“That’s bullshit,” he replies.
“Now you’re starting to piss me off. And you really don’t wanna go there.” I turn my back and restack the weights from the barbell.
Louise reaches the cluster of machines with a distant expression on her face. Thank God she’s not paying attention to us. Damned if I want to get accused of trash talking her.
“Morning, gorgeous,” the second guy standing on the other side of the machine calls out.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Sweet Lou doesn’t answer and I wonder if she realizes he’s talking to her. She’s nearly past us when all-balls-and-no-sense tries again.
“Nice, bitch!” he yells.
Sweet Lou stops as if someone threw cold water on her face. She looks up and glares at him with a raised caramel eyebrow.
“Are you talking to me?” She doesn’t shout, but her tone speaks volumes. Around the free weight area, people look up and take notice of the exchange.
“Looking tight there. That’s all.” Ballsy sounds confident, but he leans in behind the machine and crosses his legs. Yeah, he might want to keep those closed.
“So now what?” Her hands rest on her hips. “Am I supposed to leap in your lap and celebrate the fact you think I’m stacked?”
The son-of-a-bitch grins at her. “Sure.”
“Hmm, so you want just go for it, right now? Here, in front of everyone trying to train?” Sweet Lou lowers her head and glares at him through her long dark eyelashes. “After all, there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell anyone would believe it otherwise.”
Faint laughter erupts among the free weights.
“Hey, easy babe—”
“Easy babe?” she cuts him off in a hostile voice. “That’s the last thing I am. Don’t confuse me with your right hand again.”
A collective “oohh” breaks out among a few of the bystanders. Sweet Lou looks around the stacks and silences them with her death stare.
“Anything else?” she asks him.
“Nope. We’re good.” Ballsy doesn’t sound so sprung anymore.
“That’s what you think. And my name’s not bitch. Don’t ever call me that again.”
A shit-eating grin spreads across my face, and I do my best to appear preoccupied with restacking the weights.
“Hey, Madman. You sure as hell were right about her. She’s a-l-l yours,” the loser on the bench calls out to me as I pass the Smith machine.
My eyes shift from them to Sweet Lou, who spins back around just in time to see us together by the stacks. Shit. Now I’m busted for something I didn’t do. Our eyes meet and she stares for a moment before a look a recognition flashes across her face.
Fuck.
“Are you part of this loser-fest?” she asks.
“Hell no,” I tell her.
“Mmmhmm,” she replies. “Madman? That’s you?”
“That’s me. But it’s not what you think.”
She watches me for a long time then shakes her head. “Good to know.” Then Sweet Lou turns and walks away. Just like that.
A wave of heat rushes to the back of my neck and my glare hones in on Dumb and Dumber. “Hey, assholes. The only thing getting a workout around here today are your big mouths. Don’t ever drag me into your bullshit again.”
The stunned looks on their faces tell me they get it.
I finish off a few sets of shoulder presses to give us both a chance to calm down before heading upstairs to the mat room to find her.
“Louise, can I talk to you a minute? Please?” Her brutal warm up made me reluctant to interrupt, but somewhere in the last few minutes, I started to feel like a voyeur.
“Now’s not really a good time,” Louise’s speaks with closed eyes. She’s balanced entirely on her forearms, with those impossibly long legs arched gracefully over her back. The soles of her feet rest on either side of that messy nest of curly hair as she takes a controlled breath.
“Take your time, I’ll wait.”
Shit. I hope that didn’t sound as sleazy as it felt. Not only is that body fit, she’s more flexible than a rubber band.
These rooms used to be for CrossFit and most people don’t realize it’s okay to use them when there aren’t classes going on. Sweet Lou shouldn’t feel entitled to privacy, but damn if she’s doesn’t make me feel like I’m watching something naughty and nasty.
There’s an awkward pause as she holds her position. Heat rushes up the back of my neck while I count ceiling tiles. Then her feet slam to the ground and she stands to face me.
“My classes start at nine. I need to hurry and finish my workout.” She turns her back and walks away from me.
“Didn’t know you taught on Saturdays.” I remain by the door, watching as she strides toward the far wall.
“Surprise.” Her sarcasm sounds almost cheerful.
Impatience makes me groan and follow behind her. “Louise, you’re a little pissed off about downstairs. I get that.”
She tilts her head and looks at me. “A little? Is that what I am?”
“Those guys were assholes and I didn’t have anything to do with it.” I gesture toward the ceiling in frustration. “That’s all I’ve got to say.”
Louise studies my face. “What were you right about?” Her voice is a fluid mix of caution and curiosity.
“What?”
“That douche downstairs said you were right about me.” Louise’s hand flies to her hip. “What were you right about?”
“That they should leave you the hell alone,” I reply.
“Truth?” Her voice sounds skeptical.
“Yeah.” I give her an intense, no bullshit look. “Truth.”
“Thanks.” She’s got a pretty smile when she uses it.
Louise turns toward the human dummy stored in the corner and tilts it onto its base. Quietly, I walk up and lift the dummy by the chin out of her grasp.
“Where do you want this?”
