The Chronicles of Stella Rice: January

by Adrienne Kama

  Jim glanced at me over his shoulder. “Looks like someone pissed off the teacher.”

  I glared at Jim, then figured if I looked like I was doing something maybe Jake would pass me by. I jabbed the air with my right fist, following quickly with my left and repeated.

  Jake breezed by me, pausing long enough to say, “Come with me, Stella.”

  I looked at Katarina who was exercising with a fervor I’ve never seen, and doing her best to pretend I didn’t exist. Jim and Sadie seemed suddenly occupied as well.

  Well damn the lot of them. I’m a grown woman. I’m a business owner and a professional. What do I have to be afraid of?

  Making a point to hold my chin high, I turned and followed Jake to the back of the room.

  He stood against the far wall, arms crossed imperiously over his chest, as he marked my progress. He’d plaited his hair today and a long, black braid hung over his chest looking disturbingly like a whip.

  When I was a few feet from him he pushed away from the wall and walked to the antechamber off the back of the classroom where equipment was stored. I entered the room behind him and he motioned for me to continue in.

  I did, and then turned to look at him. He leaned against the doorframe and stared at me.

  “You were late,” he said by way of opening the conversation.

  I smiled. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  “You said that yesterday.”

  He had a point there.

  Instead of arguing with him, which would have been an exercise in futility, I upped the wattage on my smile.

  “There’s a waiting list for this class, Stella. People who actually want to be here. If you’re not going to take this seriously, tell me now and I’ll replace you. Full refund of course, since you’ve only been here one week.”

  Was he offering me an out? A chance to erase this particularly unpleasant episode of my life? It was tempting, and I wanted to accept. However, I knew if I let myself get kicked out of class, Katarina would quit and forever blame me for ruining her chances at meeting Mr. Right.

  “No,” I said quickly, staring at Katarina over his shoulder. “I promise, I’ll be here tomorrow on time. No excuses.”

  He studied me for a moment, twisted around, glancing at Katarina, then returned his gaze to me. Then he did something that completely unnerved me. He grinned.

  Still grinning, he stepped further into the equipment room and closed the door behind him, effectively cutting us off from the rest of the class.

  “You can’t leave the class can you?”

  “I can do anything I want.”

  He nodded. “True. But you won’t. Not as long as Katarina wants to be here.” He smiled then, and heat rose to my face. Slowly, his eyes scanned the length of my body. The look was possessive, as though something had happened in the last few seconds to suddenly make me his personal property.

  Unbidden, my flesh began to tingle. I could feel my heart thrashing around in my chest as he eyed my breasts. My stomach clenched when his eyes dipped lower, and a tickle of awareness between my thighs grew as my neglected quim came to life.

  “Face it Stella,” he said so softly I had to strain to hear him. “For the next year, you’re mine. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  Was Jake making a pass at me? Was he making sexual advances? Ye gads, what would sex be like with a man who could do a Chinese split?

  Frozen in place with shock, my only response was to stare dumbly up at him while my insides turned to mush.

  “I own you, Stella.”

  “Own?” I parroted, like an idiot.

  He pushed off of the door and closed the distance between us. He was careful not to actually touch me, but he didn’t have to. I could feel the force of him envelope around me. I was eye to chest with him now and I couldn’t move or utter a word.

  “Own,” he confirmed.

  I stared at his chest and tried desperately to think clearly. Thinking was proving difficult with the enticing scent of Jake filling my nostrils. He was sticky with sweat and smelled of primal man. The musky aroma left me dazed.

  “On your knees, Stella.”

  “Do what?”

  “On your knees,” he repeated.

  I paused in confusion.

  With an evil grin, he said, “Right now. I want twenty push-ups.”

  The erotic haze cleared and the bubble had burst. “You want what?”

  Grinning, he took a step back and pointed to the floor. “Twenty push-ups. You want to stay in the class and I want twenty push-ups. You do want to stay in class don’t you?”

  “I guess so.”

  “You guess so or you do?”

