Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
Like my other stories, this one has a long build-up; the longest so far, I believe. I like to allow plenty of time to get to know these great ladies. In fact, if you’ve read my other stories, you may see some familiar faces. I know some of you were wondering about the storyline in this one. Great to hear that, as I was already writing it! Let me know your thoughts — it’s what keeps me going with this much pleasure! Happy reading!
* * * * *
Jordan opened the door to her student room. She stepped inside so Sam could squeeze past her.
“Ta-da! My new digs! What do you think?”
Sam took in the tiny room: the single bed on the one side; the desk with a few shelfs and a small wardrobe on the other. She peered into the en-suite bathroom with its bare necessities: a shower cubicle, toilet and sink.
In the week she’d been here, Jordan thought she’d done a decent job of making the generic space her own. She’d put all her books on the shelfs; arranged her computer set-up; hung her cherished fight shot poster of boxing champion Nicola Adams; and displayed a collage of pictures of her family and friends. This included the series of photo booth snaps that she and Sam took together religiously every year. The only thing she hadn’t found a space for was her punching bag.
“It’s great. It’s got all you need. And it’s clean,” her friend said encouragingly, while her face expressed the apprehension she undoubtedly felt about living in a student room at the age of 27; the age she and Sam shared.
“Yeah, it’s one of the newer accommodation blocks, so at least it’s still in good condition,” Jordan tried to reassure herself as well as Sam. “I’m glad I could get in this last-minute. I guess the new undergrads are not in yet. I’m lucky, really. It was this or staying with my parents and sharing a room with Tasha. And she’s almost seven now, so you know she would have a real attitude about that. Plus, I would have to take a train in every day.”
Jordan realised she was reiterating the merits of her living situation, mostly for her own benefit; to help her justify her decision to come here.
Sam smiled. “I think it’s great, Jordan,” she said again, while she sat down on the bed.
Jordan sat down too. “I have to share the kitchen with six others. That’s not great, but I’ll just invite myself over to yours for dinner all the time.”
“Of course, I would expect nothing else! I’m just so stoked that you’re here! We’re in the same town again, for the first time since high school. This is going to be amazing!”
“Well, you should thank Professor Harrison. And the university for poaching her with a full professorship,” Jordan said. “In my field, when your supervisor relocates halfway through your PhD, you go with them!”
Jordan’s PhD supervisor was quite the academic rock star, and Jordan had been over the moon when she had agreed to supervise her research. Her guidance had been everything Jordan had hoped for and more; she always knew exactly what to say or ask to make Jordan go the extra mile.
Needless to say, it had come as a shock when she had told Jordan she was changing jobs. She had presented Jordan with her options: continue at the same university and be allocated a new supervisor, or join Professor Harrison at the new place and finish her PhD there. After some online research, Jordan had realised that this sort of thing happened quite often, especially now that pressure in academic jobs was rising.
For Jordan, the decision was a no-brainer, really. There wasn’t anyone as good as Professor Harrison, and Jordan didn’t want to risk a new supervisor disagreeing with her entire research plan. Besides, there was the added benefit that she would be closer to her fieldwork and to her best friend.
“If I ever meet her, I will be sure to thank her for bringing my friend to me,” Sam said. “How’s uni anyway? How are the other students?”
“I haven’t actually met any of them yet. I’ve obviously come in at a weird time in the academic year, so it’s not like there’s been any inductions or anything. Some of them are probably also away for the summer. And I’m usually there in the evenings, when no one is around.”
“Maybe you should try going in when they are actually around.” Sam grinned and shook her head warily.
“You know me; my brain only really kicks in around mid-afternoon! And even then I usually start working in Starbucks while I wait for the caffeine to reach every cell in my brain, before even showing my face in the department.”
Sam laughed. “Yeah, I remember that all too well. It drove the teachers insane how useless you were in the mornings. Ask you anything in last period, though, and you were a freaking genius. They could never figure that one out.”
Jordan laughed too. “They thought I wouldn’t amount to much. I just needed a different schedule; that was all.”
“I always believed in you,” Sam said with a grin.
Jordan chuckled. “Of course you did, Miss World. Was that before or after you had a crush trabzon escort on me?”
“Every. Single. Time… Do you have to bring that up every single time? I should never have told you.”
