A Clichéd Love Story

Will Harker was man enough to know that he didn't know much.

What he did know was that Kassandra Troy was a bitch, and he hated her guts.

They'd met just six months ago; they were martial artists from the same style, but different dojos. Kassandra and Will had risen in the ranks through dojos (places of learning) at the opposite ends of town. When Kassandra moved out on her own, she switched dojos, planting herself firmly, and inconveniently, in his life.

They were both level one black-belts and both highly commended by the Kentokukan Karate school's higher authorities. While Will was praised for his discipline and grace in demonstrations and fighting alike, Kassandra's fiery temper and a capacity for brutality that made her one hell of a fighter.

"These demonstrations, or katas, as you call them, are useless," she'd say when the higher ranks would meet to discuss the novices' curriculum, "I'm a single woman living in Montreal . . . like a lot of the new students. These things will get them nowhere. We should focus more on fighting and self defense and less on these useless activities"

"Thoseuseless activities teach discipline and grace. Your response only reveals what an animal you are!"

It was an insult that fit in fact, but not appearances. Will had only ever seen Kassandra in the bulky tunic and trousers of their martial arts school. Her features were such that her ethnicity was impossible to determine. On some days she looked Caucasian, on others she looked Asian, and others still she could pass for Native American, Polynesian, or Latina. She was skinny as a toothpick, wore thick glasses anyone would find hideous, and her long dark hair was always brutally tied to the back of her head.

"Just hope you never find out what kind of animal I am," she said slowly.

It was her eyes that gave her away. Behind her glasses, they were dark, cold, and watchful. They were the eyes of someone comfortable with violence; someone who could command it to work to their advantage. The overall effect was a cross between a schoolmarm and a serial killer; a combination unappealing enough to make hating her all the easier.

"You're a barbarian! What kind of a woman are you...if you are a woman?"

"That's enough!" The fight had ended due to Janus, their instructor's brutal interruption.

Will Harker's behavior had been exemplary for the five years Janus had known him, but since the day young Kassandra had walked in and announced that she would like to train with them, the two of them had been at each other's throats.

When Harker was leading warm-ups, Kassandra was grumbling and cursing his harsh discipline and regimented silence. While Kassandra was cracking jokes during some of the harsher exercises, Harker stood and seethed. When Janus put them together to train, they did so in silence, their eyes shooting darts at each other with a tension that every other student in the room could all but feel. Occasionally, during choreographed fight routines, one of their arms or legs would 'slip,' planting a firm blow in faces, stomachs, and in poor Harker's case, his groin. If one of them made a mistake, the other took the liberty of pointing it out, and that always resulted in a fight.

"There's something about one that seems to bring out the worst in the other," one brown belt said to another over a beer.

"Any clue how many push ups they've gotten for all the fighting they've done?"

"By my count, let's see . . . two classes a week . . . ten push ups for every offense . . . the session started three weeks ago . . . I'd say at least two hundred"

"Sounds like love to me."

"You're a hopeless romantic, Alice."

"And you are full of crap, Raph, if I were a romantic, I wouldn't pay some sadist to boss me around, exercise me and make me beat people up."

"Whatever you say . . . more beer?"

"Now you're talking."

The teachers of the Karate school were big believers in the concept of work hard, train hard, and play hard. Everyone had lives outside the school, but friendships in the otherwise austere dojo inevitably formed. People were always heading out for drinks, or movies or a meal, but you never saw Will and Kassandra at these events. When the class wanted to go out for drinks, one of them always had an excuse. It was as if they'd negotiated social time with the rest of the group in such a way as never to have deal with one another. It was an arrangement that suited them, but not the rest of the class. Half found their fights hilarious, and the other half found their fights distracting and hoped that all the penalties they got would eventually teach them to get along, or at least get them to switch martial arts schools.

Alas, the two had strong personalities and were stubborn as mules. Neither of them was going anywhere...and everyone suffered because of it, particularly the two parties involved.

***

In every respect, Will Harker was a tight ass.

