Below the Belt Read Online Free PDF Page B

odds were she would—she was going to lose.
    He leaned his elbows on his thighs as the MC read out the fighters’ stats. Jamie’s opponent this time around was a girl from Queensland, taller than Jamie, more experienced. Not that that was hard.
    He could see Jamie’s grandfather talking steadily near her ear as she waited in her corner for the referee to call her forward for instructions. What was the old man saying? And did it matter, when she had years of training, fighting and thinking in another discipline holding her back? As soon as the pressure was on, Jamie was going to want to use her knees and legs again. And that split second of hesitation where her brain overrode her instinct was going to leave her wide open to attack. Just like last time.
    Nodding one final time, Jamie moved away from her grandfather toward the center of the ring where the ref was waiting. Cooper watched the old man climb down from the ring, his movements slow.
    Talk about the blind leading the blind. What a ridiculous bloody situation.
    Cooper stood. He’d seen enough. Then the bell rang, and the two women came out fighting. As before, Jamie threw the first punch, a nice straight armed jab that rocked the other fighter’s head back on her shoulders.
    He sat down.
    It didn’t take long for Jamie’s old habits to undermine her natural talent. And she was talented—Ray hadn’t lied when he said that. She was strong, fast, quick on her feet. She had good power in her punches, good control. She wasn’t afraid to go in hard and risk her opponent finding an opening. But that hesitation and that fumbling footwork let her down every time.
    As the round ended and the bell rang, he watched with frustration as she sank onto the stool in her corner. She had a lot of potential. But she was never going to reach it if someone didn’t take her in hand.
    After the regulation minute, the bell rang and the second round started. Again Jamie landed some good punches first up, and Cooper looked to the judges, urging them to score her high. But as the round ticked into the second then the third minute, those hesitations of hers began to tell again.
    “Think with your fists, not your feet,” he found himself yelling in frustration at the ring. His voice was one of many, drowned out by the crowd, and he sprang to his feet, unable to watch anymore.
    She was taking a pounding, her head bobbing on her neck, her steps slowing as her body reacted to the pain. He couldn’t stand by and watch her go down. It was like watching a bully kick a dog.
    He excused his way past the other fans to get to the aisle. Descending the stairs, he headed for the nearest exit. At least, that was where he thought he was going. The bell sounded the end of the second round and somehow he found himself smooth-talking his way past the security guy guarding the ring and barreling up to Jamie’s corner where she was sitting on her stool, breathing heavily and washing her mouth out while her grandfather rinsed her mouth piece over the bucket.
    “Stop lifting your goddamned feet,” he barked at her as soon as he was within earshot. The ring was four feet off the ground, putting him well below her, but her head snapped around when she heard him. “You keep wanting to use your feet and it’s killing your technique.”
    She looked dazed, a little punch drunk he figured, but then her eyes cleared and she frowned.
    “What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.
    “Listen to me. She drops her guard every time she hits you with a cross. Watch her, you’ll see it. Block her with your forearm, and move in with a hook. You get her right, you can lay her out,” he said.
    He shot a glance toward the center of the ring. He could see the ref gearing up to begin the third round.
    “Why?” Jamie demanded, staring at him intently.
    “Why what?” he asked, gaze darting to the ref again. Their time was nearly up; had she taken in a word he said?
    “Why are you giving me advice?”
    He