“What’s an eighth degree mean?” Cayson sat on the edge of the coffee table while Quick and Duke did some slow stretches.
Vaughan took off his suit jacket and settled into the couch like he was preparing for a good show. “It’s an amazing accomplishment, Doc. Just like you being a surgeon.”
“Not quite,” Quick put in, looking a little uncomfortable at Vaughan’s reference.
“You studied for years, trained for even longer. Yes, it’s exactly like that.” Vaughan looked so thoughtful when he spoke of his father. “It’s practically unheard of in this day. Not many are disciplined enough to receive that degree belt. It takes a lot more than fancy moves.”
“Now that your cheering squad is in place. You ready to do this?” Duke grumbled, taking a wide stance, his hands up in front of his face.
“Wait. As your doctor, Duke; I think I may have to disagree with this level of activity.” Cayson stood, holding his hands out like he was the referee.
Duke gasped, feigning offense. “Seriously. Does no one have any faith in me? I’m not over the hill.”
“Just shy a few years.” Quick chuckled, but Duke wasn’t seeing the humor.
“You know what, shut up. Come on, we should take this seriously.” Vaughan chastised them both.
“You’re right, son. Cayson, come over here and show us how he had you pinned. We’ll go from there.”
Cayson knew he was beet red. How was he going to reenact his humiliation? Joe was a punk bitch, and yet he’d gotten the best of him. Suddenly he was feeling too self-conscious in front of these well-trained fighters. He thought this was going to be a very private lesson, eventually ending with both of them sweating and grabbing on each other until it turned hot enough to take to the bedroom. Quick and Duke looked so serious. Vaughan stood up and placed a supportive hand on Cayson’s shoulder. “My dad and Duke are the best at what they do. You can trust them. You can trust us. We’re not here to make light of your situation. I really wanted to know you both were okay.” Vaughan’s light eyes were so much like his father’s. He even squinted like him when he was concentrating on something. He didn’t realize until it was too late that Vaughan was staring at the reddening around his neck. Cayson clutched his throat, looking back at Quick.
Quick stood directly behind Cayson and moved one of his hands away from his throat. He kissed his palm and turned him so they were face to face. His tone was low and only for him to hear. “I hope you’re not embarrassed.”
“No.” Cayson put his hands down and lifted his chin higher. “I’m not embarrassed at all.”
Vaughan continued as if everything was normal. If Cayson didn’t want to elaborate, that was his business. The gorgeous man went back to talking up his father. “He’ll protect you with everything he has, but wouldn’t you like to be able to protect yourself, too? Now, using me, please show us exactly what he did.”
Cayson was always shocked when Vaughan spoke. No man in his early thirties should be that mature. He’d still been hiding behind textbooks at that age. Vaughan was so much like his father. So in control and in charge. Cayson found himself doing exactly what he was told, by not only the father, but by his son, too. The moves he repeated became easy and the lesson very educational.
“If he comes at you again, he won’t be expecting you to defend yourself. Attackers usually go after the unsuspecting, vulnerable types. Surprise is going to be a big advantage for you next time,” Vaughan said, getting back into his original position. Duke and Quick had taken a step back and let Vaughan handle the lesson, since Cayson looked more comfortable working with him. Every now and then, they’d add a note here and there, or reposition Cayson’s arms.
The next lesson was recovery moves, for use if he was grabbed from behind or around the neck. Vaughan showed him how to gain air and a couple attacks that could startle an assailant. The knuckle punch to the temple was harder than it looked, but the collarbone jab was easier to execute in that position. Next were frontal attacks, defense, and offensive maneuvers.
Vaughan was starting to sweat, so he unbuttoned his dress shirt, keeping his white t-shirt on. “Again,” he barked, sounding like a real martial arts instructor. Vaughan stunned Cayson by quickly grabbing him from behind before he could get into position. Putting his forearm across his windpipe, and cutting off his air, his other hand wrapped over the top of his skull. He remembered he only had a few seconds before the body started to panic and demand air, causing a person to forget their training.
“Think, Cays,” Quick yelled, cutting through his fear.