"Not always," he said sheepishly. "I've got to tell you something so that you think I'm earning my keep."
I reached over and kissed his smooth forehead. "I know," I said.
"You're a freak," he said again, blushing.
"You have no idea."
"I pity any poor bastard who crosses your path."
"So do I."
He held out his hands. "Now, I need to soak these in ice."
"Sorry about that."
"You kidding? It's an honor working with you. I tell everyone about you. No one believes me. I tell them I've got a woman here that could take on their best male contenders. They never believe me."
Around us the sparring gym was a beehive of activity. Both boxing rings were now being used by kick boxers. Women and men were pounding the hell out of the half dozen punching bags, and the rhythmic rattling of the speed bags sounded from everywhere.
"You know I don't like you talking about me, Jacky."
"I know. I know. They don't believe me anyway. You could box professionally with one hand behind your back."
"I don't like attention."
"I know you don't. I'll quit bragging about you."
"Thank you, Jacky."