Boxer Pria Novels & Stories

he said and started to laugh along with his minions as if he had cracked a massive joke. "It's not that I am quite young, it's you guys who look quite old. tsk, tsk, you guys should be college seniors, not high school's." the new guy said without any emotions on his face. The guy with that cocky smile raised his eyebrows, gritting his teeth in anger. "You... You newcomer. Do you know who I am? I am Drake. The number one boxer of this school. You dare to mess with me." he landed his fist on the desk with anger building inside of him but the new guy did not even flinch or even blinked.

I’ve treated a hundred men in this room. Strong men, scarred men, even desperate ones. But none of them ever looked at me like he did. Luca Hart. Ex-boxer. Thirty-one. Dislocated shoulder, torn tendon. Six feet of cocky attitude wrapped in muscle and mischief. The kind of patient that tests more than your professional patience—he tests your morals. My morals. He was already seated on the therapy table when I walked in, shirt off, sweat on his collarbone, like he wanted to be trouble.

"Oh, come on, you don't think I missed the Tapout sticker on your notebook?" I raised my brows in realization, "Ah." "So, are you a boxer?" "Kickboxing is my Forte. I have legs, I like to use them." Daniel laughed and suddenly one of the coaches that were by the ring walked up to me. He was tall but bulky, kind of like Sylvester Stalone in Rocky, he appeared to be around his 50's or so with peppered hair. "Did I hear someone mention kickboxing? We don't have many of those here."

I replied instantly. “Are you aware he used to be a professional boxer?”

"Go on, I want to practice." "How about I teach you? I can do it too," said Damien. He took off his shirt to reveal his muscular frame. Amelia was evasive. "Damien, don't joke." Now, Damien was behind Amelia. They faced the hanging heavy bag. "Boxing is a martial art that focuses on your opponent's offense. If your punches are weak, you will fall instantly," Damien said. "Damien, this bag weighs 50 kilos. Stop joking around," said Amelia.

What he thought would be a knockout blow, however, caused no harm, as the soldier’s stomach was as tough as iron, and the brick was shattered to pieces and crumbled out of Ishida’s hand. “Haha, you child! You think that will do anything to a man with hard abs and a glorious six-pack like me? I’ll tell you something: I was a professional boxer before I joined the army— and one of the best in the country! I’ve won something like six gold medals using my rock-hard head to ram into my opponents and— YOUCH!!” While the man was boasting about himself, Rhina had handed another brick to Ishida and Ishida used it to whack the soldier’s tough head.

she asks, interest shining in her eyes. "Yes. He's very, very handsome," I answer, as we walk to where Lion is waiting for me, working for the meantime with Bax as I expected. He is signing something to Lion, "Baxter is not a boxer but he trains with me because he doesn't want to be fat again." Baxter turns to us when he hears what I said and raises his middle finger at me. He knows how to communicate in Italian, Spanish and English in his sign language and yet the sign he uses most around me is that one. How peculiar.

“Little of both.” He turned, wiping his face with a towel. “You’re smiling.” That made me smile wider. “I didn’t know you boxed.” “I started when I was fifteen,” he said. “The coach said I needed a legal outlet for my anger. Turns out punching things keeps me out of jail.” “Well, that’s comforting,” I smirked. “Are you any good?” “I’m standing here, aren’t I?” “Wow. Cocky.” “You asked.” He tossed his gloves aside and reached for a second towel. As his muscles flexed, I forgot what air felt like. Then he walked toward me, sweat still dripping down his abs.

I flashed him a smile as I popped another cheese curd. “Go on,” I teased. “I’m a boxer,” he said. “A boxer?” I asked. His answer made me nervous. My ex was a boxer, and I didn’t want to be a part of that life again. He was built like one, and my eyes dropped to his hands. He had fists like one. He was nice, and a had a good smile like one. “Yes, I own a gym in the city. I enjoy what I do,” he said. “That sounds like fun. Doing a job you actually enjoy is something not everyone can have,” I said honestly. He downed the rest of his drink and looked at me.

I said knowingly. He cleared his throat, breaking the sudden awkward situation. He rubbed the part of his shoulder that I hit earlier and grimaced. “You punch a lot harder now that you have started taking boxing classes.” I threw him a mocking smile. “Thanks. Larry told me today that I'm really good.” He raised his eyebrows. “Your coach is a guy?” I mimicked his expression. “What's wrong with that?” “How old is he? What does he look like?” “He's twenty-six years old. And I don't think anyone can deny that he's pretty good-looking.”