  I knew where he was heading with this and didn’t like it a bit. “I do, but—”

  “And you were late today.”

  I’m not proud of what I said next. “So was Katarina.”

  He shook his head. “Katarina was here fifteen minutes before class. I was at the front desk when she came in. She was late to class because she was waiting for you. Now, get on your knees Stella.” His eyes roved down my body again. “Unless you’d like to stay after class…” He left me to draw my own conclusions.

  I wasn’t sure if Jake had just made asexual advance, or if I’d been threatened, or something else entirely. What was certain, he had the upper hand. I wouldn’t leave class, not so long as Katarina wanted to be there. And if he was making sexual advances, I most definitely wasn’t going anywhere. This fact alone terrified me. The implications were obvious. They seemed to point to one, undeniable truth. I was attracted to Jake. Of all the men in Baltimore, I was attracted to my sadistic kickboxing instructor.

  Against my better judgment I lowered myself to my knees in front of him. As I knelt there, an unexpected surge of desire had me struggling to catch my breath. More humiliating, when I chanced a look up at his face I saw the edge of his lip quirk up into a satisfied, half smile. Then his face returned to its usual dour expression.

  “Give me twenty,” he ordered.

  I sat back on my heels and stared at him. “Twenty?”

  “Twenty.”

  “Twenty push-ups? I can’t do twenty push-ups.”

  “I don’t want to be here all day, Stella. Use your knees instead of your toes and do the little girl kind.”

  Eight push-ups in, I knew I was in trouble. There was no way I could possibly do twelve more of these things, little girl kind or not.

  Jake seemed to come to the same conclusion.

  He crouched, setting one knee on the floor in front of me and resting his elbow on his other knee. “You’re very weak,” he said conversationally.

  I grunted out two more push-ups.

  “Rest for thirty seconds then give me the last ten.”

  I collapsed on the floor, gasping for air.

  “You’re upper body strength is non-existent,” he stated. I didn’t respond. “And your lower body strength isn’t much better.”

  For the next twenty seconds he ticked off a list of my weaknesses, expressed his shock that a grown woman could take such poor care of herself, and made a whole host of suggestions on how I could improve my body. They all sounded unpleasant and painful.

  “You’re weak Stella,” he continued, bringing his lecture to a close. “You should consider acquiring a personal trainer. Only with extensive work on your part, and the personal attention a trainer can give you, do I see any real hope for you. I have five personal trainers here, and on occasion, depending on the client, I also give personal attention to my clients.”

  I twisted my head around to glare up at him. “Jake.”

  “What?”

  “Hasn’t thirty seconds gone by already?”

  He nodded for me to continue.

  As I struggled to do my nineteenth push-up I glanced up at him again. I hadn’t meant to look at his crotch, but I couldn’t help it. Positioned as we were with my stomach down and Jake crouching, knees spread wide, in front of me, I couldn’t help but
look.

  My quivering arms gave out at once, I landed hard on the floor, and an intoxicating blend of erotic need and carnal desire had me gasping for air. I looked at him again—looked at it again—just to be sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me.

  They weren’t.

  He shrugged, got to his feet, and stared down at me. “If you change your mind about the private lessons, let me know.”

  That said, he turned, opened the door, and walked out.

  ~*~

  9:07 a.m.

  “He had what?”

  I darted a quick look at the car windows to make sure they were closed. The closest people were a family standing across the street and staring up at the traffic lights. Nevertheless, I told Katarina, “Hush!”

  “Was it big?”

  “From what I could see, it was nice sized.”

  “So what did you do to him?”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  She turned left at the light then glanced at me from the corner of her eye. “If he had a hard on, you had to have been doing something.”

  “I already told you what happened. He must have gotten off on making me do push-ups.”

  Katarina grimaced. “Who knew Jake was such a sadistic weirdo?”

  A sexy weirdo, I thought.

  Seizing on her apparent disgust, I suggested, “Maybe we should think about taking a different class.”

