Two nights ago, I went back to the same club in search of another guy. Even after washing my sheets and ridding my home of anything that reminded me of that night with Garrett, he still lingers. At night, I wake up from the most erotic dreams, still able to feel him inside of me. I figure it’s only because he was the last man I had sex with and the quickest way to get over one person is to get under someone new, right?
That turned into a failure of epic proportions. Not only was the guy not as sexy as Garrett, he was clumsy and almost immature in his actions. Pawing at my breasts instead of caressing them. Pumping a single digit into my pussy instead of angling it to hit my g-spot. He obviously wanted to get off quickly, not even offering to take me back to his place, but fuck me in a stall in the bathroom at the club. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not anywhere close to being a prude, but there are certain things I’m not up for. Getting railed in a disgusting bathroom with vomit next to the toilet is the furthest thing from sexy. Richard Simmons sweating to the oldies gets me wetter than puke and tampon wrappers scattered across a piss covered floor.
So, today, forgetting about the mistakes of my past, I’m taking Kelsie up on some sound advice. She told me about a new gym they opened in town. One of the bar regulars had told her about it the night prior and she thinks I should go relieve some stress. I read somewhere once that a healthy way to overcome any kind of frustration, especially sexually, is to work out. I walk down Main Street in search of something to give away the location, but I’m coming up empty handed. There are no balloons or fancy signs anywhere on this block.
Checking the address I wrote down once again, I know for sure it’s within this stretch. Looking closer, the corner building where a fishing store used to be, white letters on the window tell me it’s what I’m looking for. I pull open the front door and a bell hooked to the top chimes, alerting whoever the hell’s inside that a patron’s just entered.
At first appearance, this isn’t the kind of gym I was expecting. There are no treadmills or stair steppers, not even an elliptical machine. There are, however, a shit ton of free weights and a boxing ring right in the middle. Without any florescent lights gleaming overhead, the entire place is a dingy shade of “what the fuck did I just walk into?”
“Hello,” I cautiously yell, secretly praying that this isn’t some kind of cult gathering place I’m automatically entered into because I’ve seen their secret lair.
“Give me a sec,” a gravelly voice sounds from the back. A few moments later, an exceptionally tall man starts walking toward me. “Oh,” he looks me up and down and then his lips twist into a smirk. “The nail salon’s a few doors down.”
Glancing down at my appearance—a fitted tank top with built in bra, three quarter calf yoga pants and running sneakers—I don’t know what would give him the impression I’m out for a day of pampering.
He silently dismisses me and makes his way to wherever it is that he came from. My blood’s boiling, knowing I’ve just been discounted in a gym because I happen to have a pair of C-cup tits and the lack of a penis between my legs. “Excuse me,” I say and he turns back to face me. “I’m not looking for a manicure. A friend told me you’re new in town and I just happen to be looking for a gym.”
Examining my surroundings once again, I’m not sure what I’ll do in this place or how I can get a workout, but on principle and principle alone, this guy isn’t going to treat me like a princess Barbie. He’s going to acknowledge and respect me, even if I have zero idea what the hell I’m doing here.
“Doll, this isn’t one of those gyms like on the TV. You don’t walk in and pay a membership fee and walk on the treadmills a few days after work. There’s no daycare for your brats. There’re no tanning beds. I think you’d be better off finding something more your speed.”
“And exactly how do you know what my speed is?” Anger courses through my veins and all I want to do is punch him in his smart ass, condescending mouth.
“We don’t work out here, doll. We train. There’s a huge difference.”
Still pissed, but slightly intrigued, I don’t move to the exit. “And if I’m looking to be trained?”
“You’re in for a world of pain then. I train fighters. Men who have so much aggression and pent up anger, this is the only way they can deal with it. I train them to hit and take a hit. Like I said, this isn’t a day spa, it’s for people who don’t know what else to do with themselves, and you don’t strike me as that kinda girl.”