“Where would be the fun in that?” Jordan teased her friend. “Besides, we might both still be chasing boys now if it weren’t for that.”
“What do you mean ‘still chasing boys’? I can’t recall we ever did much of that. Well, I certainly didn’t,” Sam countered.
“No, of course not. You were too busy mooning over me.” They both laughed.
“Speaking of chasing people,” Jordan continued, “where do you go here? What’s the scene like? Anything interesting?”
One downside of moving here was that in one fell swoop she’d abandoned most of her social life and all her favourite hang-outs.
“I don’t really do the scene… I think there’s one lesbian bar and a bunch of places for guys downtown, but I haven’t been,” Sam confessed.
“You’ve lived here for four years and you’ve never been to the one lesbian bar!? What’s wrong with you?”
Jordan wasn’t really all that surprised. Sam was never really that drawn to the meat market culture that invariably ensued in a small gay scene. She’d be a big hit there, though; Jordan was sure of that. With her dreadlocks and her huge green eyes with their intelligent gaze, and then the whole tomboy look she had going on; girls loved that.
“Where do you go then? It’s Friday night. Let’s go somewhere!” Surely, her friend did go out on a Friday night? “Oh wait,” she added, “as long as it’s not one of those old man joints you go to play pool.”
“They are not old man joints! But actually, on a Friday I usually join the guys from work at this cocktail place near the office. It’s a bit of a yuppie place but they have good cocktails and the bartender is nice.”
“Sounds great! Let’s go there,” Jordan said enthusiastically, eager to start exploring her new home town.
A bus ride later, they entered the bar and found a table towards the back of the room. Sam said a quick hello to her colleagues at another table and went to the bar to get some cocktails for her and Jordan. When she returned she said: “So, yeah, that’s her.” She nudged towards the bar.
Jordan looked in the indicated direction, slightly confused. That was who? The only person clearly in their line of sight was the bartender, who was facing away from them. The girl was busy putting bottles back on the shelves.
“The bartender?” Jordan asked, not quite sure what Sam wanted her to see.
Sam nodded and grinned. Jordan recognised that look. So that was what Sam meant when she said the bartender was ‘nice’: she was ‘capital N, Nice’ – nice to look at, and maybe more. Jordan turned her attention to the bar once again.
“She’s cute,” she said, a bit prematurely, as she could still only see the back of the girl.
The bartender had short, spiky hair that was bright pink. She was quite tall and had a good figure. She was wearing a black polo-shirt, with the logo and name of the bar. When the girl turned round, Jordan could finally see her face. She really was cute. Jordan now made out that her hair was actually blond with fierce pink highlights, which gave it an overall punky appearance. It fell in messy peaks over her forehead, ending just above her eyes. She had full lips and bright eyes that perused the whole bar; looking for anything she could do for her customers. She looked familiar. It was so out of context that it took Jordan a moment to realise that she had seen the bartender before.
“Hey, I know her!” She called out.
“What?” Sam gave her a baffled look. “You’ve been in town a week. How can you possibly know her?”
“Well, I don’t know her, know her. But I’ve seen her before. She goes to my new boxing gym.”
Jordan remembered seeing the girl there because of her notable appearance. Jordan had gone to the gym every morning the past week, joining in a group session on some mornings and sparring or working on the bag on others. She’d seen the girl in a group session, but she’d had been on the beginners’ side of the room, while Jordan trained with the advanced fighters.
“How do you already have a boxing gym here? You’ve been here a week!”
“Girl’s gotta train, Sam! I’ve got a fight coming up next weekend, remember? This place came highly recommended and my trainer hooked me up with one of the guys there.”
“Okay, fair enough. That makes sense. And she goes there too?” Sam asked incredulously, as if she couldn’t really picture the bartender as a boxer. Jordan had to agree that it didn’t quite fit the sweet face. But looks could be deceiving.
“Yeah, kickboxing training. I’ve only seen her twice, I think. In the mornings. When was it? Sunday definitely, and Tuesday maybe, or Wednesday?” Jordan waved her hand dismissively; it didn’t matter when she saw her. What mattered was that her friend clearly liked this girl and she had to find out more about this.
“Anyway, what do we know about her? uşak escort Did you talk to her? Apart from ordering a drink, of course,” Jordan asked.
“Her name is Megan; I got that far. Other than that, I don’t know a hell of a lot.”