In her youth, Kassandra had gone to a private school, and in the number of times she'd almost been expelled it had always been because of fault finding sticks in the mud like William Harker. He was one of those people who took himself too seriously. One of those guys who came into martial arts with the hope of regaining some sort of lost warrior spirit urban society and professional armies had taken away. The man was a tax attorney for God's sakes! He strutted about like some science fiction barbarian talking about discipline and obscure Asian philosophers hoping to convert the masses.

"You have no discipline! You have no honor! You have no control! How in the hell did you make it to the upper ranks?"

"Oh, that's easy, William Harker, by acting as a welcome contrast to dicks like you!"

"Oh that's really mature! Name calling! Another reason why you are unfit to wear that belt!"

Kassandra's reply had something to do with a biologically impossible act involving his ass, her foot, and the taste of shoe polish. The fighting continued, and they simply threw themselves onto their stomachs and took their push ups; Kassandra huffing and cursing, and Will in his usual brooding silence. Kassandra was a pragmatist at heart.

While Will bitched and moaned about honor and warrior codes, her logic was a little different. As far as she was concerned, she was paying for the teaching, and because she was paying them, they owed her a certain amount of respect. She rejected the spineless 'Lick the Ground the Teachers Walk On' policy of one Lenny May Bono, a fellow black belt who'd been promoted for her submissive cowardice. She rejected Will's warrior like stoicism. As far as Kassandra was concerned, the best policy was to follow the rules but don't alter your personality or jump through hoops, and it suited her just fine. She worked; she went to class, fought in tournaments, showered, masturbated and slept; in her free time, she picked fights with Will. She'd made a hobby of baiting anal retentive prudes like him.

Will's appearance was a shocking contrast to his anal retentive personality. He was about six feet in height, and muscled. His face exuded a sort of boyish charm; clean shaven, with nice lips, large, intense blue eyes with heavy lashes, a strong jaw and high cheekbones. His hair was dirty blondish, and cropped stylishly close to his head.

A woman would have to be dead not to appreciate him for the fine piece of ass that he was. Fortunately his personality was the biggest turn off of them all. She was convinced that if the man ever got laid it's because he knew to keep his mouth shut. In the month she'd known him, the only thing that kept her from planting her fist in his face was an obscene amount of self control.

Of course their face off was inevitable, and her self control, while powerful, was not infinite. Until six weeks into the session, they managed to avoid each other with a skill spies would find commendable . . . but they couldn't avoid each other forever.

Then their Martial Arts instructor dropped a bomb. Kassandra, Will, and a few other students were asked to represent the school in a big tournament in New York City.

"Of course,your invitation is conditional on your getting along. Don't embarrass your team mates, your city, and your country by going to war in front of everybody. You break into ANY fighting outside the ring, and I will personally drag you out of there by the hair . . . Do you understand?"

They sent sideways glares at one another and nodded. Both loved the sport, and were too stubborn to turn down the opportunity. Cold civility seemed to be the only solution... and it was going to work out fine . . .

Or it would have, until Kassandra's subconscious decided to have a little fun with her the night before the trip.

In her dreams she had sex.

Wild, hot, sweaty sex

. . . With Will Harker.

She woke up, flushed, her chest heaving, her body wet and aching with the need for sex.

Kassandra dismissed it as the result of a year's celibacy. It was official: she needed to get laid, and soon . . . before she started hallucinating! Apparently all the fighting she did wasn't enough to satisfy baser needs. Any chance of her getting to sleep was officially shot to hell, so she did ten push ups and busied herself with work.

***

It was a typical spring morning in Montreal; freezing cold, and snowy. At the edge of every sidewalk were knee-deep puddles of sludge that even the most expensive boots couldn't save you from. No matter which sidewalk you stood on, no matter how well you hid, a busy motorist would find you and skim the curb, splashing the wet, icy mess across your legs.

Only in Montreal, Harker thought grimly, were there three seasons, autumn, winter, and construction. He was tired, but alert, and as usual, he was the first to arrive. Next to show up at the bus station was a wreck in a ski jacket, a bulky hoodie, and torn jeans. The equipment she carried, along with the severe pony tail and ugly glasses identified her instantly.

"Rough night?"

He figured being sociable was the first step to making peace, and making peace would make this trip all the smoother.

