by Amity Cross
The quiet gym had become the perfect place to get my frustrations out. I didn’t need an audience chewing on popcorn while they watched me flail, so while business was slow, I took full advantage. There was a guy running on a treadmill with earphones stuck in his ears, a woman was cycling, while another was on the cross trainer. The emptiness was starting to worry me considering I was actually beginning to like this job. Miracles did happen, after all.
Two weeks had passed since Simon talked me into training with him. I knew enough to keep going solo, so a few days ago, I’d started putting in some extra time after work. Coincidentally, it was about the same time Lawson decided to stick around and do his own workouts. For someone who never spoke to me other than to belittle my existence, he sure took up a lot of my ‘me time.’
I’d picked the furthest corner in the most secluded area of the gym, but still, his presence followed me around like a bad smell.
The punching bag swung toward me, and I caught it in my hands. Leaning against the weight of it, I peered at my reflection. The shorts Simon had given me from the gym’s stock of merchandise were shorter than I would usually wear. If I’d had a choice, I would’ve worn leggings underneath to hide my knobby knees, but after one session, I’d become acquainted with a little thing called chafing. After that, I’d sucked it up and ditched the cover-up.
Staring at my reflection, I wondered if I’d changed any. In high school, I’d been fat, nerdy Amber. Everyone said things got better once you left and stepped out into the adult world, but things had only gotten worse for me. I’d only levelled up to plain, average Amber.
I wasn’t fat, but I wasn’t exactly skinny, either. I didn’t have a thigh gap or flat tummy. My skin wasn’t flawless, and my foundation application skills sucked. My hair was long and straight, which meant it hung like lifeless string, and it was the colour of dirty hay with a ginger twist.
My hands began to shake, and a dark maw opened up inside me, the clawed hands of depression scraping at my ankles. I wanted to be different than before, but I didn’t know how to change. I could punch all the punching bags I liked, but it still wouldn’t change the fact I was barely keeping my head above water.
I looked at myself and couldn’t see a way out. All I saw were flaws. I was lost. I couldn’t do it. This was a huge mistake.
Barely holding onto my frustrated tears, I spun on my heel and smacked into Lawson.
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath.
He didn’t say a word. He just raked his gaze over me, his expression unreadable. He stood there like a lump, his mere presence irritating and intimidating all at once.
He wore a loose-fitting tank top with the Phoenix’s logo on the front, a pair of shorts, and nothing else. Up close, he seemed to have muscles on muscles, and when I’d slammed into his chest, I hadn’t bounced. Instead, I’d gotten a borderline concussion.
I found myself wanting to study his tattoos, to see which designs meant enough to him to have them etched on his skin forever, but I held my gaze steady, and so did he. The ultimate staring competition.
“What?” I snapped. I was a hair’s breadth away from punching him in the gut.
He raised an eyebrow.
“What did I do to you?” I asked. “Did I look at you the wrong way or something?”
For the first time, it wasn’t awkward. I didn’t flush, I didn’t stutter, I didn’t look away, I didn’t presume because he was a guy there was the possibility of a true love relationship. I just stared him down like I was his equal. Two people with a bunch of crap to work out. Nothing more.
“Do you need some help?” he asked.
I recoiled like he’d slapped me. He was offering to help me? What parallel universe had I slipped into?
“Will there be an invoice on my desk in the morning?” I asked, making a face.
“No,” he shot back. “My presence is complimentary.”
My brows knitted together. “Interesting choice of words.”
“You wear your mask well,” he said. “But I know it’s a cover for something else.”
“Yeah, like what?” I challenged.
“You’re just trying to protect yourself, but people likely see you as arrogant and don’t bother to maintain friendships. You’re hard work to them, but you see yourself as bland and uninteresting. Inside, you’re a ball of anger, anxiety, and maybe a little self-loathing. Nothing holds meaning because you can’t find a way to connect without exposing yourself to pain. You move around but always run into the same problem.” He looked at me, his gaze drilling into mine like he could see into my soul or at least read my innermost secrets. “How am I doing?”
My entire body tensed. I was rooted to the spot, unable to move or speak. Was this just another one of his attempts at humiliating me? Was he getting off on making me uncomfortable?
“You don’t know anything about me,” I exclaimed. “You don’t ask questions, you just speak to me like I’m less than nothing.”
Lawson straightened up, the seriousness disappearing from his face. “Amber, I—”
“Don’t.” I held up my hand. “Whatever you have to say to me, save it, okay? I know I’ve got problems. I don’t need you reminding me of them.”
“Maybe you do need the reminder,” he shot back. “Do you want to change?”
My anger faded, and uncertainty took the reins. “What?”
“If you want to change, you have to open yourself up a little. I get where Simon’s coming from, but he doesn’t push you hard enough.” Lawson pressed his palms against the punching bag. “You’ve got to work at it until you break, Amber. Punching’s okay. Talking’s good.” He shrugged. “The real change comes when you snap.”
“I—” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I don’t even know what people talk about.”
He let out a strained laugh. “You seem to be doing an okay job insulting me.”
