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“Jab,” he said.

“Sorry?”

“Jab. Turn into the pad and punch straight out in front.” To make his point, Brody demonstrated. His stomach muscles rippled under his tanned skin. I hoped I wasn’t dribbling.

I followed suit, hitting the catching mitt with a soft thump. I swear Brody growled. “Harder.”

“What?”

“Do it again, but this time like you mean it.”

I sucked in my lips and hit him again. Twice. I was a little offended he thought my efforts were sub-par. “Look, I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to send you back to your team with a black eyeanda groin injury.”

Brody huffed a laugh, moving his feet like a real boxer, his sneakers scuffing against the surface under our feet. “You won’t hurt me, Small Fry. Like you said. I’m about twice your size.”

A flare of fire sparked in my gut. Arrogant asshole. But he had a point. It was like one of the kids fromStranger Thingsgoing up against The Rock. But as requested, I punched him harder. Three times. Still, that self-satisfied smile stayed on his lips.

“Who was that on the phone?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.

“Huh?”

I punched. Harder. “An adoring fan?”

Another punch. “One more heart trampled on by Flock the Feckless?”

This time, I followed my jab up with a second in quick succession. His eyes widened for a beat before I landed a third blow. I grinned. Who knew hitting lumps of foam could be so enjoyable? Or was it Brody I was trying to pummel?

I rounded on him again, stepping right into my jab this time. “Flock the fuck boy back in town?”

Brody’s jaw tightened behind his pads, and his brows drew together. “What? No.”

I jabbed again, moving him backward with every punch. I was enjoying hitting him a little too much. Did that make me some kind of psychopath?

“It was a journalist,” he gritted out.

“Coming to see you in Tuft Swallow? Nobody comes here.” I gave him a right hook this time, throwing my weight behind it.

Under the impact, Brody shuffled back a little.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?”

One corner of his lips peaked. “Why do you care so much?”

“I don’t,” I lied. Of course, I wanted to know who he’d spoken to. The person on the phone made him frown.

Another of my hits connected, edging him further back toward the ropes.

He sucked in a breath between his teeth and narrowed his eyes. “Doesn’t seem that way to me. Perhaps you’re a little more interested in my life than you care to admit.”

Shit, was I that obvious? He had it right, though. I wanted to know about his life. His thoughts on the polar ice caps melting. Who would win the Super Bowl? And most of all, how he’d felt after the kiss we’d shared. I wrinkled my nose and punched the pads, surprising myself at the jolt when the shots landed.

Again, Brody shuffled back. “Breathe,” he ground out.

I scowled.

“You’re holding your breath. You’ll tire that way.”

I hit even harder to prove him wrong, stumbling a little as we connected. Brody’s back was almost at the ropes, and I glanced down at my feet.