It’s paycheck day. Paychecks come out every two weeks at the gym; it won’t be much, I know, but it will be better than having to mooch off of Marty and Tyler. My $500 I had had left had very quickly turned into $75, so the thought of having my own money again is a little endearing. I head into work early today, hoping to get a chance to use the ring and some other boxing equipment before the place opens up.

I adorn my lucky pair of gloves and head over to the speed bag to warm up a bit. I’d consider myself an expert here. I put some plugs in my ears and jam out to some music –I’m a Led Zeppelin fan, so I jam out to Heart Breaker while I do my routine. Just as I am starting to work up an actual sweat, someone taps me on the shoulder. I spin around and see the brunette bitch, Britany, that I had had the displeasure of meeting on my first day. I remove my gloves and then pull my headphones out of my ears. “Morning,” I say in the friendliest voice I can manage. I can see that the other professional boxers are here this morning; because they have their own personal entrance, the group of women tends to show up early together to take advantage of the location before the soccer moms show up and crowd the place.

“Morning,” Britany says in a slightly friendlier tone than I’m used to. “We’re out of towels in the locker room.”

“All right, I’m on it,” I say, but I know she’s just giving me hell. I go and restock the women’s locker room, taking note that there were already several towels available. She had just wanted me to scram. I roll my eyes slightly and head back into the main room where I see the group of powder puffs has already spread out around the ring –all taking their places at different equipment stations while Laurel and another woman are actually inside doing some light sparring. I notice that they aren’t sparring with gloves, so I say something. “Hey, you two might want to throw some gloves on,” is all I say, but it causes the entire group to turn and look at me like I’m a complete dumbass.

Laurel holds up her hands to show me that she’s wearing fingerless gloves, and she proceeds to slowly raise up both middle fingers as she does so. I shake my head. “My bad,” I say. A part of me wants to just walk away, but another part is tired of taking shit from this particular group of patrons. “You know what, you have given me hell ever since I started here. You realize I was a professional boxer, right? That’s why I was hired here. If you would quit being such a bitch, you might actually learn something from me.”

Laurel rolls her eyes. “You were hired because you were a boxer? Is that why Alex has you teaching all the soccer moms how to kick guys in the groin?”

“You’re washed up, Trial,” another one of the women chimes in. “No one gives a shit about you anymore.”

“Yet every one of you knew who I was. Never heard of anyone of you,” I say, “really making it in the boxing world, aren’t you?”

“Is he really that stupid?” the woman in the ring with Laurel whispers to her.

“Hold on, ladies,” Laurel says and grins down at me, “He’s right. Alex hired him for a reason. Why don’t you get up here and spar with me, Jon-boy? Let’s see if you got anything you can show me. Or do you have a problem fighting a woman?”

I’m a bit taken back by her sudden change in tone; I can see the other women are too. A small voice in my head is telling me it’s some sort of trick, but I climb up into the ring anyway. “Fine,” I say as I get into the ring and start putting on my gloves, “let’s see what you got.”

“Oh, this should be good,” I hear Britany say as she helps the other woman out of the ring and out of our way.

Laurel holds her fists up, and I shake my head. What kind of boxer practices with fingerless gloves? We toy around with each other for a minute, landing gentle punches just to check out each other’s form. “You’re quick,” I tell her when she lands a good, swift jab.

“You’re not,” she retorts, “You could use some work.”

“I am a little out of practice,” I say, “cut me some slack.”

“What, you want me to go easy on you?” she teases.

“Yeah, Laurel, don’t hurt him,” one of the women says; they’ve all stopped what they are doing to watch our little sparring match.

“Screw every last one of you,” I say. I glare at Laurel.

“Awe, don’t look so sad, Jon-boy,” she says and then nails me in the chin with a shit ton of force.

“All right,” I snap, “I’m not smacking you like that –cool it!”

“Come on!” she taunts, “show me what you got. You think I can’t take a punch?”

“I don’t know what to think of you, bitch –not after what happened when we left the bar a couple of weeks ago,” I snarl, and she looks pissed. The other women look up at her with these questioning gazes. I probably should have kept my mouth shut about that, but damn!

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she snarls right back as though she actually thought we had some sort of understanding.

“Oh my God, Laurel, did you sleep with him?” one of the women ask.

“No!” Laurel snaps.

“Kind of,” I add, and she swings at me –distracted by her current rage, so I land a punch just above her gut. She gags for a second in surprise that I actually hit her with a bit of intentional force. I hold up my gloves. “Come on; you wanted to see what I could do. I’ll fucking show you.”

“Fine,” she says, “But I’m going to show you what I do.”

I go on the offense, and I go to do my famous right hook. If she wants to actually fight me, I’ll fight her. Besides, I’ve already been accused of belittling women by the media. What kind of sexist would I be to hold back just because she’s got a damn pussy? Much to my surprise, she ducks down, and I miss. My hooks are pretty fast, so I’m surprised she even saw it coming. When she comes back up, she hits me with two quick jabs and then rears back –kicking me square in the chest and sending me to my back. When I hit the ground, it knocks the air of out me for a second. I gasp, “What the fuck was that you cunt!”

The women all laugh and Laurel just leans her back against one of the corners of the ring. “I told you I was going to show you what I do, and I don’t box.”

“What?” I question as I roll over onto my gloves and knees to push myself back up to my feet. I remove my gloves to let her know I’m done.

“I’m an MMA fighter, jackass,” she says, and I’m more than just a little surprised. She climbs out of the ring, saying she’s going to hit the track upstairs for a bit.

“You didn’t tell me you weren’t a boxer,” I say as I rub my now very sore chest where she had kicked the shit out of me.

“Didn’t want to intimidate you,” she says with a flip of her hair, “Boxers can be such pussies.”

Well damn.