"Screw you, Harker!"

Well, he thought, so much for that. Dumping her bags on the floor, Kassandra reached into the pouch of her hoodie and pulled out a candy bar.

"Those things will make you fat, y'know."

"What part of 'screw you' did you not understand?" she asked, focusing her serial killer eyes on him with more than a little irritation. Black eyes stared into blue for several seconds before she turned back to her chocolate bar.

"I was trying to make peace with you. You know; try and get to know you better, figure out why the hell we fight all the time?"

She glared at him again. "Do you want to know why we fight all the time? You're an anal retentive pain in the ass with no sense of humor. You want to get through this trip in one piece? Avoid me like the plague, I'll avoid you, and nary will the two meet!"

"Sounds fantastic," he said succinctly. She didn't want to be friends? No problem. He had better things to do than trying to warm up to an ugly, cold-hearted bitch.

The bus ride went smoothly. He sat at the front of the bus. She sat at the back. Harker read a book and Kassandra joked with the lower ranks. They arrived in New York at five p.m., exactly on schedule. They ended up with decent roommates; Kassandra with Alice, and Harker with Raph.

Things were going to be just fine... if some idiot hadn't booked them across from each other.

"There's a hallway and two doors between you, what the hell's the problem?" Alice demanded.

"The problem, Alice, is that I don't want to have to explain myself to that Klingon across the hall if I decide to go out for a drink or something before the tournament. Do you really want to have to sit through two hours of holier than thou bullshit?"

"You're being paranoid," Alice said dismissively.

"Maybe."

"So we avoid him."

"If he were down the hall, maybe, but the man's a nitpicker, a fault finder. I wouldn't be surprised if he were keeping his eye on us right now, just so he could report that wedaredto go out the night before a tournament!"

It was ridiculous, but for Kassandra's peace of mind, Alice peeked out the door.

"The coast is clear. Wanna go down to the bar for a drink?"

"Are you of legal drinking age?"

"Do you care?"

Kassandra's lips curved. She and Alice were going to get along just fine.

"Let me take a cat nap and freshen up. Drinks are on me."

***

The hotel bar was like any other; populated by a combination of hard drinkers, Casanova wannabes, and middle-aged people dancing the cha cha. Harker had been nursing his whiskey for the past hour. He'd gone through the motions of unpacking, meditating, and then going for a walk. He tried reading, and then sleeping, and failed. So there he was, in the bar, betraying his own principles about no booze, no bullshit before the tournament, and all because he couldn't sleep.

The first thing he noticed was her legs; long, slim, infinite, with just the slightest hint of muscle. They were encased in calf-length leather boots, above which was an expanse of smooth gold skin that disappeared into a short black skirt. Above a flat stomach was a pair nice sized breasts in a tight black T-shirt and her hair was a rich dark brown that fell like liquid silk between her shoulder blades. Age wise, he placed her anywhere between sixteen and twenty-five, but there was something about the way she moved that suggested she might be older. She walked toward the bar with graceful, purposeful strides and ordered a shot of vodka and an Amaretto sour.

"ID please."

Something about the way the woman looked at the bartender had the old man taking a step back. She reached into her purse, pulled out her ID, and to Will's surprise, flipped him off with it. The bartender put her drinks on the counter and she tossed the vodka back. Before she could pay the man, Will found himself stepping forward offering to buy them for her. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and he could have sworn he saw shock before it was replaced with irritation.

"I can pay for myself, thanks."

As she shoved his hand aside and put her money on the table, her companion arrived, a short, curvy young redhead in a tank top and jeans.

"This looks great, thanks," the girl said, picking up her drink, "What is it?"

"Amaretto sour."

He recognized Alice immediately, and in stunned silence, he took a second look at her friend. For the first time, the woman turned to face him; there was no mistaking the serial killer eyes, all the more intense without her glasses. He wanted to start yelling at her; he had no idea why.

Kassandra had no idea what the hell was wrong with him. One second ago he was hitting on her, and now the man was catatonic. It occurred to her that this was the first time he'd seen her in street clothes with her hair down and glasses off, and was only now realizing who she was. Then she shook herself back to reality. Harker would have to be a bigger stereotype than she'd initially thought. Whatever the reason for his behavior, she couldn't bring herself to leave him comatose like that.

