Chapter Seven
Time passed in a bubble with me floating, elated, through my shift.
Cliff.
I walked by your shop. You look cute in that apron. Call me when you’re off?
Good feelings? Gone. Replaced with unbearable cold.
Liam had already left. The afternoon shift had started, but I didn’t know any of them well, and asking someone to walk you to your bike felt stupid.
Was Cliff still here? Could he be waiting? Was he lying? It’s not like I didn’t wear the same apron every damn day. I took a breath for courage when I reached the back door and peeked before stepping out.
Though the lot was more or less empty, there were no hidden alleyways for someone to hide in. I took four steps to the bike rack and fumbled with my keys, not even bothering to stuff the lock into my purse as I mounted it and rode toward the public road.
My head swiveled, surely not unlike a paranoid meerkat. What if he was watching? What if I led him straight to my house?
What if…I didn’t have to go home?
Alex was nearby. She’d said the gym was just down the road. A quick Google search confirmed there was only one option: Berserker Kickboxing.
Would Alex mind? She’d said any time. Surely she’d understand if I just waited around in the lobby or something.
Decision made, I biked up the road, away from the familiar path home.
All gyms more or less looked the same on the outside, with large signs and windows lining the perimeter. It was easy to find.
With a final glance around the street, I locked up my bike, then summoned my courage.
I stepped inside, the potent smells of sweat and rubber washing over my senses.
A single expansive room spread wide with mirrors covering two of the walls.
Though my shoes squeaked on cheap linoleum, the majority of the floor was covered by interlocking rubbery mats.
Black walls matched the mats with blue accents, and to my left, a petite young woman lounged back in her chair, making no effort to look engaged behind her desk, instead typing on her phone.
Farther away was the ring. In the ring was Alex.
I recognized her opponent immediately—Chiara, who had given me a ride that very morning.
But as terrifying a sight as she was in her gear, I was immediately distracted by Alex and her glistening self, hair slick with sweat, shirtless, as promised, clad in a sports bra and showcasing her incredible abs.
Her shorts revealed impressive thighs and calves, her bare feet bouncing as she focused on her opponent.
Her gloves shot forward with frightful speed, but I lost my breath at the flex of her arms. Sure, I’d seen her biceps; I’d never seen her biceps do that.
“Can I help you?”
I started at the feminine voice. The girl behind the desk glowered from behind her phone with utter disinterest, her accent identical to Chiara’s. “I’m just checking things out,” I said. “I know Alex.”
The girl blinked a moment, looking quite bothered to be there. “Okay.” A pause. “Are you the coffee girl?”
Assuredly yes, but the realization that Alex had talked about me was too much for me to eloquently articulate. “Maybe.”
She resumed texting. “Okay.”
Permission granted, I supposed.
I approached the ring, elevated about two feet above the ground. The question passed through my head of why it was called a ‘ring’ if it was square, but then Alex caught my eye, her surprise giving way to a smile. I waved—
Then recoiled as Chiara’s glove struck Alex straight in the cheek. Alex collapsed.
“Dammit,” Chiara muttered, immediately ripping off her boxing gloves as she knelt at Alex’s side.
Fuck, I’d just killed her.
With Chiara’s coaxing, Alex sat up. Her cheekbone burned red, bruising before our very eyes.
Chiara snapped her fingers. “Follow this,” she said, holding one up.
She dragged the finger left to right, scowling.
“No concussion, probably.” To my horror, she smacked Alex on the shoulder.
“Stupid. You could have died. Compartmentalize distractions or let them go.”
Her judgement swept across me, her glare brief but poignant. This was a mistake. I took a step back.
Chiara was helping Alex to rise as I plotted how to make any excuse to vanish, but then Alex’s gaze fell upon me, and something about seeing her sweaty and slightly bruised and bloody stopped my breath completely. “Hey!” she called out.
My smile came shyly. “Sorry for almost getting you killed.”
Chiara had already left the ring, slipping between the padded guardrails with ease. Alex beckoned me forward, her chuckle making her amiable. “No, you’re fine. What brings you here?”
“I mean, you did say ‘any time’.”
“I did.” She ducked between the rails toward me, her euphoria infectious. “This is our break time between morning and afternoon classes. No students until the next hour. We were just sparring.”
“Does sparring normally include getting punched in the face?”
A bit of impish delight twisted her grin. “Come in the ring and find out.”
