Chapter 17
Two days slipped by smoothly. I spent a lot of time with Mila and Erin exploring campus, discussing our schedules, but mostly we gossiped about other students.
The Warwicks came up quite a bit, and I openly displayed my disgust with them, but didn’t give a specific reason.
Sometimes Carrie joined us too, although she would give me the cold shoulder, and she was the only one who brought up the razorblade subject, which always changed the vibe of our friend group.
Finally, I kept my promise to myself and decided to join a gym to improve my fitness.
There were five gyms on campus at different locations and for various purposes, but Erin said the best one was in the Sports School.
So, I took the bus, happy to see the same driver, whose name tag said Gus—Gus, who drove the Bus, which couldn’t be funnier.
We swept past the crime scene again, cordoned off and guarded by a campus officer, who looked half-asleep, but I couldn’t see any forensic scientists there, so maybe they’ve finished.
The bus pulled up at the stop outside the basketball arena, and he thanked the driver.
He hopped off and then followed a couple of athletic guys walking toward the building attached to the right side of the sports stadium.
Bright green sports fields stretched all around the arena, making it feel like I was in a completely different world—a million miles away from the castle and the creepy forests.
It felt normal and much like the university I spent my freshman year at.
The scent of menthol and ammonia hit my senses quickly as I approached the counter, and I could hear shouting and the sound of a punching bag being worked over.
I had to pay for a succession card, which I wasn’t keen on because I might grow bored with exercise before long.
But then I thought of the Warwicks and the masked men and knew I had to work hard to get fit.
“Can I ask for a personal trainer?” I asked the fit guy behind the counter, who looked like he didn’t really want to be there. His name was Robbie, according to his name tag, which was pinned upside down so he could read it, I assumed.
“Is there anything that you want to train in specifically?” he asked as he scanned the computer screen, then looked at me when I didn’t answer, then his eyes ran over my body. Not in a sexual way, but in an analytical way.
I took a deep breath, leaned across the counter, and confessed, “I want to learn how to fight.”
He made a face as if he was casually impressed. “In the ring? Boxing? Martial arts? Wrestling? Do you want to maybe do it competitively, eventually?”
“Oh, god no,” I snorted, then let that thought settle a little before I thought that maybe I could compete for fun. “I want to learn to punch.”
He nodded slowly, “Like self-defense? Every girl should learn self-defense around here.”
“Really? Why?” I agreed with him because there were many bad people here, the sons and daughters of criminals, but I wanted to hear his reason.
“People can get tribal and territorial,” was his answer without going into details, but I knew what he meant.
“Okay, but…” The pounding against the punching bag in the background was really appealing to me. “Whichever one would get me fit and able to fight off someone.”
He exhaled as if he was frustrated by my lack of clarity. “I’ll set you up with a trainer who can teach you the basic self-defense techniques and go from there.”
“Okay, thanks,” I replied.
“I’ll have to book you with someone. Hang on,” he mumbled, tapping away on the keyboard. Then he pulled back from the screen, peeked behind the divider wall, and called out to someone. An exchange followed that involved grunting and jock talk.
He then returned to the counter and said, “Ez will take you through a few moves now if you want?”
“Ez? Not…” The tall, dark blond jock sauntered into the reception area and looked as if it was no surprise that I was here, and I realized that there was a large one-way window to the side that he would’ve seen me through. “Not him.”
“Yes. Me,” Ez insisted. “Just come out the back, Boleyn. “We’ll try a few moves and see how it goes.”
“Ah, no,” refusing to look at him. “Do you have anyone else?”
“C’mon, Boleyn, give it a shot,” Ezrah Warwick stated in that charismatic tone. God, I hated him.
“This won’t work.” One reason I wanted to learn how to fight was to defend myself against the Warwicks and whoever broke into my room.
“Yeah, it will,” he smiled, “just give it a shot, Adina.”
I looked to the reception guy for help, hoping he’d get out of this situation, but he looked away as if he wanted nothing to do with it. They were friends, I suspected, probably frat bros…vomit, judging by the familiar bro language they were using to communicate.
“No, thank you,” I turned my back to leave, then stubbornly stopped myself. I paid for my gym concessions, so I will use them without a trainer. Besides, it will be another ten minutes before the bus comes back around, and the Sports School was its own village far away from other schools.
