Chapter 7
seven
PRESENT DAY
KATE
Thwomp. Thwomp. Thwomp.
My bare fists smack into the heavy punching bag, but it doesn’t move.
I’ve never been in this area of Pulse Fitness before.
I tend to stick to the spin, yoga, and cardio classes, but the massive conglomerate also has areas for heavy lifting and kickboxing.
They even have a boxing ring on risers behind me.
Checking in at the service desk was awkward, to say the least. Levi had been kind, professional in his navy polo, but his pale eyes hinted at nothing.
Like his creepy texts have been nothing but casual conversation.
I would have brought it up and asked him to knock it off, but I feared if I opened my mouth, I’d resume weeping over Liza.
I aim a vicious kick at the punching bag, and it finally sways a little.
It’s two days after New Year’s, which means it’s been over a week since Liza became Cameron’s fiancée.
A week of unwarranted anger, feeling guilty over said anger, and strained smiles.
Since Liza knows me so well, she can tell what’s up.
I can’t exactly hide it twenty-four-seven.
We live together—and likely will until after she gets lawfully married, lest our ultra-conservative parents keel over from shame.
Doesn’t stop her from sleeping at Cam’s most nights, though.
What’s worse, Liza isn’t even upset that I’m the most terrible sister in the world. She understands that this is hard. That even though I’m happy for her, I can’t seem to keep a smile on my face. Despite everything, she still waits for me in the kitchen every morning with a hug and a cup of tea.
Thwomp. Thwomp. Thwomp.
I have no clue what I’m doing and my fists are on fire, but releasing this anger feels good. Besides, the need to hit something is why I wandered inside this room in the first place. Bruises may be blossoming across my knuckles, but at least my head feels clearer.
“Well, I’ll be.”
A terrible imitation of a southern drawl assaults me from behind, and I whirl.
Brandon freaking Roberts stands in my place of worship wearing nothing but a pair of black workout shorts and shoes. Well, probably socks and hopefully underwear too, but I can’t stop focusing on the nothing part.
My eyes drag across his tan, built torso, snagging on a tattoo I don’t remember seeing before. The familiar thorny roses still span his shoulder and up his neck, but they now are a backdrop to an inky black spyglass resting atop his collarbone.
I sweep my eyes from it to the knowing smirk on his face, and I consider adopting it as my new punching bag.
“Didn’t know you were a boxer,” Brandon says. “But judging from your terrible form, I’d bet money that you aren’t.”
I glower, but I make a silent vow to keep my eyes on his face. Any memories of his sweaty, bare torso are in the past, and I’m intent on keeping them there.
I snarl between pants, “What are you doing here, Brandon?”
He holds up his hands. “Whoa, retract those claws, Katie Cat. I come here to box.”
“No you don’t.” I call his bluff. “I’ve never seen you here before.”
“Aww. You’ve been keeping an eye out for me? I’m flattered.”
If I could make someone dead with my eyes, it would be him.
Two people flank Brandon. One I recognize as Tucker, his best friend that I met briefly in college, but the pretty redheaded girl I’ve never seen before.
“Kate.” Tucker gives a jovial nod and pumps my hand like a job interview. “Good to see you again.” The playful twinkle in his hazel eyes is still there.
I can’t prevent a small grin from forming. “Good to see you, Tucker.”
Brandon’s mouth drops into a perfect ‘o,’ but his green eyes glitter. “‘Good to see you?’ So you’re nice to him? I see how it is.”
“And here I thought the doctors said you were braindead,” I say sweetly.
Brandon laughs, unperturbed.
The tall, pretty redhead beside Tucker steps forward with a small smile. Her turquoise workout set makes her ivory, heart-shaped face look like a literal china doll, and her shiny red hair is cut so short it brushes her chin.
“Hey, Kate. I’m Julia.”
Julia. A lightbulb illuminates a memory of college Brandon telling me about his other childhood friend, but I never met her before our two month-long relationship turned into a dumpster fire.
I return her smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“‘Nice to meet you?’” Brandon mimics my high voice with a teasing grin. “I had no idea you could be this nice.”