His words hit home. With the exception of being a man, it sounds like this is exactly what I need. Bettering myself has to start somewhere and why not here? I’ve been in fights and always feel slightly relieved afterward. I might have hit a goldmine.
I refuse to take a step toward the door, even when he turns away from me. Puffing my chest out like some kind of caveman, I make a decision in this dingy, dark gym that might change the course of my life forever. “Looks like you don’t just train men anymore. My name’s Rian and I’d like to train with you.”
I hold my head high as he strides toward me and stops directly in front of me, less than a foot between us, as he’s looking down, judging. When his lips purse and finally turn into a tight smile, he nods.
“Name’s Zan. You won’t be fighting any time soon, but I’ll train ya. A girl on the roster always looks good to the public and I’d be lying if I said you don’t look lost, Rian.”
“I’m not a charity case. I’m serious. Everything you said about your other clients, that’s how I feel all the time. I need somewhere to let all this out so I’m not constantly going to jail.”
“I like you already, girl. Let’s get you started on the heavy bag. I gotta see how you hit.”
Chapter 18
Zan was not over exaggerating. As the months progress, my muscles ache from the moment I wake up until the second my exhausted body finally falls asleep. It’s not just my muscles, either; the strangest things hurt, things I didn’t know could feel this type of agony. I mean, seriously, are fingernails and hair supposed feel like this? I’m barely able to drag myself to the car after a session, let alone think about showering once I’m home. I’m beginning to be seriously concerned with my hygiene.
I’m supposed to work the afternoon shift at the bar today and I’m not sure if my limbs are going to cooperate after the morning of hell I’ve had. Part of me thinks that I should have taken Zan up on his offer to go find a more gentle gym, but then I wouldn’t have the pleasure of proving him wrong. He doesn’t have to know that I’m dying.
“Kel, can you take my shift this afternoon?” I break down and call Kelsie to cover me today. I could really use the tips, but an ice bath sounds heavenly.
“No can do, sweet stuff. Elijah has open house tonight. My baby’s growing up too fast or I would. You better get moving or you’re gonna be late.” Grunting, I hang up and hobble toward the shower and desperately hope I can actually climb over the ledge. The thought alone is daunting.
Zan had me working on the heavy bag earlier this morning. Instead of the punching I did earlier in the week, I was kicking the shit out of the sand filled red bag like my life depended on it. I guess this is what I get for trying to show him, that even with a vagina, I’m not a fragile little girl. Each time I lift a foot to take a step in the direction of the bathroom, my legs protest, begging me to sit still and rest.
I mentioned that I might be interested in entering a fight. Nothing big, just a local gig, but with Zan’s incessant laughter, my hopes started to fade. When the chuckling stopped and he was clutching his stomach, he said it wasn’t because he didn’t think I’d do well. It had more to do with the fact he had nobody for me to train with. No sparring partner means nobody to test my skill against. Not that I had any skill, but I wanted to learn. I saw a few of the guys in the ring and it looks like something I could really enjoy. The fact that I didn’t think about sex for the entire hour they grappled with each other was my first sign.
This is one of those memories I’ll never
forget. That moment when you realize you should have left well enough alone and gone about your business. A trait that I hope to one day possess.
“Can’t I spar with one of the smaller guys you train? I don’t see what harm it could do. I’ll either kick his ass or decide that this isn’t for me.”
Instead of responding to my question, Zander turns around, shakes his head and walks over to one of his male clients that just came through the door.
After a few awesome handshake moves, the two are chummy as ever. It honestly makes me sick to my stomach. All I want to do is try and I can’t even get the time of day. He’ll take my money to train here, but won’t actually train me. I swear. If I didn’t have a pair of tits, I would be treated so much differently.
Kicking the heavy bag a few more times for good measure, I grab a water from the fridge. Guzzling nearly half the bottle, I move to approach Zan and reiterate my interest in fighting. I should have packed up my bag and left, but that would have been too simple.