“Do what in the ring now?”
Something devilish stirred in the glint in her eye. “I’ll teach you what you need to know.”
I glanced down at my purse and stiff work slacks. “Got any extra shorts?”
“I do, actually.”
She patted my back with her slick glove to lead me along. Was I actually doing this? Was I actually excited about it? A foreign giddiness filled me; what the hell was this?
She led me to a locker room adjacent to the large training space, a single row of lockers leading to a few private stalls for showering. One was occupied, the water providing a pleasant ambiance. I recognized the clothing hanging outside the stall as Chiara’s.
One of Alex’s gloves was tucked under her arm. Her free hand deftly unlocked the single lock, where she pulled out a pair of high-waisted silky shorts, nearly identical to hers. “I think we’re about the same size. They’re clean, don’t worry.”
She tossed them at me, followed by a t-shirt. “I’ll get everything ready while you put these on,” she continued, and she left me to it.
I changed quickly, finding the shorts a surprisingly good fit. Today was laundry day, which meant I’d worn a sports bra under my work blouse. The shirt smelled like whatever clean soaps Alex used, but I couldn’t help but think I’d look so much cuter without it.
I stepped out of the locker room with the shorts, my sports bra, and nothing else. Alex hadn’t worn shoes, so neither would I.
Triumph filled me at Alex’s double-take from the ring. “And here I thought I’d be the one putting on a show.”
“I just finally got my excuse to take my shirt off.”
Alex’s grin suggested I’d done right. “I got you some handwraps. Safety first.”
I had no idea what made them so safe, but I had no objections when Alex slipped gracefully under the railing and stepped down beside me, then beckoned me to sit on the edge of the ring. She offered a hand. Curious, I placed one of mine in hers.
She pulled out what had the appearance of a purple ace bandage, though I quickly realized it wasn’t stretchy, which she began expertly weaving around my palm and wrist, then between each of my fingers.
These were clearly new, given the wilted appearance of the ones wrapped around her own hands, but as much as I wanted to fixate on the implications of her potentially spending her money on me, I was far too distracted by her grip on my forearm and occasional brush of her fingertips.
“Was all this just an elaborate scheme to hold my hand?” I teased, and her ensuing grin reminded me far too much of last night.
“Obviously.” Regrettably, she released my hand but then started on the second wrap. I tested the first, finding it secure but comfortable. “You can’t say you aren’t tempted by the chance to punch me in the face,” she added.
I shrugged, the light mood invigorating. “Might relieve some frustration. I’m feeling so pent-up for some reason.”
“Oh, are you?” Alex laughed when I pouted. As she secured the second wrap, she added, “All right, how about a wager?”
“I do love a bit of gambling.”
“I’m going to teach you a few moves. You land a proper hit on me—doesn’t matter where—and I’ll give you what you want.”
I raised an eyebrow as she handed me a pair of boxing gloves. “And what is it that I want?”
Her voice lowered, husky and cruel. “I’ll drag you into the bathroom and fuck you against the door.”
My grin only widened. God, she was fun, and I pressed my arms together as I put on the gloves, making sure to press my tits together. “Here?”
“In the locker room.”
“And what if I don’t land a hit?”
She shrugged, but her good humor remained. “Come on up.”
Alex slipped easily through the guardrails. I tried to match her grace but instead had to awkwardly duck and shimmy, not expecting them to be soft.
“Rule number one,” Alex began, and she bounced a bit on her toes, taking a square stance. “This isn’t traditional boxing. This is kickboxing. It’s different. You want to stand broad and strong.”
I matched her stance as best as I could, including her little hop, triumphant when her gaze fell to my bouncing chest. “Rule number one, teacher?”
Mischief twisted her smile. “The real rule number one is to never get into a fight. They’re way faster than the movies show, and you never know if someone has a gun. So, I guess rule number two would be, if you do get in a fight, break their nose and run the hell away.”
“And how would I do that, oh wise teacher?”
Alex chuckled as she approached. “I’m gonna show you.”
With her gloveless hands, she directed my body, showing me how to pivot my foot and extend my arm. “Keep your shoulder up,” she added, but I could hardly pay attention as she showed me, distracted by the flex of her bicep. “Then it protects your cheek if you get punched back. That’s your jab.”
“Not gonna lie, I was expecting more kicking in kickboxing.”
“We’ll get to that. But first, your cross.”