Chapter 11
eleven
PRESENT DAY
KATE
Iopen my eyes and ease my butt back onto the seat of the spin bike. That last incline set was torture, and my heart is trying to escape my chest. From the front row, I watch the perky blonde instructor turn her mic back on and lower the blasting music.
“Fantastic class, ladies!” she chirps. I wonder if she’s on steroids since she’s not winded in the slightest. “Remember that we as women are powerful, capable, and in control of our future!” she says.
Voices rise around me as we join in on the mantra and break out in cheers. The war cries of female empowerment wash over me like an electrical field, and I break into a sweaty grin. The effect is contagious, and it’s one of the reasons I love this class.
This is exactly what I needed before I’ll have to endure my first boxing lesson with Brandon. Cue the eye roll.
I glimpse a familiar head of cropped black hair on the other side of the glass wall.
Levi looks so approachable in his Pulse Fitness polo as he carries a stack of towels, like a boy next door who just so happened to serve a short stint in jail.
He doesn’t see me, for which I’m somewhat grateful, since I’ve just finished fighting for my life.
I still have no clue how to appropriately apologize to him, but I’m desperate to clear the air. Should I ask him out for coffee? Or will that only pique his interest again? I don’t want to fan a flame that I don’t intend on keeping lit. Even if Levi still wants to be “hopefully mine.”
I’m going to have to find him later and solve this once and for all.
I unclip my spin shoes from the bike as someone calls my name from the back of the room.
Brandon’s friend from college, Julia, walks toward me. The top half of her red bob is held back in two butterfly clips on the top of her head, and she’s wearing a lavender workout tank and leggings. With her short hair and tall, slender figure, she could pass for a fresh-faced runway model.
“Julia! Hey!” Adrenaline and camaraderie pulse in my veins, and I give her a bright smile. “I didn’t know you were in this class!”
“Yeah, I was late, so I snuck in the back.” Julia glances at the instructor before she whispers, “Kinda regret coming now. I’ve got a shift at my boutique later and I just might need a wheelchair.”
“You work in a boutique?” I ask.
Julia nods with a shy smile. “Own it, actually. Well, me and my best friend. She runs the floor and inventory while I do the advertising and marketing.”
“That sounds cool! Like on social media?” I bend to retrieve my sweat towel and water bottle before we begin to walk down the hall.
Julia pulls out her phone. “Yup. I’m super proud of it.” She shows me the social media feed for her boutique, Autumn & June.
I stall my next step, peering closer. Their account has a huge following, and each video is artfully styled with a trendy, fresh feel.
The captions are witty and engaging, and I can’t help but laugh at a few.
This doesn’t feel like marketing—it feels like branding.
Community. And somehow a sense of female camaraderie, much like the spin class we just left.
“That’s incredible. Do you film and edit the videos yourself?”
Julia bobs her head, eyes shining. “Yup.”
We grin at each other as I hand back her phone, and she checks the time.
Julia says, “I gotta run to meet my boyfriend, Dallas, but it was so fun getting to chat with you. Brandon has told me so much about you.”
“Don’t believe a word that man says.”
Julia laughs, and it startles me. It sounds more like a robust honk than a laugh, and couldn’t be more different than the delicate-looking woman making it.
“Don’t worry,” she says. “I told him I make my own opinions, and I happen to think you’re great.”
“It’s nice that Brandon’s slanderous ways don’t affect everyone.”
“Nope. Besides, Brandon and Tuck are the ones that need parenting, and I don’t listen to toddlers.”
I snort. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.”
She grabs her things, and her heart-shaped face splits into a shy smile. “See you around!”
“See you!” I chuckle. For all the annoyance that man has brought into my life, claiming one of Brandon’s friends as my own only seems fair.
The levity in my steps, however, draws heavier as I near the boxing room.
brANDON
I crouch, pressing a long strip of duct tape to the gym mat.
I don’t feel too bad about marking up the boxing ring, since the New Year swell seems to prefer the cardio side of Pulse Fitness.
I swear, though, every time I pass the circulation desk I recognize another person signing a membership.
Pretty sure even the barista guy with the short dreads from the museum—Rohan, I think is his name—comes here now.
Only a few regulars are over on the punching bags as I swipe a second intersecting line of tape across the other.
As I begin to stand, my gaze snags on a pair of fuchsia running shoes a few yards away. I rake my eyes up a pair of legs wrapped in skin-tight black leggings to find the most adorable scowl.
I grin, wiping my palms against my black muscle tank. “Morning, Katie Cat.”
“Oh! Am I allowed to hit you already?” She hitches a perfectly arched brow.
“Whoa.” I laugh. “Retract those claws. No one is hitting anyone today.”
Her face falls. “What? That’s the whole reason I’m here.”
I stride past to my waiting duffel bag and swap my roll of duct tape for a pair of jump ropes. “Let’s warm up. Besides, eighty percent of boxing is in the legwork.”
“You just made that statistic up, didn’t you?”
“Sure did.” I wink. “But you’ve gotta start with the basics. Based on what I saw last time, you have no clue what you’re doing.”
“I hit you, didn’t I?” She folds her arms over her form-fitting white tank, and a sliver of her stomach peeks out beneath the hem.
“Everyone gets lucky sometimes.” I didn’t mean it to come out all thick with innuendo, but the pink stain flooding her cheeks causes a stir deep in my belly. I stuff the stupid feeling back down. This whole thing was a bad idea, starting with that phone call last night.