A bunch of meat-head members walk in the door and zero in on me. I’m not modest by any means. There’s something about standing around in a pair of tight, three quarter length pants, a sports bra and sweating my ass off that attracts the Captain of the Douche Team. I must be wearing some kind of sign on my back that screams “Oh, please, I’ve been waiting for you to open your mouth and ruin my entire day.”
“Guys,” he slaps one of his buddies in the stomach. “Check out Maybelline over there. Little girl wants to play with the boys.” I crane my neck, preparing for a battle of wit, until Zan steps in.
“Not today, guys. Leave her alone.” Oh, that’s just perfect. Meat-head number one pays no attention.
“You’re gonna need a touch up there, Maybelline. Your makeup’s smearing.”
I stomp over to the group of gorillas, ready for battle. Zander tries to say something, but it’s completely lost on me. I’m in this damn gym, trying my hardest to be good enough for Zan to take me seriously. These bullies must really love fucking with the lonesome girl.
“I got this, Zan.” I put my hand in front of his face, stopping whatever he’s getting ready to say. “Okay, listen, dick. I’m here for one reason and one reason only, and that’s not for you to ogle my tits, talk about my ass or spout off at the mouth. I’m in no mood for your shit. Got me?”
Making myself clear and leaving nothing to the imagination, I turn to walk back to my gym bag. All is good until I bend over to hoist it over my shoulder and the cat calls start.
“Maybelline, you should keep working out. Those squats are paying off,” Meat-head number two catcalls, winking and staring at me like I’m dessert, while the rest laugh.
“Yeah, Princess, you can bend over like that for me anytime.” I snap my head around and see the leader of the douche tribe, Donnie, making some obscene gestures. Boys never grow up, I swear.
Shrugging into my hooded sweatshirt, I throw my bag over my shoulder and start for the door only to be stopped by a wall of men. Of course, since I’ve pissed Zan off, he’s not trying to save me now.
“Tell me, Maybelline, whose dick did you have to suck to get into this gym? Zan’s always been pretty exclusive.”
Stepping into Donnie’s personal space, I run my finger down the middle of his chest until it rests on the waistband of his shorts. Looking up at him through my eyelashes, I bat them and twist my lips upward in a sensual smirk.
“Oh, sweetie, are you upset ‘cause you think I sucked someone’s dick to train with Zander? Or maybe it’s because no matter how hard you try, and what lines you run, I’m never gonna suck your dick?” I push my finger slightly in the elastic of his shorts, pull it out, fake a peek inside and let the fabric snap against his skin. “I’m gonna go with the latter. Toodles, boys.” I give the room a small finger wave without looking back as I walk to the door. I’d love nothing more than to run, but showing any weakness right now would just fuel the fire.
Once I’m outside alone, I can finally breathe normally. It feels kind of good, but terrifying at the same time. A bunch of guys over six feet tall and two hundred pounds can be pretty intimidating. Especially when you take into account that most, if not all, of them are so juiced up I doubt their dicks actually work. Those with tits are no exception to the wrath that one would pay to a man with ‘roid-rage.
Reliving that memory isn’t a fun one for me. It almost makes me doubt what I’m doing … almost. More than the self-doubt, it sets off something so deep inside me and all I want to do is prove them wrong. Tomorrow, I’ll demand that he allows me to spar with one of the smaller guys. Better yet, I’ll find my own sparring partner. Kelsie’s been looking for something to do a few days a week. I’m sure she’ll help me out.
****
Walking into the bar, I catch Kelsie as she’s walking out. I know she has to get to her kid’s thing, so I have to make it fast.
“Wanna do me a favor?” I ask, sparing both of us the time of beating around the bush.
“I can’t stay tonight, Ri,” she responds, exasperated.
“No. I need someone to train with during the week. The gym doesn’t have any girls and the owner won’t let me spar with a guy.”
“Spar? Like fight? Are you fucking crazy?”
“Come on. I really wanna try my hand at this. I think I can do it. Please,” I beg, hands clasped and bottom lip pushed out.
