Chapter 11
London
I haul the groceries into my apartment and sort out the little treats Stephanie asked for.
Luckily, there are plenty of vegan options these days, so I can offer her more than just an apple or banana.
I picked up some yogurt and pudding, chocolate, pralines, different drinks and teas she likes, plus a few dishes I can cook so we’ll have enough to eat here.
I figure if we cook together and enjoy the meal, we could become good friends.
That would be great. After all, Alexander called her his best friend, and I can’t afford to mess things up with her a second time.
Me: Got lots of stuff, looking forward to seeing you :)
Stephanie: Well, I’m curious. See you tomorrow :)
Oh, perfect. A smiley!
I head to the bathroom, brush my teeth, and scroll through Vanessa’s avalanche of messages while doing so—over fifty. She clearly has too much time and…
But as I skim them, unease pools in my stomach. What is this? She wants to come to the office? Talk to Alexander? My eyes widen in panic, and I call her while rinsing my mouth. It rings and rings but no answer.
Oh God!
I scroll further down and see she texted that she’s in a taxi. But that was an hour ago!
Dear God, why? Why me?
I call her again and type at the same time: Please don’t go, I’ll handle this!
Looks like my streak of bad luck isn’t over yet. I let it ring and rinse my mouth again. Mope. Still not answering.
“Oh, come on, Nessa! Pick up! Please!”
In a panic, I text Alexander: “My best friend might show up at the office today. Please just ignore her!
Alex: Too late.
Me: What’s that supposed to mean?
Alex: She already found me. She took a taxi here, and I drove her home.
Me: Please, PLEASE tell me this is a joke!
Alex: She was a bit tipsy and fell asleep in my car. But I got Vanessa to her apartment and now I’m on my way home. Your friend is really funny.
Me: I’m so sorry!
Alex: No need. She really stood up for you.
Me: She’s going through a rough patch right now.
Alex: Yeah, I know the story. I think you told me about five times today.
Me: She gets a little melancholic when she drinks. Please don’t hold it against her.
Alex: She talks a lot if you let her :)
Me: What did she tell you?
Alex: Not much.
Me: Come on, tell me!
Alex: Your shift is over. See you tomorrow.
Me: Alex! Answer me!
No reply. Of course.
I sit on the edge of the bathtub, face burning, staring up at the ceiling.
God, are you punishing me? What on earth did I do to deserve this torture?
I sigh, lower my gaze, and try to pull myself together. I call Vanessa a few more times while changing into something comfortable and packing my gym bag. She’s probably sleeping the alcohol off. So, I text her: “What did you tell Alex?”
Maybe instead of going to the gym, I should hit the boxing ring instead? I haven’t been there in weeks.
I check the hours online—still the same. Perfect. I really feel like punching a sandbag. This anger has to go somewhere, and fast.
It takes me only about twenty minutes, even with stop-and-go traffic, to get to the sports hall on the edge of downtown. The building sits off to the side in a quiet area—you wouldn’t expect a boxing club here. Mostly young men come here to prove themselves. Women are rare. But I kinda like that.
After parking, I head for the entrance with my bag. The heavy steel door is propped open, letting a little fresh air into the heated interior. I can already smell the sweat even from here.
“Hey,” I say to the two musclebound guys at the entrance. They give me a short nod.
“Haven’t seen you in a while, Princess,” one of them calls out. “You’ve lost some muscle. Need training help?” He laughs suggestively, and I roll my eyes.
“I need a punching bag,” I answer promptly. “Can you take a few kicks and punches, or are you gonna cry if I hit you in the wrong spot?”
He’s left speechless while his buddy bursts out laughing.
“Let me know if you really want to help.” I smile and head into the locker room.
There’s one for women, though I’ve often been “invited” to change with the men. As long as the boss isn’t around, some of the guys act like rats when the cat’s away.
After changing, I step into the main room. Three boxing rings, bags hanging from the walls, mats spread out. People are training hard to blasting music. The bass thumps through the floor.
Looks like I’m the only woman here today.
Most of the guys just want to burn off energy, and the ones who get a little sassy usually mean well—they’re the first to step in if someone needs help.
But when they’re just with each other, their mouths run nonstop.
Still, there’s something solid behind all the talk.
I head to an empty corner to train in peace. I set my towel, water bottle, and gloves on the bench, then stretch and warm up before starting with light exercises. A minute with the jump rope, then I slide on my gloves, my fingers peeking through. They fit snugly, the wraps protecting my joints.
After just a few punches, I feel how out of practice I am. That’s what I get. It’s been at least six weeks, even though I meant to come for an hour once a week. That has to change from now on.