Ignoring the towering, smirking Warwick, I asked Robbie, “Where are the changing rooms?”
“Ez can show you around,” he answered, mirroring Warwick’s beaming face. They’re both handsome men and could unhook a bra by just looking at a girl, and that only annoyed me even more.
“No, thank you,” I stormed past the towering infernos, only for Ez to block my path and point toward the double doors to the side.
“Wrong way,” he stated, suppressing a chuckle, and in three strides, he was at the double doors and opened them for me, like a gentleman.
My nostrils flared in anger as I held my head high in pride, refusing to look at him, but I did thank him, which was the way my mom raised me.
It’s a shame she wasn’t around anymore because I’d ask for some advice on the Warwicks.
Actually, if Mom were still alive, I wouldn’t be attending Castlehill; I’d still be at my previous and preferred college.
“Why are you following me?” I snarled as two pretty girls in tight yoga pants scrutinized us curiously, glancing between me and him, probably wondering why he was paying so much attention to me.
Don’t worry, girls, we’re not friends. You can have him.
Maybe you could take him away from me now, since he’s such a pain in the arse.
“Merely showing you the way, Ad-ina,” my name rolled off his tongue, and I shot him a sharp look for him to cut it out.
“Locker rooms here,” his big finger showed me the way.
“You’ll be gone when I get out, won’t you?” I demanded sternly. I wasn’t fucking around. I had my knife in my bag and I won’t hesitate to use it.
“Maybe,” he said casually, leaning against the wall, standing over me while his eyes traveled over my body differently from how Robbie looked at me.
“Maybe?” I screwed my face up. “Don’t be here when I get out.”
When he stepped inside the locker room, his voice followed, “I’ll be right out here when you get out.
” Completely ignoring what I just said, or maybe he heard me, but wanted to show his dominance.
Either way, he was a conceited asshole, but he seemed to enjoy annoying me, so I had to pretend he wasn’t.
I dropped my sports bag and started changing into my gym clothes, which were a T-shirt and sweatpants—nothing tight or form-fitting, because I was self-conscious about my body. Plus, I figured my first time in a gym would be chaotic and sweaty, so I wanted to wear something I could hide behind.
Once inside, I gradually unpacked my bag, taking my time so Ezrah Warwick wouldn't lose patience waiting for me. I sat down, checked my phone, and discovered a message from my mom.
Wait.
It fooled me last time, too. Someone sent a message from her number, obviously a mistake, but for a few seconds, I’d forgotten that my beautiful Mom wasn’t around anymore. The message read: Hi!!
Just like the first message, I figured it had to be from a bot or something, so I ignored it while pulling on my black sweatpants and a baggy white T-shirt.
After changing, I rechecked the message and saw it was slightly different, with two extra exclamation marks, as if they were annoyed that I didn’t reply to the first message.
Ignoring the message, I zipped my bag shut, located my assigned locker, and shoved it inside. As I walked out, the towering inferno was still waiting. Pale eyes scanned my clothes, and I shot him a warning look.
“What do you want?” I hissed, walking past him, only for him to grab the fabric of my T-shirt and pull me back.
“Wrong way,” he told me, and turned me around by my shoulders to point me in the correct direction. Then, he loosely ran his hand over my curly, black ponytail as I stormed away.
“Uninvited touching,” I snarled at him as I flung the door open and entered the gym floor. “Keep your hands to yourself, thank you.”
“Get on the treadmill to warm up,” he ordered me as he followed behind, and I tried to walk faster to lose him.
“I don’t want you to help me,” I yelled at him, stubbornly walking to the cycles to rebel against his annoying instructions.
As I climbed onto a bike, the seat was too high and I could barely reach the pedals, so, under his mischievous gaze, I tried to figure out how to lower it.
“Will you let me help?” he said, smirking, arms folded across his broad chest. I ignored his request and tried to fix the seat myself, but it was stuck, refusing to budge.
I ignored him at first, and when I couldn’t lower the seat, I moved on to the next bike and faced the same problem.
“Don’t they grease the seat-moving lever around here?
” I snapped at anyone nearby listening, but it was only him paying me any attention.
A smirk played on that devilish face. He thinks he’s so irresistible to women, but I find him incredibly annoying.
Without a word, he stepped up to the bike I was fiddling with and easily adjusted the seat, “That should do it. Get on.”