So she did what she did best.

She slapped him.

Harker reeled, not from the blow, but from the shock.

"Was that necessary?" Alice asked.

Kassandra pursed her full red lips, and Harker turned silently back on his stool and took a large gulp of his drink.

"It got him to leave us alone didn't it?"

He had concluded a long time ago that she wasn't pretty enough to look at. Looking at her without the bulky tunic, schoolmarm's hairdo, and the ugly glasses, Kassandra's serial killer eyes weren't hideous; they were sexy. Dressed in decent clothes she didn't look gawky or skinny. She looked good enough to eat. It was disarming, to say the least.

Harker took another gulp as he found himself imagining her naked. It was all well and good when he didn't know who she was, but now the hallway between their two rooms looked a lot smaller. What would happen, he wondered, if he showed up and put the moves on her? Then he brushed the thought aside. It was ridiculous! He didn't even like her! He needed to step back, and re-examine the situation.

He risked another glance at her out of the corner of his eye. She was laughing at something Alice was telling her, and the smile transformed her face, bringing color to her cheeks. He watched a tall suit approach and offer to buy her a second drink, and felt an uncomfortable twinge he refused to call jealousy.

As Kassandra put the man in his place with a few sharp words, Will found himself smiling into his empty glass. As the suit turned away, he smiled wider . . . until he realized she was watching him.

Their gazes locked, and for a fraction of a second, there was no contempt or hatred in either of them. Whatever was in their eyes, it was just as primal as hatred, but infinitely more annoying. Then, from the other end of the bar she smiled at him; a cocky; go to hell smile that had him turning away instantly to try to shake off whatever the hell he was feeling.

Since when, he wondered, was he afraid of her? It didn't matter. Kassandra tossed back another shot of vodka, and then she and Alice left the bar. As they were leaving, the bartender put another glass of whiskey in front of him.

"I didn't order that."

"The lady sent it over...she said you needed it."

He stared down at the drink and then at Kassandra's retreating back; he knew instantly he was in a lot of trouble.

***

It was a beautiful morning for a tournament. Warm, ugly, and just rainy enough to make a day indoors seem like heaven. Everything went routinely. They woke up at seven a.m., packed their gear, and headed to the massive gym where the event was held. There was registration, followed by floor cleaning, meditation, and then a strenuous warm up.

"Remember to do your best. The judges are looking for good technique; do what you can and make us proud."

With a lot of ceremony, the contest began. Level after level showed their skills at presenting various Karate techniques to a series of stony faced black belts with clip boards. The first part of the contest lasted all morning and while Harker and a handful of brown and green belts competed, Kassandra sat beside sensei Janus, attempting to hide her boredom. She watched Will's demonstration; the man's movements were smooth and sharp, and belatedly, she found herself remembering the dream.

"Alice...Do me a favor?"

"Anything."

"Slap me."

The girl stared at her friend for a full minute, and then complied. The slap stung Kassandra's cheek and jarred her back to reality. She was here to fight, nothing more, nothing less. Attractive blondes with tight butts and piss-poor personalities were the least of her worries.

She drank her lunch, a heavy, spicy, tomato flavored vegetable shake, then stretched and warmed up. Push ups, sit ups, jumping jacks, and then stretch kicks.

Her muscles limber, Kassandra prepared herself for a fight. She imagined every person she'd ever hated and everything she'd wanted to do to them. Every opponent she would face that day became someone she'd been itching to have a crack at since the day she'd won her first fight.

"Can someone help with my body armor?"

She looked down the ranks. Alice was busy with Raph; some of the others were meditating, or talking, or something else. She noticed one of the green belts sitting by herself but before she could approach the girl, Harker stepped forward, his own breastplate under his arm. A glare from her instructor said turning him down was not an option.

With every attempt at civility, they faced one another, bowed and knelt. Kneeling, they bowed again, and Kassandra picked up the heavy fiberglass breast plate and shoved it onto herself while Will stepped behind her to fasten the straps.