Love at First Fight - A Gallagher Girls Story

Chapter Thirteen

Back when I was a kid, my grandfather used to tell me that a good defense was the key to a good fight and that, in order to get that defense, I had to practice. I had to practice a lot. I had to hit a punching bag until my knuckles were raw—take hits until I could learn to dodge them. There was only one way to get a good defense, and that was by drudging through dozens of long, tired years with a bad one.

I had to wonder how much practice Luke had.

Because he was good. I mean, he was really, truly good. He could have given my father a run for his money. He could have dodged my mother's best hits all night long. Luke Collins was a fighter, but more than that, he was a defender, which made him that much better.

It was infuriating.

Five blocks for every one hit—and that was if he was feeling risky. That was if he volunteered any hits at all. "Would you just hit me?" I screamed at him.

The laugh that slipped through his lips was low and tired and halves. "Don't you worry, Goode," he said. "I'll hit you square in that big mouth once the time comes."

"The time's been coming for forty-six minutes now," I said. "If you were going to hit me, you'd have hit me already."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," he said, and I watched that smooth smile slip behind raised fist. "You just remember that when I knock you on your—"

He didn't get to finish before my fist came for him. For an excellent defenseman, he was a terrible trash talker. He had to pause, always putting his words through that relentless filter of his. He had to think, and, as the queen of trash talk, I can tell you that it requires a certain level of absentmindedness, otherwise you get distracted and your defenses weaken. Doesn't matter how strong they are.

So I took the hit and it almost landed, but he was surprisingly quick for a big guy. Before I knew what was happening, he had my arm locked in his grip, pulling it in a way that it wasn't supposed to turn. I couldn't hold back a scream.

Tap, tap.

He let go. That was the nice thing about fighting him. He never held on longer than necessary. He fought in the moment. "Better step up your game, Goode," he said, and the two of us were circling once more. "People are going to think you've lost you're touch."

I cracked my neck. "Nah, no one's going to think that," I told him. "As long as I'm going up a someone who's bigger and manlier than I am, they're always going to think it was an unfair fight—I'm a girl, remember?"

"Oh, I am very aware of that fact."

"Easy now," I told him. He finally took a jab, but I dodged. I knew that he had to be getting tired, because the only time he ever initiated the hits was when he wanted the fight to be over. "Wouldn't want anyone to think you noticed."

He laughed, and everything was so much easier when we were dressed down. I could actually meet his eyes, so long as there were fists in front of them. He would actually smile at me, so long as I was trying to kick him. "No," he said. "We wouldn't want that, but you've got hips, Goode. I'll give you that one."

The artificial lights of the P&E barn felt dim and hazy against the pure, sharp slivers of moonlight that cut through the roof. He kept his shoulders loose with the occasional bounce. Kept his fists ready with the occasional shake. I watched skin stretch, pulling across muscle, wrapping around veins, and when I noticed the droplets rolling down his neck, I caught myself remembering what Alice had said about hot and sweaty.