She’s ready to protest, but I’m stronger and taller, and it’s halfway across the room before she can come up with some clever objection.
“Center right please,” she answers.
I push it into position and the base rocks to the floor with a dull thud. When I turn around she’s watching me.
“Thank you again,” she tells me.
“You’re welcome. Again.”
“Yeah, about that…thing in the locker room.” She glances around the room and approaches me. Or rather, the human dummy. “I appreciate what you did for me. With the other guys and all.”
“Forget it. It was a simple mistake that could happen to anyone.” Although I’m glad that no one else got to spend time with naked Louise.
An uncomfortable silence settles between us, then Louise twists the dummy by the shoulders, trying to place it at some imaginary perfect angle. After it’s in place, she gives it a few kicks to the lower torso, then stops again to speak.
“When those guys were trash talking me and they said you were right…” Her voice trails off as she pauses to turn the dummy’s back to me. “Well, I thought you were talking about something in the locker room. When we met the first time.”
“Oh hell, not this again.” While the view was hard to forget, I knew it would come back to bite me in the ass. “You’ve got to stop holding that against me. Forget the whole thing. Please.”
“Against you?” Her brow furrows, marring her features with a worried look. I don’t like it. “But I’m not. It’s my screw up and everyone knows it.”
I reach back and impulsively start to pull the short hairs at my crown. “Who cares who’s to blame? I got to see more than you wanted me to see. Or anyone else here, for that matter. And you’re upset about it. But now it’s time for you to get over it.”
She moves in front of the dummy so it’s between us, and talks to me over its shoulder.
“I’ll try. And I am over it now. Mostly. I just keep wondering when the other shoe will drop.” Louise adjusts the dummy’s shoulder so she can see me
better.
“Other shoe?” I move to stand in between her and the dummy. “What the hell are you talking about?”
She snatches a strand of hair hanging from her temple and twists it tightly. “Rodgers. He was in a bind or he wouldn’t have hired me. He was afraid I’d be disruptive. If he finds out—”
“He won’t. Trust me.”
“Well, maybe not from you, but one of the other guys might—”
“Louise.” I put my hands on her shoulders. “Relax. He’s not going to hear about it.” My eyes lock onto hers. “I got this. Trust me.”
“You…got this?” Her voice is hopeful.
“Yeah.” I smile.
It’s true. After she left, all the usual locker room talk started. I told the guys they could give me all the shit they wanted over it, but Rodgers better not give me any, because not a goddamned thing happened.
Then what the hell took so long? They’d wanted to know.
How the hell should I know why it takes a woman so long to get ready? One of the great mysteries of the universe, I’d told them. Hell, she had her girl stuff scattered everywhere, and it all had to go back exactly in those sacred purses and packs they carry. What the fuck is all that, anyway? It’s a major pain in the ass, that’s what.
I got a hell of a laugh out of it and that was that.
“What a relief.” She lets out a deep breath and I feel the tension leave her shoulders. “I work nights and this fits my schedule.”
“Nights?” That surprises me. “Are you a stripper or something?”
Just like that, the look on her face goes from grateful to hostile.
“A stripper?” She steps out from under my hands. “What the hell makes you think that?”
Fuck. Am I in trouble here?
“No reason really.” I clear my throat. “Just thought of a job that a gorgeous, super fit woman would have at night.” My voice stays calm.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She turns and squares her body in front of the dummy. “That’s the first thing you thought of? Really?”
“Well, you’ve sure as hell got the body for it.” I gesture up and down the length of her frame.
She gives a loud screechy groan as she strikes the dummy with an axe kick to the side of its head that nearly topples it.
“Okay, my mistake. But I make a good living from my body, so you can’t blame me for going there.”
Louise loses focus on the dummy. She turns to me, her sexy mouth formed in a perfect oval that takes me places I shouldn’t go right now. She responds to my nervous smile by resuming her assault on the dummy.
This isn’t going very well.
So I stand there and watch her beat the hell out the dummy for the next few minutes, counting all the ways she can hurt a man. Ouch.
“I’m not a stripper.” Her quiet voice is calm, her breathing heavy and rapid when she speaks. “I’m a trauma nurse.”
And I’m screwed.
“Listen, I got it wrong. Sorry.” What the hell else can I say?
“What happened downstairs put me in a bad mood.” She gives me a genuine smile. “But you have been nice to me. Can we just forget the whole thing?”
“Sure. I’d like that too.” A heated rush of smug satisfaction surges through me. Females like me.
“Good. Because I’d like to ask you a question, if you don’t mind?”
“Go for it.” I’ll be honest—I’m expecting her to ask me out. Because damn it, I have been nice to her and when all is said and done, women find me attractive.
“It’s about your accent,” she tells me.
I pause for second, certain I’ve misunderstood.
“My accent?”
“Yes.” She nods. “I noticed it in the locker room, and just now when you asked me if I was a stripper. I can’t place it.” Her head shakes. “Where are you from?”
What the hell? I moved to Chicago as a teen. My accent is long gone. Except maybe when I’m drunk or angry or nervous or…
Oh, fuck.
