldn’t make that mistake again), but did surprise me.
In fact, he threw
I jumped to my feet. “Whoa, whoa. Take it to your room, or outside or in the bushes or wherever you animals like to go.” I pushed forward, making my hands a wedge to separate them.
They laughed and made kissing noises and groans and moans even louder and crazier because they knew how uncomfortable it made me. Sure enough when I stepped into the dining-room-turned-dojo, the wall of mirrors reflected my super pale skin flushed a faint shade of pink. That was full-on-mega-embarrassed Desi-style.
I slammed my iPod into the stereo and cued up my workout music. Heavy techno blasted through the speakers and I instantly felt my muscles relax. I belonged here. I could live here. Lost in the music and the movement.
Dropping into a side split, I leaned forward, stretching out my back and hips. James appeared, dressed in royal blue basketball shorts and a white T. Miri stepped out from around the corner and I sat up. This was new. She came into the dojo, her eyes on the floor, her cheeks speckled with the red dots she always got when she was nervous. She wore flannel pajama bottoms and one of James’ band T’s.
I quirked an eyebrow, questioning.
“Don’t mind me,” she said, her voice high and fluty. “I’m just gonna stretch.”
“Uh huh.” I smiled as I leaned over my right leg. I’d been bugging Miri to let me teach her a few self-defense techniques, ever since . . . Well, ever since we started into this new normal life. It would make me feel infinitely better about her being involved if she could at least throw a decent punch.
After ten minutes of stretching I jumped to my feet. “Ready?” I stared down at James as he lay flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He hadn’t stretched at all.
“You know I’m gonna totally kick your butt, right? You’re not even trying.”
“Princess, I learned several beatings ago that with you there’s no point in trying. You’re gonna kick my ass no matter what I do.”
I stared. Not blinking. Not smiling.
“True!” Then I let my biggest smile take over my face.
James shook his head in that aw-she’s-so-silly kind of way, and walked to the wall of weapons. “So what form of torture will it be today?” He surveyed the array of nunchucks, staffs, short sticks, sais, kamas, swords and shortblades.
“Do you even have to ask?” I strode over to the staffs and pulled a shiny graphite one out of the tall clay pot they stood in.
“Aw you’re feeling sentimental, are you?”
“I’m feeling ready to whoop you, whitey.”
“You. You’re calling me white? Have you seen yourself? You’re like a walking ghost.”
He wasn’t wrong. But I swung around fast and low and caught him in the back of the knees with my staff anyway. He fell to the mat with an oof!
I tossed him the staff he usually used and stepped back in a guarding stance to wait.
“You gonna fight?” I asked Miri. I didn’t dare look at her—that would be an amateur mistake and now that I’d laid the groundwork for today’s sparring match, James wouldn’t likely let me get away with it.
“Um, I’ll just watch you guys for now. But maybe if you’re not too worn out you could teach me the basics after.”
We all knew I wouldn’t get worn out. What she meant to say was, “If you’re not mad, you can teach me, but no way am I getting on that mat with you when you’re out to hurt someone.”
James brought his staff around in a whooshing arc and there was no more time for chatter. I blocked his blow with my forearm. “Come on. You’re gonna have to do better than that.”
James grinned. And then he attacked. We’d been working out together every day (pretty much) for two months now, and I knew every move he made—because I’d taught him each and every one. But today he came at me with a thrust and spin that didn’t catch me off guard (I wouldn’t make that mistake again), but did surprise me.
In fact, he threw
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