Hearing Kate’s gravelly tone late at night—all sassy, teasing, laughing even—it felt like coming home. But it was nothing but a mirage. An illusion that there may still be a spark of connection between us. And like the stupid, parched man that I am, I bought into it for a second.
Until she ended the call like an ice queen after my roommate, Tucker, almost interrupted my secret call. I didn’t want to have to explain the call to Tuck, because like all loyal best friends, he harbors way less forgiveness for my ex-girlfriend than I do.
I offer a terse smile and mutter to Kate, “Let’s go warm up.”
Ten minutes of jump-roping later, her obsidian eyes are bright, and she’s broken a bit of a sweat. I can practically sense her mood lifting as the endorphins kick in.
She follows me to my duffel bag and hands me the jump rope. “What’s next?”
I grin. “That’s my girl.”
The words earn me a backhand to the chest, but making Kate blush is too fun.
If I can’t have her, I’ll settle for annoying her.
Someone catches my eye over Kate’s shoulder through the window to the hall. A tattooed guy with cropped dark hair and a Pulse Fitness employee polo is watching us. Not the room. Us. His mouth is drawn tight like he might be upset.
I scan the room, my eyes landing on the perpendicular tape lines. Is he gonna come in here and tell me to take it down? I try to come up with an alternative plan for teaching Kate about stance, but the guy only backs off and disappears around the wall.
Weird.
I lead Kate over to the taped mats. “This is your stance guide.” I straddle the center line, making sure my feet are staggered in both the front and back quadrants.
“Key to a good stance is balance. Feet a little wider than your hips, but not too wide, or you’ll be easy to knock over.
” I shuffle forward, back, and side to side along the lines to demonstrate the feet placement.
Kate nods, and I swap places with her.
“Wait. Which squares do my feet go in?”
I cock my head. “Are you orthodox?”
Her brow furrows. “I was raised protestant. What does that have to do with boxing?”
A laugh explodes out of me, and she scowls.
“Sorry,” I say. “I mean, is your dominant side your right or your left?”
“Right.”
“So orthodox stance then.” I squat and pat one of the front squares. “Left foot forward, slightly angled out, right foot in the back opposite corner.”
She places her feet accordingly, and I reach out to position the angle of each foot. I wrap my hand around her ankle, gently tugging while the stirring heat in my belly does the same. The pink flush in her cheeks tells me she feels it too, and I don’t know what to do with that information.
If Kate is this easily affected by me like I am her, why won’t she just give us another shot? Why does she insist on hating me the way she does?
Maybe I’m just not enough for her.
I straighten and cough out, “There.”
I again show her how to shuffle forward and back, and side to side. She watches how I maintain even spacing with each step, staying light on my toes, never leaving my stance too open or too narrow. After a few minutes and stumbles later, Kate catches on, eyes squinting in cute concentration.
I nod approvingly. “Your rhythm’s off, but I think you’re starting to get it.”
She smiles a genuine smile. “Can I hit you now?”
I laugh at her bright eyes and shake my head. “Always so bloodthirsty.”
She laughs too, and I can’t help but lap up the sound. I haven’t felt this pathetic, this eager in a long while. Too desperate for love like my mom is with her trash boyfriends. While I love and admire Mom and understand all she’s been through, I’d rather eat gravel than follow in her footsteps.
“Fine,” I say, and she lights up like a Christmas tree. “I’ll go get the pads.”
Her shoulders fall. “The pads?”
I leave and return with two thick foam pads strapped to my hands. The black expanse covers the length of my forearm to my elbow, and her eyes light back up.
“I can work with that.” She cocks a fist, and I rush to shield my face.
“Gloves, Kate! Gloves!” I blurt.
She snort-laughs. “You were so scared! You should have seen the look on your face!”
I shrug. “Well, maybe my jaw hasn’t forgotten that secret right hook of yours.”
She bats her eyelashes. “Who, me?”
I smirk. “Yes. You.”
Twenty minutes later, we both shine with sweat.
Kate’s a fast learner, agile too, and despite her lack of rhythm, she picks up the simple jab–hook combo I taught her with relative ease.
My padded hands absorb the shock from each of her punches, and that adorable look of concentration pinches her brows.
I pause to check the time on my watch. “I think we’re about done, love.”
That nickname earns me an especially hard blow to the pad, and I laugh. She follows me to the benches, raising a forearm to wipe sweat off her face.
“Do I get to punch your face next time?” she pants.
I sit down with an easy grin. Despite our height difference, we’re almost face to face. Challenge glitters in her dark eyes, and her lips have a wicked smile.
“Already dreaming about next time, Katie?”
She scowls, and I laugh.
I tug her gloved hands, and she stumbles close enough that she’s just shy of standing between my knees. I loosen the knots on her gloves while she examines the suddenly interesting overhead rafters. Her left knee bounces in my periphery, and triumph mingles with the endorphins flooding my veins.
If she were mine right now, I’d yank her gloves and plant a kiss over that sassy mouth of hers.
And like a sadistic, grief-seeking pain junkie, I can’t stop wishing she was.
I’m nothing but an addict when it comes to Kate.
Rational thinking flies out the window when all I can focus on is when I’ll get another dose, another hit of her attention.
I want her to turn those eyes to mine and choose me for once.
I finish picking apart the laces on her gloves, holding them while she withdraws her hands. She practically runs to where she left her duffel bag and water bottle on the floor, and I try to do what I should have done years ago.
I let her go.