“It’s Macedonian,” I hear myself answer. Shit, has anyone else noticed that I talk different around her?
“Where’s that?” she asks.
“The Balkans,” I reply.
She gives me a satisfied nod. “How long have you lived here?”
“Since I was a kid. Why? You got a problem with guys who have accents?”
“Not at all.” She laughs. “I’m just trying to understand you better.”
“Is it really that difficult to understand me?” This can’t be happening.
“Sometimes,” she admits. “It’s not so much your words as it is what you’re trying to say.”
“I don’t understand,” I tell her.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s my fault,” she tells me before a quick glance at the clock. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to finish my workout. There’s not much time before classes start.” She stands with her arms crossed low on her torso, waiting for me to leave.
Whoa.
Did I just get turned into a nice guy who talks funny and doesn’t make much sense, so now she’d like me to leave her the fuck alone?
Hell no.
“Actually, you’ve got quite a bit of time.” I nod at the clock. “And I’ve got an idea. Stay right here.”
“What?” she asks.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I promise. “Don’t go anywhere.”
I’m out the door and headed for the equipment closet before she can object.
6
“Louise,” Usalv calls from the doorway of the mat room.
His voice brings a flush of heat to my nape, like it had the first time I heard it.
Damn, I wish that would stop.
“I’m almost done, Usalv.” I took a job here for the free gym time and extra income. The free gym part is an epic fail.
“Take a break from that,” he insists. “You need a real target.”
“A what?” I turn around to face the door and come to a sudden stop.
I gasp in surprise as Usalv enters the mat room wearing full protective gear from head to toe, complete with extended focus mitts. He stops in front me and I look up at his massive well-padded frame.
“Take a break from that,” he repeats. “Come on. You and me.”
“Um…what are you doing?” He’s got my full attention. Although I’m not a small woman by anyone’s standards, he makes me feel pint-sized.
“I thought since you were new, you might not know anyone to spar with.” He shrugs, then folds his arms.” I thought I could help you out with that.”
“You look like the Michelin Man,” I tell him after an awkward pause.
“Thanks,” he replies as if I’ve given him a sincere compliment. “But you can’t really blame me, though. Given what I have in mind.”
“Sparring?” A mix of worry and excitement wash over me. “With you?”
“Don’t worry, Sweet Lou.” His voice ripples with throaty laughter. “You’ll be fine.”
“Wait a minute… I’ll be fine? I take it you see yourself as the more skilled participant in this scenario?”
His eyebrows arch upward and he shoots me an assessing look, which makes me wonder if we’re still talking about combat sports.
“Well, yeah,” he admits in an isn’t-that-obvious-tone.
Many reputable fight gyms have beginners start out sparring with experienced fighters, the rationale being that they can defend themselves without being hurt or losing their tempers, which spares the newbies a potentially serious beat down.
I’m new to this gym but far from being an inexperienced fighter. And Usalv knows that, which makes his assumption a disappointment.
“Thanks, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I turn back around and focus my irritation on the human dummy, and mentally will Usalv to leave.
“Louise,” he calls in a calm tone that’s become too familiar. “I would never hurt you.”
“Hurt me?” I turn around, startled
to find him inches from me. “What if I hurt you?”
He laughs aloud. “No offense, but I do this for a living. If you hurt me, I’ll deserve it.”
“You fight for a living?” That doesn’t surprise me. “What kind of fighting?”
He shoots me a puzzled smile and shakes his head. “MMA.”
Mixed martial arts. Hearing him say it out loud, it doesn’t surprise me at all. The man looks completely dangerous, and every encounter with him makes my heart race and sends a hot rush of blood to my temples.
Like now.
“Our fighting styles aren’t compatible,” I tell him.
It’s the truth. Of all the martial arts styles, taekwondo is considered the least useful for MMA fighters. While strikes to the face and overpowering an opponent on the ground are key components of MMA matches, taekwondo relies on kicks, which are of limited use in a ground fight. Besides, hand strikes to the face and head are hardly used in taekwondo matches, even in the Olympics.
“You could just drill,” he offers. “I’m not going to fight you, which is why I’m padded up. Something I normally don’t do. And I have worked with taekwondo guys before.”
“You mean you’ve worked with guys who’ve studied taekwondo and incorporated it into other fighting styles for MMA. I need to warn you, I’m a purist who’s never been in a street brawl or a non-refereed fight.”
That’s not entirely true, but I don’t think ninth grade girls count.
“Fair enough, I’ve been warned.” Usalv raises his padded hands. “So you want to do this, or what?” His question contains an easy but pointed challenge.
“You know I can’t reciprocate,” I tell him. “A guy your size would put me across the room if I just stood there like a padded target.”
“No problem.” He’s confident, assured.
“Are you sure?” It would be nice. I haven’t sparred with anyone in weeks.
“Positive.”
“Okay then.” I smile at him. “Let’s give it a try.”
Usalv nods and walks over to the front of the room, where the mats run parallel to the long, mirrored walls. Worry creeps over me as I approach him.
“How tall are you?” I ask. “It’s hard to tell with all that gear on and I want to gauge my kicks.”
Fighting Hearts Page 4