I looked up at him, somehow keeping myself together. Was it Lawson, or… How did he know these things? Was I that transparent? All the things he said were true, about the moving around, the lack of friendships, and the hollowness life held for me. I didn’t understand, which wasn’t a stretch of the imagination. I had spiritual vertigo.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Uh… Personal experience, I guess.” He licked his bottom lip, and my gaze followed the movement hungrily.
I looked away and tightened the straps on my boxing gloves. I couldn’t fall for him. Usually, one scrap of kindness was all it took to turn me into an obsessive mess, but I couldn’t let it in. I realised why I did the things I did now. I was so starved of meaningful human interaction, I latched on to anything I could no matter how small and insignificant the moment. Then it became larger than I was, leading to a world of hurt and humiliation. An easy road to being used for sex. A convenience.
“I think I want to punch it out now,” I said.
Lawson shouldered the bag. “Let’s go, then.”
“I, uh…” I hesitated and rubbed my fingertips on the inside of my gloves.
“Pretend the bag is my face, and you’ll do fine.”
My lips quirked, and I moved so I didn’t have to look him in the eye. It didn’t really do much to hide me from him because he could see me in the mirror. I wasn’t sure why I was so shy around him. Maybe it was more to do with not being judged rather than my inappropriate attraction to the guy.
Inappropriate attraction? Pfft. That was just a clever adult way of describing a schoolgirl crush.
Focusing on the bag, I tried to recall what Simon’d taught me, but with Lawson on the other side of the punching bag, I was completely off-kilter.
“C’mon,” Lawson said. “Don’t worry about doing it right, just hit the bag.”
My throat tightened, and the familiar sensation of rising tears prickled in my eyes. I was afraid of looking stupid, of not being perfect right out of the gate. I was afraid of what he thought about me and what he might say next. I was scared to let anyone clo
se in case they hurt me even though it was the thing I craved the most.
I punched the bag, the force of the blow jarring up my arm.
“That’s it,” Lawson said. “Again.”
My glove slammed into the bag, again and again, each impact letting some of the anger out of my system.
“Focus on what’s pissing you off the most,” he continued, egging me on.
My lungs burned as I swiped at the sweat running down my forehead. Gasping for breath, I swatted at the hair clinging to my neck with my boxing glove, but I was like a blob without fingers.
“You should tie your hair back,” Lawson said. “You’re overheating. Here.”
He let the bag go and stood beside me, his presence looming over mine. Reaching out, he ran his fingers through my hair, raking through the mess, then pushing it forward over my shoulder and away from the back of my neck. I was a hot mess, but he’d just turned the temperature right up to blistering.
I wanted to ask him a million questions. I hoped he was different because I really needed to be able to talk to someone. Something had changed between us, and yeah, I could talk to Montana or head over to Indigo and hang out with Hudson, but Lawson… I didn’t know what it was about him. I just…
“Lawson?”
He glanced up. “Yeah?”
“How did you know those things? Were you… Were you the same? Did someone…”
He raked his big hand through his hair. “No, I…” His expression changed, and the strange feeling in the air that had blistered the moment he’d touched me turned cold.
At that moment, two things happened. Lawson slammed the door to his heart and mind closed with a deafening bang, and I realised I’d ventured too close to his own secret pain. If I didn’t say something, we’d be back to being the bully and the beast.
“Lawson, I—”
“Forget about it,” he muttered.
He glanced at me one more time, then stalked across the gym and into the men’s change rooms. I didn’t even know what to say to stop him, so I just let him walk away.
I watched his retreat in stunned silence, frozen and consumed by the darkness swirling at my ankles again. Maybe he’d seen the light and decided to get out before I dragged him into something one-sided. It wouldn’t be the first time.
What a pair we made.
Turning back to the punching bag, I nudged it with the tip of my glove. My spark had burned out.
6
Amber
The bright lights of the pharmacy illuminated the display of hair accessories in front of me, and I narrowed my eyes at the selection. There were hair products for everything. Thick hair, thin hair, bobby pins, clips, headbands, and weird hair ties that looked like telephone cords. I never thought shopping for a bit of elastic could be so complicated.
Montana stood beside me, reading the instructions on the back of a box of semipermanent pink hair dye.
“What do you think?” she asked, shoving the box in my face. “Should I dye my tips pink?”
“That doesn’t sound very PG.”
“You’ve got such a dirty mind.” She laughed and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Balayage is all the rage.”
“All the rage?” I made a face. “How old are you again?”
“Old enough to know better.” She gave me a suggestive wink.
“What about green?”
“Ew. Green hair looks mouldy.”
“Blue?”
“Pink!” She dropped the dye into the red plastic shopping basket slung over her arm.
One thing I’d learned about Montana early on was she knew how to make up her mind, and asking for an opinion was just a courtesy. At least she had some, unlike Lawson.
Looking at the display, I picked up a packet of thick black hair ties.
Last night already seemed like such a long time ago. There was a softer side to Lawson, but he could go from zero to arsehole in one second flat, and who knew what would trigger him.
A hand waved through my vision, and I blinked.
“Who are you thinking about?” Montana asked with a devious smirk plastered on her face. “Who’s got you all juicy?”