“But you are on it? I mean, you’re flirting with her?” Jordan couldn’t believe that was all there was to say. Sam was naturally charming, and a great flirt; if she had tried, it would have worked.
“I have tried… Trust me, I have. Every time I go over there, I try. The guys from work think it’s hilarious. They always make me get the drinks and quiz me after.”
“So, what happens?”
“Nothing happens,” Sam said with a hint of desperation. “It’s like she just doesn’t even notice that I’m flirting with her.”
Jordan looked at her sceptically and teased: “You mean, she’s immune to your charm?”
Sam laughed. “Looks like it… Either that, or she’s got a girlfriend and she’s trying to let me down easy.”
“Well, she is a cute bartender. She would get a lot of attention. Maybe she’s just so used to people flirting with her at work that she just shuts it all out,” Jordan offered.
“Or maybe she’s straight…,” she then added, not sure if she believed that herself. With that hair, her posture, and the way she moved, it was fair to assume she was interested in girls. But then, maybe it was just wishful thinking that she was.
“Yeah, I thought about that,” Sam replied, “but she does have a lot of the signs…”
When Jordan looked at her amusedly, Sam continued: “I know you don’t believe in the signs, but hear me out. Okay, the hair; for one. She has this really cool chunky watch; second. Sensible shoes, sneakers; third…”
“She works in a bar! She wouldn’t be wearing heels now, would she?” Jordan interrupted.
“Okay, okay. Same goes for her clothes, I guess: bar uniform shirt with comfy trousers. But she’s got no girly jewellery or anything; no makeup.”
“Again, jewellery would just get in the way working here,” Jordan debunked.
“Short fingernails,” Sam said triumphantly, as if that was irrefutable evidence.
“Hate to break it to you, but she’d have to keep them short for boxing anyway. And it is probably more hygienic working in a bar too.”
“Okay, fine… I give up. That’s all I’ve got. Like I said, she doesn’t respond to flirting or eye contact, so that doesn’t tell me anything either. No give-aways in our brief chats…” Sam sighed. “What do you think? Straight?”
“I wouldn’t think she’s straight,” Jordan said honestly, still studying the girl from their safe distance. “Good old social media doesn’t tell you anything?”
“Her Facebook profile is like fort Knox. Unless I friend her, which would be a bit weird.”
“Yeah, maybe… Tell you what, why don’t I see what I can find out at the gym? Sus her out?” Living in the same town now, Jordan was pleased that she was finally in a position where she could something like this for her friend.
“Sure. If you think you can get further than me,” Sam said sceptically. “Anything that helps me get to know her would be welcome, or anything to tell me there’s no point trying.”
“I’ll see what I can do. I like a challenge,” Jordan said, already thinking about her game plan.
* * * * *
Megan huffed at her strapping. Too tight, again. She could never get it right the first time, let alone getting it the same on both hands. She started unravelling her left hand to start over. At least she still had some time before the lesson started.
“It helps if you spread your fingers while you wrap it,” a voice near her said. Megan looked up to see the owner of the voice smiling at her. “It prevents it from being too tight when you get to the end,” the girl continued.
Megan smiled back shyly. “Thanks.”
That girl would know. Megan had seen her a few times in the past couple of weeks. She was new to the ‘Fight Fit’ gym, but she wasn’t new to the sport; she was a really good kickboxer. Definitely what Megan would call a ‘career’, a reference from ‘The Hunger Games’, meaning someone’s who’s born to do what they’re doing: fanatic and professional.
Megan had to admit that this career had drawn her attention from the moment she’d first seen her. Megan had been a little distracted during the trainings in which the girl had been in the same room. Apart from her obvious fighting skills, she was striking: short, but lean and muscular, with dark skin and a large mob of beautiful curly hair. She was cheerful and her booming laugh could frequently be heard across the room to the beginners’ area. Megan had often looked over to see Jordan grin from ear to ear, her laugh lighting up her whole face.
Sensing that the girl was still watching her, Megan looked up again. She noticed that her usually wild hair was now tied neatly into cornrows, and – Megan was shocked to see – she had a black eye. Her left eye sported a thick dark band underneath, and the area around it was puffy. It looked fresh.
Was van escort she alright? Megan contemplated whether to say anything. The girl had undoubtedly seen her looking at it, so it seemed rude to ignore it. But what if something bad had happened to her and she didn’t want to discuss it with a stranger? After all, Megan didn’t even know her.