“I have nothing against these people. It’s you that I have the problem with. So leave.”
“Leave? What is this ongoing hallucination you have? Wait, is this your territory?” His voice darkens suggestively. “Are we gonna rumble at midnight over it?”
My mind goes blank at those words. I’m flustered, and I hate it.
Brandon grins before he calmly states, “We’re not gonna have this conversation again. Like I said, you don’t own the museum, and you don’t own Pulse. Unless you suddenly started investing in properties, I’m free to go wherever I want.”
He ignores my protest and sits down on a nearby bench. He tugs on a set of black boxing gloves. “Julia scored us BOGO memberships, and I get to bring Tuck for free when I come. It’s his New Year’s resolution to learn how to box.”
My eyes meet Julia’s dark blue ones, and she mouths the word “sorry.” Man, despite Brandon being awful, I really like his choice of friends.
“Uh, Brando,” Tucker says, “Jules and I are gonna head to the cafe counter.” Tucker hangs an arm around Julia’s slender shoulders before they scuttle out of the room.
My gaze cuts back to where Brandon was sitting on the bench.
In my defense, my eyes were aimed at the safe-zone, but Brandon has unfurled to his massive height. My eyes are practically forced across his tan, muscled torso. His eight pack is just as blocky as I remember, and that tantalizing “v” lining his hips disappears into his waistband.
My gaze collides with his green one. All remnants of mischief vanish as he watches me watch him. His somewhat-hollowed cheeks only emphasize his ridiculously perfect bone structure.
It’s a shame, really. How pretty he is. But I’ve learned from my mistakes. Sure, we might’ve aced chemistry in college, but we flunked everything else.
Brandon doesn’t break eye contact as he lifts his unlaced boxing gloves to his mouth. He catches its dangling lace between his teeth, pulling it taut. The movement is so seductive, it’s borderline obscene.
Brandon’s attention dips below the fringe of his thick lashes, as if now just noticing I’m also sporting plenty of bare skin in my black sports bra and matching shorts.
I recognize the fleeting look of hunger in his eyes, and I immediately decide I don’t like us being this near each other without being fully clothed. I take a careful step back before murdering each of my feral butterflies.
Those teasing lips of his tip into a hypnotic grin. “Say, Katie. Let’s make a little bet.”
Nope. I don’t like the sound of that. Not one bit.
“Go on,” I hear myself say, and I almost slap a hand over my mouth.
“If you want to claim Pulse as your territory, then you’ll have to earn it.”
“Earn it?”
He waves a casual hand to the boxing ring behind us. “If you can hit me three times in three minutes, I’ll never set foot in Pulse Fitness again.”
Excitement vibrates to life in my stomach, but as much as I love the sound of that, this man is a tank. We’re talking muscles on muscles. I’d be an idiot to even entertain this idea.
Brandon smirks.
The urge to hit him intensifies, and I realize he’s just given me a socially acceptable way to do so without involving the law. I mean, I did take a kickboxing class in college...
What am I even thinking? This is nothing but a ploy. I eye Brandon’s hulking six-foot-four body. Self-defense videos always talk about using someone’s body weight against them. If I can do that, he’s a goner. Plus, he did mention something earlier about learning to box, so maybe he sucks too?
“And if you win?” I hedge.
“You have to take boxing lessons from the instructor of my choosing.” The playfulness in Brandon’s expression dims. “No woman should live life without being able to protect herself.”
I shake my duffel bag at him. “Hello, pepper spray?”
“Not good enough. So what do you say, love?”
That nickname clenches my fists into rocks, and the idea of hitting him becomes far too tempting.
“Deal.”
He holds out his glove, and I awkwardly shake it. Then he deftly swings his body up and under the boxing ropes like he’s done it a million times, and a pit drops into my stomach.
Brandon drapes two arms over the ropes and leans his bare torso against them. “Gloves are at the front desk. Tell them Brandon sent ya.” He winks.
The pit in my stomach turns into a boulder.