“Montana!” I flushed and began walking down the aisle, hair ties in hand.
“Amber!” she called out behind me, her heels clicking on the linoleum. “Tell me!”
Knowing she would just pester me until I cracked, I groaned and turned around, lingering by the shampoo. She raised her eyebrows expectantly.
“Lawson,” I said sheepishly.
“The guy who’s been bullying you at work?”
“I know, I know,” I exclaimed. “I never learn. Repeating past mistakes is the story of my life.”
“A story you haven’t told me yet.”
“Oh, don’t pout.”
“C’mon Amber,” she wailed. “You’ve been more of a friend to me than all those bitches I left behind in Sydney, and we’ve been friends for how long? Two months?”
“And all it took was a Slippery Nipple.”
“Look who’s graduated to MA fifteen plus.” She rolled her eyes.
“Montana…” I glanced at a woman who walked past, keeping my voice hushed. “I’m…”
“I’m what?” She waved her hands, gesturing for me to elaborate.
“I’m terrified of screwing up my life again.”
“Oh, babe,” she said, pulling me in for a hug. “We’re all a work in progress. I’ve screwed up more times than I can count. We’ll work it out as we go. Together, okay?”
I doubted she had an obsession problem like I did. Montana was smart, beautiful, and confident, everything I wanted to be. Sometimes, I found myself resenting her for it, but I knew it was my own hang-ups fuelling my emotions, not anything she did, because she was interested in what I had to say, was totally supportive, and made it her mission in life to bring me out of my shell. So far, things had been on an upward trend.
Except where Lawson was concerned. Despite wanting to keep all that love stuff at arm’s length, there he was, being all broody and mysterious, creeping into my psyche and infecting it with his alpha arsehole-ness. The spiral continued.
“Sure,” I said, not really sure I believed it.
“Now, if you see that dick Lawson, I want you to ignore him.”
I grimaced. “He’s pretty hard to ignore.”
She donned a thoughtful expression. “How hot is he exactly?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Babe, it’s got everything to do with everything. You don’t have to like the guy to have a little fun. Things don’t have to have a deeper meaning. Besides, hate sex is the best.”
My mouth fell open in surprise.
“You’ve rubbed one out thinking about him, haven’t you? Don’t deny it.”
“Montana… We’re in the shampoo aisle.”
“So? We can make a pit stop at the condoms and personal lubrication if you like. You should always be prepared and safe.”
I squirmed, her teasing embedding all kinds of images in my mind. Sweaty bodies wrapped around each other, naked men with perfect arse cheeks, erect cocks, ejaculation. The works.
“Drinks after work?” she asked, smiling sweetly. “Unless you’re going to be busy, of course.”
“Montana!”
A delivery driver was waiting at the door when I arrived at the Phoenix. I held the door open for him as he wheeled in a large box, then signed the PDA.
The gym was a comfortable place for me now. I knew everyone in it, and they knew me as the quiet office chick. My job was familiar, as were the people who rotated in and out, the telephone calls, the paperwork, and the planning. I was all settled in, which meant it was usually about the time I started to get bored and wish for something more meaningful. But amazingly, that hadn’t happened yet.
Meaningful was just something I would tell myself to justify the fact I hadn’t found the perfect white picket fence trifecta that society told me I should strive for—love,
career, and self-acceptance.
Picking up the box, I let out an oomph as the corner bashed into the front desk. What the hell was Simon ordering this time? This thing weighed a ton.
“Let me take that.”
I looked up at Lawson, who’d just walked through the front door, and realised he was the difference. The realisation left me dazed and little annoyed considering all the promises I’d made myself, and I let him take the box. Our hands brushed, and I swallowed hard, my skin zapping with strange electricity. So much for Montana’s advice to ignore him.
“Where do you want it?”
“In the office, I guess,” I replied, my tongue feeling thick.
I followed him across the gym, my conversation with Montana playing out in the back of my mind as we went. You’ve rubbed one out thinking about him, haven’t you? I couldn’t deny anything where Lawson was concerned. This was bad, bad, bad.
Arm’s length, Amber. Arm’s length.
“What the fuck has Simon ordered this time?” he grumbled as he walked up the stairs.
“It could be anything.”
He grunted a response, and I darted ahead to hold the office door open for him.
He set the box on the desk, and I occupied my trembling hands with the most inappropriate object I could find. A box cutter.
“So?”
I couldn’t fault Lawson for wanting to stick around to see what was in the package. Simon had earned himself a reputation for ordering all kinds of weird things. Last week, a giant fake potted plant had turned up, along with a pair of Kangoo Jumps—special shoes with funky springs on the bottom that apparently made you feel like you were bouncing around on a trampoline.
I checked the invoice. “Uh, this is actually mine.”
Lawson cocked an eyebrow.
“I, uh… I’m helping Simon attract more clientele with a series of healthy cooking classes in the kitchen downstairs. One-off things every Saturday for a month.”
“Really? What’s in the box?”
“Recipe books.” I held up a hardcover book. “I did a deal with a small publisher.”
Lawson scratched his head. “No fuckin’ wonder it was so heavy.”