“Do you see my face?” she asks, framing her face with her finger. “There’s no way in hell I’m gonna fight with you. Maybe you’ve forgotten, but I’ve known you for quite a while now. You’re a ruthless bitch and I value my teeth a little too much to allow you to knock them out.”
“I’m not gonna really hit you, Kel. It’s fake fighting … just to learn technique.”
“Answer’s still no, love. If you need someone to dye your hair or go shopping, though, I’m your girl.”
Rolling my eyes, I hug her goodbye and wait until she’s pulled out of the parking lot before I go inside. Tomorrow, I’ll just have to persuade Zan to let one of the guys train with me. It’s really the best way to prepare for a fight. If I can take a guy down, a girl won’t be a problem.
A few hours into my shift, my sore legs are too much to stand on. Grabbing a barstool, I walk it around to the back of the bar, rest my forearms on the top and wait for my next customer. For a Wednesday, we’re pretty busy, and by pretty busy, I mean that we have a total of ten customers who are nursing their drinks and not reordering.
Another painful hour that feels more like three passes by when the bouncer flips all the overhead lights on, indicating that it’s closing time. I must have dozed for a minute because I don’t remember announcing last call. Oh well.
The patrons all file toward me, paying their tabs and tipping out while I wipe down the countertops and tables. As I grab my purse and sling it over my shoulder, the doors open and someone walks through.
“Sorry, pal, we’re closed,” I call over my shoulder. The footsteps never falter, continuing to move in my direction. If someone’s going to rob this place, tonight isn’t the right time. There might be two hundred in the till, and that’s being generous.
“We’re. Closed.” Turning slightly to grab the glock the owner keeps under the counter, I keep my hand out of sight and raise my eyes to meet the intruder.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask, staring right into Garrett’s eyes.
“I went by your place and you weren’t there. Your neighbor told me where you might be, so here I am.”
“You didn’t have to scare the life out of me.” I raise my hand into his line of sight, shaking it around in the air. “You almost just died because you wanted to act all silent and stalkerish.”
“I’m sorry, I wanted to surprise you,” he chuckles. I put the gun back in its resting spot and walk around the bar to meet him where he hasn’t moved since we made eye contact.
“Okay, I’m surprised. What do you want? Is everything okay with Gabriella?”
“Yeah, she’s
fine. I just wanted to see you.” My heart drops to my stomach and my mouth instantly goes dry.
“Where’s Jaime?” I ask defensively. A man engaged to another woman doesn’t need to be trolling bars over an hour away from his home … especially for someone he was once involved with.
“I’d assume at her parents’ house, but I’m not sure.” His eyes scan everywhere, but refuse to connect with mine. “She wasn’t too happy when I told her about what happened between us last month.”
“You didn’t have to tell her. I wouldn’t have ever said anything.” He told her. He fucking told his fiancée that he slept with his ex-girlfriend.
“It felt wrong. Keeping it from her, I mean.”
“Don’t start thinking there’s anything more for us, Garrett. We had our shot and it didn’t work. I’ve moved on. I don’t want your guilt to make you think that we’re supposed to get together or something like that.”
“Rian, I’m in town because I have some business to attend to in the morning. Figured since I was here, we could catch up. You talk to my mom all the time; I don’t see why we can’t be friends.” Because you can’t keep your hands off me and your dick out of me? That seems like a pretty logical reason, wouldn’t you think?
“You gonna keep your hands to yourself?” I ask, feeling the need to clench my thighs together to stop the throbbing of my clit. He knows my body and my reaction to him. He’s going to see right through me.
“If you want me to, I will. Is that what you want?” Fuck me dead. When did he become so alpha-like? That sweet country boy I fell in love with all those years ago is gone, replaced by sex on legs that looks at me like he wants nothing more than to do exactly that … fuck me dead.
“Yes,” I croak out, already weighing my decision in my mind, wondering if I should have just said that I want him to bend me over this bar and screw me silly.
Raven Page 13