Ten minutes later, I’m bouncing back and forth on the balls of my feet. My gloves are white and smaller than Brandon’s, which I’m not sure is fair. Actually, none of this seems fair. Brandon stands a few heads taller and has at least sixty, maybe seventy pounds on me.
His stupidly charming grin hasn’t faltered once since I stepped in this ring, and I cannot wait to smack it off his face.
Tucker and Julia returned, helped us tie off our gloves, and plopped on the bench just beyond the ring.
They chat, laughing and care-free, sipping green smoothies like they’re watching a UFC fight.
In fact, I wouldn’t put it past Tucker to strut around the ring holding a sign.
Tucker does stand, but instead of a sign, he holds up his phone with a timer.
Three minutes.
I can hit Brandon three times in three minutes, no problem. Besides, I’m planning to sink my glove into his cocky expression way more than that. I may be small, but I’m fit and filled to the brim with feminine rage.
Tucker adopts a freakishly convincing announcer voice. “Today’s match features Brandon ‘Loser’ Roberts going up against Kate I-Forgot-Her-Last-Name-Since-It’s-Been-A-While-So-I-Apologize.”
I laugh as Brandon mutters, “Shut up, Tuck.”
Tuck beams, unperturbed, as he counts us down.
“Three, two, one, go.”
I launch myself at Brandon, who simply bobs and weaves away. Black gloves up and protecting his face, he’s all muscle and far more skill than he let on. His moves are like a choreographed dance that only he knows the steps to. Hypnotic in his movement, Brandon dodges a punch I aimed for his head.
After about a minute, I make contact, but it’s my arm slamming into his forearm as he blocks another punch.
He’s fast for his size. Faster than I anticipated.
Maybe I need to aim lower, you know, switch it up?
I cock my right arm back like I’m going to swing for his head, but at the last second I throw an upward jab with my left glove into his rock-hard stomach.
He grunts, and I have to bite back my squeal of victory.
“Cheap shot,” he mutters, and I smile.
Two punches to go.
Seconds slip faster than the beads of sweat on my forehead. I launch myself again. Brandon sidesteps my advance, a cocky smirk pulling the corner of his mouth.
Two more punches and Pulse Fitness will be mine. Maybe I can negotiate a second fight to get him to leave the museum?
Focus, Kate.
I aim my glove toward his gut, but I quickly redirect it to his jaw.
Much to both our surprise, his head snaps to the side. Brandon blinks a few times, then opens his jaw in a slow circle. He returns his attention to me with a bemused expression.
“That’s a natural right hook, right there.” He skims his gaze over my body before his voice drops low enough that only I can hear. “You’ve built more muscle beneath those sexy curves, haven’t you?”
My cheeks flood with heat, and my heart stutters as fast as me.
“I-I—”
“No explanation needed,” he murmurs behind his gloves, “just stating a fact.” His emerald eyes are chained to mine as he dances back and forth. A wavy lock drips over his forehead.
“That’s a good girl.” His voice is midnight silk. “Only about five more seconds.”
My head whips to Tucker’s phone, which indeed only has three, two, one—
Brandon’s mouth brushes the shell of my ear. “Great effort, love. I’m looking forward to our lessons together.” His hot breath lights goosebumps across my skin, but panic shoots through me nearly as fast.
“Together?” I pant.
“The instructor of my choosing.” He takes a few steps back and opens his wingspan. “I choose me.”
My eyes skid from leather glove to leather glove before meeting his huge smile.
“You can’t…” I say, looking to Tucker and Julia for help, who are failing to hide their laughter. Racking my brain, I search for a loophole. “But you said…”
Brandon sweeps out of the ring and over to the bench for Tucker to untie his gloves. “You agreed. And as I recall”—his eyes flit to mine—“you never go back on your word.”
My stomach is tied to a sinking anvil.
He’s right. I promised.
I’m going to be stuck with him during work hours, and after.
Brandon prowls toward me, hands now free, with a gloating smile on that annoyingly handsome face of his.
“Aren’t you excited?” he says.
I force myself to meet his gaze. This isn’t the first time Brandon has used my attraction against me, but I promise myself this will be the last.
So I nod, then plow my glove back into his stomach where it belongs.