  “We have to get to class on time. Don’t worry. If he calls you into the equipment room again, I’ll go with you. He won’t try that crap if I’m there.”

  I looked at Katarina, her blonde hair plastered to her face with sweat, her manicured fingers gripping the steering wheel. While she wasn’t my first choice as body guard, I knew, despite her delicate good looks, she would be the fiercest.

  In truth, I wasn’t sure if I even wanted any protection. While it was true, Jake was a bit of a sadist, he was also sexy as hell. Most likely he wasn’t really coming on to me but simply amusing himself. As to the hard on, that could have been due to any source. Who knew, even though I was with him, he could’ve been thinking about someone else. Say for instance, Julianne, and her rock hard buns.

  “You getting out or what?”

  When I looked up I realized that Katarina was idling in front of my apartment.

  “If I can walk,” I deadpanned, rubbing at my aching shoulder as I shoved the car door open.

  ~*~

  8:58 p.m.

  “He had what?”

  I rolled my eyes as Katarina lowered herself onto the cushion beside me, an Apple Martini carefully balanced in both hands. I contemplated giving her a shove hard enough to send her sprawling, but decided against it. Even though the light green liquid in her glass wouldn’t show on the red velvet of the sofa, I knew such an action would be adolescent on my part. It was a shame too because we hadn’t been at The Oak Room five minutes before Katarina relayed all I told her about Jake to Meagan and Ann, who both had listened with rapt interest.

  Meagan eased forward, discarded the menu she’d been looking at, and stared at me over the table. With the flickering candlelight and roaring fire in the hearth, her grinning countenance seemed for a moment, grotesque. “What the hell were you wearing, Stella?” she asked.

  Beside Meagan, Ann studied me. “How big was it? Was it thick or thin? Girth makes a big difference.”

  “I bet he’s hot,” Meagan said. “He sounds hot. Long black hair, built like a Mac truck. I say go for it.”

  “I think it’s disgusting,” Katarina interrupted. “Shouldn’t he be wearing a cup or something?”

  “Katarina, a hot guy with a hard on is never disgusting.”

  “He’s a treat,” Ann agreed, running her fingers through her short, chestnut hair. She grinned, and asked, “So what’re you gonna do about it?”

  I opened my mouth to respond but Katarina beat me to it. “Nothing,” she declared. “He’s our instructor. It would make things too icky if she did anything with him.”

  “He owns the gym too, right?” Meagan asked.

  “Yeah,” I said, finally able to get a word in.

  “Well, he sounds like prime husband material. A sexy business owner with all his equipment in perfect working order.”

  “Well he’s not a candidate, prime or otherwise,” Katarina insisted.

  “I think Stella can decide that on her own.” Meagan twisted one of her honey-blonde corkscrew curls around a finger and studied me. Her smooth, café au lait skin crinkled slightly at her forehead as she raised her brows.

  About Meagan: Meagan is gorgeous. Half white and half black—Oh, that wasn’t politically correct, was it? Half Irish American and half African American, Meagan had the kind of exotic beauty that’s made her the envy of females all her life. For Meagan, deciding to have an affair with a man is as simple as saying, “I want to sleep with you.” The men never protested, never put up a fight, and were always willing. She never had to worry about such mundane things as rejection and humiliation. There wasn’t an unattached man on the planet that would reject Meagan if she voiced an interest in him.

  Seeing as Meagan is so gorgeous, it’s understandable that she assumed relationships were as easy for everyone else as they were for her. For her it was a simple act of deciding whether she wanted a particular man or not, then informing said man of her decision.

  “I don’t think he’s interested in me,” I said. “He was probably thinking about someone else when he got that hard on.”

  Ann sighed and Meagan shook her head. “Who else could he have been thinking about,” Meagan wanted to know. “You were the only one in the room.”

  I shrugged.

  “Who cares who he was thinking about,” Katarina insisted. “It’s a non-issue.”

  Our waitress sauntered over to our table and deposited drinks. “Another Apple Martini, a Vodka Collins, MGD, and a Sam Adams,” she said as she set the drinks before us. “You girls know what you want to eat?”