Despite herself, she asked: “Are you okay?” She gave an apologetic smile, indicating it was okay if she didn’t want to talk about it.
“Oh this?” The girl pointed nonchalantly at her face. “Yeah, it’s nothing. I was in a fight.”
Megan tried to keep the shock she felt off her face. That must have been a hell of a fight. She’d seen a few brawls break out – that was inevitable when you worked in a bar – but usually the shiners resulting from that weren’t quite this spectacular. Also, it was usually the guys breaking into fights for no apparent reason. What kind of places did this girl hang out in?
Megan must have been unsuccessful in hiding her feelings, because the girl chuckled and added: “In the ring, I meant. Boxing…” She shadowboxed to illustrate her point.
“Oh…” Megan guessed she was probably equally bad at keeping her relief from showing now.
“How did it go?” She then asked, regretting it instantly. It looked like it hadn’t gone so well.
“It went quite well. I won with a technical knockout.” The girl grinned as if to say that was nothing too.
“Oh…” Megan said again, cursing herself for her lack of eloquence. What on earth was a technical knockout? “I just thought…” She gestured at her face. “… That maybe it hadn’t.”
“You should have seen the other girl.” The girl smiled and then winced in pain. “Ouch! I tried to wink. Clearly, I can’t do that right now.” She laughed her booming laugh. It was contagious and Megan had to laugh too.
“Do you do fights often?” She then asked, intrigued.
“Every now and then. Just boxing though. I have only been kickboxing for a few years. That’s just for fun.”
Megan suddenly felt small and insignificant next to this confident woman, who must be at least a few years younger than her. She’d only been kickboxing for a few years and that was just for fun? Megan had only been at it for almost a year and she considered it quite serious business.
As if she’d read her thoughts, the girl asked: “You do kickboxing, right?”
“Yeah,” Megan said. “I’m a beginner, though.”
“You look like you know what you’re doing.” The girl flinched. “Ouch, I did it again! Stupid.”
Megan laughed. Why did she keep trying to wink at her? And what did she just say? Did that mean she’d been watching Megan? That was embarrassing. Megan felt like she spent a lot of time just trying to coordinate her hands and feet to move at the right time.
She said shyly: “Thanks. Nothing compared to you, though.”
“I’ve been doing it since I was 15, so that’s not a fair comparison,” the girl said kindly. “Hey, what days are you here?”
“Usually Wednesday mornings and Sunday mornings, for the all levels kickboxing lessons,” Megan replied, before asking: “Why?” Why was this girl still talking to her? Why was she so interested in Megan’s schedule?
“No reason. I’ll probably bump into you again then.” The girl smiled and picked her bag off the floor. “Well, I better get started. I’m just doing some bag work today.”
“What days are you here?” Megan asked quickly.
The thought that she was going to bump into this girl regularly was mildly distressing. That was probably the end of her kickboxing education. If she wasn’t careful, she’d get so distracted that she’d be knocked down by her classmates. Speaking of embarrassment. The least she could do was mentally prepare for the days she knew the girl would be here.
“Every day, pretty much. Always in the morning. Unless I have a meeting or something.” She turned away.
Megan had so many questions. She was here every day? Didn’t she work in the mornings? And what meetings? What did she do?
The girl was walking away now, so clearly the conversation was over. When she reached the door that led into the training hall, she turned round and said: “I’m Jordan, by the way.”
Leaning against the door post, she waited for Megan to respond. She didn’t seem to care one bit about the other people waiting for their lesson to begin, who were now all staring at both of them.
Megan mumbled her name, a little embarrassed to be the centre of attention.
“Nice to meet you, Megan,” Jordan said cheerily and at that she disappeared through the doorway.
Megan couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. Why had this super sexy, bad-ass boxer girl just out of the blue struck up a conversation with her?
As was to be expected, Megan’s lesson was a bit of a write-off. From where she was training with the other beginners, she could see into the next room, where they kept some gym and boxing equipment for individual or personal training. In that room, Jordan had started warming up by jumping rope: not just straight-forward swinging the thing and jumping at the right time – which was already enough of a challenge for Megan – the girl knew all the fancy swings and cross-overs, double-speeds, whatever it was all called.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32