“Oh?” Kym asked.
“Yeah, why not?”
Kym pursed her lips and nodded. “If you need me to set you up, I know someone you might like.”
“So, you’ve been holding out on me?” Retta asked, squinting.
“You know good and damn well whenever I bring up dating, you talk about your busy schedule and your working vibrator,” Kym said, mouthing the last word.
“Okay, well,” Retta said, adjusting her glasses. “I’ve been thinking for weeks about how I should get back out there, you know? And this is the little nudge I need.”
“Of course.”
Retta nodded and smirked before saying, “And you’ll be proud to know, despite my ridiculous schedule and working vibrator, I’ve taken the initiative and already have a date lined up.”
ChapterTwo
It wasthe end of a long day, and Retta stood in the parking lot with her team members on either side of her, studying the large truck boxing in her car. She was being screwed over, even though she got her desired spot.
“Are they trying to intimidate us into giving up?” Omar asked.
“That’s not happening,” Retta said, turning around. “Have a good evening. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
Walking toward the front of the building, Retta quickened her pace. She had a small window to drive home, get ready, and meet her date at the bistro.
The gym’s glass door opened easily, and she was met with red and black walls that had replaced the mint green of the spa that once operated there. The smell of paint still clung to the air. The front desk was unattended, and Retta stared hard at the place where a service bell should’ve been.
Natural instinct told her to wait there and hope someone came along to help her, but time was slipping. Walking around the transformed room, she peeked around the corner to find an empty corridor.
“Hello?” she said.
The city’s unofficial fifth season of road construction would make traffic delays inevitable.
“Hello,” she said louder.
Walking down the hallway, Retta arrived at a landing where changing rooms lined the wall to her left and a staircase led to what she could see from her spot was a square gym.
The sound of someone hitting a bag reverberated through the space. It was accompanied by sharp hissing and grunting noises.
A needling awkwardness in her stomach formed, and the drop in the initial spike of adrenaline left her feeling out of place. But she straightened her shoulders against the impulse to flee and took a couple of steps down the stairs toward the sound. However, she only made it halfway before she caught sight of a shirtless man turned away from her, punching a bag with strong fists.
The muscles in the man’s back swelled with each move. His dark brown skin all but reflected the bright lights hanging above him, and the sweat looked like it had been strategically placed with a spray bottle.
There had to be someone wearing more clothes who could help her.
As Retta retraced her steps, the man stopped punching the bag. She automatically flattened herself against the wall on the other side of the staircase, narrowly avoiding tumbling to her death. The massive headphones he wore would prevent him from hearing her, but she still held her breath.
Maybe she would’ve been better off screaming at the top of her lungs in the front entrance because she was about to get busted. But the man resumed his activity seconds after the amusing thought of being barred from a gym, of all places, crossed Retta’s mind.
Straightening, she turned to finally leave, but her path was obstructed by a stocky guy with red hair. His shirt had the gym’s logo on the front of it.
He frowned. “Can I help you?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
She met him at the top of the staircase. “I’m Retta,” she said, continuing to whisper. “I own the bakery next door—”
“You own the what?” he asked loudly.