  I placed my order then took a long swallow of my Sam Adams. I was disheartened to see so much focus was on my encounter with Jake.

  “I thought you two took that class so you could meet a man.” Ann said.

  “Men,” Katarina agreed. “Jake isn’t a man, he’s our instructor. What if Stella went out with him and things didn’t work out? Then we’d have to drop the class. We waited six months to get in.”

  “I’m not going out with Jake, so let’s change the subject.”

  Ann shoved aside the frosted mug the waitress had placed in front of her, opting to take a swig straight from her bottle. Her throat worked as she took three deep swallows. Closing her eyes momentarily, she sighed. “After dealing with crotchety old, Harlow Jackson, I needed that.”

  Harlow Jackson is neither old nor crotchety, and I’d said as much. “He just wants things his way.”

  “Fuck his way.”

  Katarina glanced around the lounge to see if anyone had heard. “Don’t swear,” she whispered, as though everyone in the room was listening to our conversation with bated breath.

  “There’s nothing wrong with a client being precise about what he wants,” I said. “Our entire business is about giving our clients what they want.”

  “Hell,” Meagan added, “it’s your motto.”

  Ann rolled her eyes and took another swig from her bottle. “If he knows so damn much about PowerPoint, he can do the presentation himself. Why the hell did he hire us anyway?”

  “Because he wants it done right,” I offered.

  I’d grown up with Katarina and Meagan, Ann was a relatively new addition to our little family. She’d moved to Baltimore three years ago. We met two years ago when the demands of AIR became too much for me to handle alone. I placed an online ad, interviewed seven possible candidates, and eventually hired Ann.

  At first Ann and Katarina, polar opposites, meshed as well as oil and vinegar. Katarina wasn’t fond of Ann’s “Virginia drawl,” and Ann thought Katarina needed to “…get that stick out o
f her ass.” Eventually though the two had found common ground.

  “I got a date today,” Katarina announced, happily.

  I turned to look at Katarina, eyebrows raised in question. “You didn’t tell me that. Who?”

  “Jim.”

  “Jim? Gym Jim?”

  “Yeah, Gym Jim. What other Jim do we know?”

  “Okay,” Ann said, leaning forward. “Anybody want to tell me who this Jim Jim is?”

  Katarina turned to face all of us at the table with the biggest Kool-aid grin on her face I’d ever seen. “Jim is a man from our Kickboxing class. He’s a financial analyst at T. Rowe Price, owns a townhouse in Canton on the harbor, and has a yacht.” She scanned the table. “Oh, and he’s thirty-four, single, and most importantly, he doesn’t have any kids.” Katarina leaned back in her seat, folded her hands on the table, and upped the wattage on her smile.

  I exchanged looks with Meagan and Ann.

  “Isn’t that great,” Katarina insisted. “He’s a professional. And he makes a lot of money. A townhouse in Canton, guys! A yacht!”

  Ann rolled her eyes. “But how does he look?”

  Though the question was directed at Katarina, both Ann and Meagan had their eyes glued to me. “He’s good looking,” I said. About six feet tall, dark blonde hair, blue eyes, nice body,” I shrugged, and added, “not bad on the eyes at all.”

  “So what’s wrong with him?” Meagan asked impatiently.

  Katarina shook her head. “Nothing. He’s perfect.”

  “There are no perfect men, Katarina,” Meagan said, “Take it from me, I know.”

  “Well Jim is. He’s perfect, sexy, and we’re going out on Saturday night.”

  The waitress brought our entrees, refilled our waters, then retreated behind the bar where a clan of gorgeous twenty-somethings had gathered to see and be seen.

  “So where are you and Mr. Wonderful going?” Ann asked.

  “Dinner at Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse, then dancing at Club Blue.”

  Ann had froze, fork midway to her mouth. “Come again?”

  “We’re going to dinner—”

  “No, I got that. That other part, the Club Blue part.”