I work the bag hard, and it instantly feels so good to take my frustration out on it.
“What’d it ever do to you?” a male voice says from behind me.
“Are you talking to me?” I ask, still focused on the punching bag. I want to finish my set before taking a break, and he’s distracting me.
“Of course. You’ve got quite a punch. Not bad,” he says. Hopefully that’s all it is—I’m not here to flirt. “Want me to hold it steady, or…” He steps closer, and my eyes nearly pop out when I see who just spoke.
“Alex?” I immediately stop, and he looks just as surprised.
“Uh… or are you going to hit me instead?” he finishes with a laugh. “What are you doing here?”
“I should be asking you that!” He’s only wearing a tight muscle shirt, and I can see every line of his toned arms. Damn. Were those hidden under that suit? I force myself to meet his eyes, silently praying he doesn’t sneak a glance at my neckline. He’d better not!
“Small world, huh?” He grips the bag with one hand. “I know the owner from way back. He invited me to train here again. I haven’t been in London in five years.”
I let out a quiet sigh. Great. So, he’s not going anywhere anytime soon.
“You know Carlos?” I ask, throwing another punch. Alex holds the bag casually, but his arm keeps flexing. I keep at it until he finally has to use both hands.
“Started coming here when I was seventeen, just to blow off steam. So you’re the ‘princess’ he always talks about, I take it?”
“They call every woman here that. Except Manuela. She’s got more muscle than half the guys. She’s the queen.”
“Alright, Princess. Hit harder, I can barely feel it,” he teases. That makes me stop.
“I haven’t been here in weeks,” I protest, already out of breath.
“Yeah, I can tell. Want to try holding it?” One punch from him and I’d probably fly into the wall.
“Alex, you can’t make our princess hold the bag,” a deep voice rumbles. I’d know Carlos’s voice anywhere.
The massive Greek towers even over Alex by a few inches. He’s got more chest hair than I have hair on my head, but his dark, tattooed look is misleading—despite the face tattoos, the thick black bears and all the ink, he’s the gentlest of them all.
“I’ll hold it.”
He plants himself behind the bag like a rock so Alex can punch, while I step aside and try to catch my breath.
That gives me a chance to sneak a look at Alex. Black muscle shirt, athletic shorts, that reveal that even his calves are cut. His punches land precise and powerful. Even Carlos actually struggles to hold the bag. I’d definitely have flown into the nearest wall.
“And she was supposed to hold this? You’ve still got a hell of a punch, Lex!”
Lex?
“But you can push harder. Really give it all, come on! Harder!”
Alex works up a sweat fast. I bet his muscles are burning already. Veins are pulsing on his arms and sweat soaks through his shirt.
Damn. That looks so good.
“Our little princess here looks impressed!” Carlos calls out, and just like that Alex’s eyes meet mine.
Oops.
My face heats, and I quickly step away to calm down, staring at the ceiling. The ceiling fans are blasting, but I’m still hot. “Where’d you train in America?”
“Just the gym,” Alex says, backing away and catching his breath.
“I want you here every week now.” Carlos turns to me. “And you, Princess, preferably every day.”
“I probably can’t keep that up,” I admit.
“But it makes my guys happy,” he chuckles, giving me a light pat on the shoulder that nearly knocks me forward. His gentleness is enough to break a bone. “Like a leaf in the wind. Girl, you need more protein. Treat yourself to a steak tonight. Or two. You’re wasting away.”
“I let my training slide,” I confess.
“You’ll get it back.” He looks at Alex. “And don’t you dare anything of hers.”
“Not planning to,” Alex says with a grin, and they high-five.
“Got tax paperwork to do. Behave yourselves.” Carlos nods and leaves, and suddenly it’s just Alex and me again.
“So, you didn’t tell him I’m your father’s assistant?”
“No. Should I?” He smirks and braces the bag so I can keep punching. Unlike him, though, I'm much slower. Compared to his tree-trunk arms, mine look like twigs.
“I could tell him you were rude to me. He’d flatten you.” I grin.
“Fair,” he admits with a smile. “Try punching from the shoulder. Full extension. You’re holding back.”
“I’m totally out of shape,” I complain.
“That’s why I’m telling you—swing properly and keep moving.”
He smiles and I’m actually glad to return it. Okay, this is… nice. Maybe even fun.
I bounce lightly, try to move a bit more, and put more power into the next punch.
“Much better. Again! Come on, keep going!” His voice is firm, commanding. Controlled.
Damn it—it’s turning me on. Not now. God, not now. Not him. Not here!