“We seriously need to vote on what the club wants to call this place. Keeping it as Bar was fine when we first took it over from the owners, but there’s got to be something better than the Flying Monkeys. I’m still surprised you let Bass on your construction team and were okay with him putting up the temporary name. I get that we’re in Kansas, but don’t you think it’s a bit much?”
“Till it’s decided, we’re stuck with it. But from what’s been tossed out, it’s sure as hell better than what we got.”
“What was that?” I signal for another round and get immediate service. Perks of being the owners. I glance at the table of misfits and note they also need another round. I tell the bartender to send one over before I look back at Flint.
“Domino thought ‘Titties’ would be good—you know, ’cause he wants to see them. Don’t think he knows the difference between a regular bar and a topless one. Kooper said it should be ‘Law’s Place,’ but I think we all agreed that naming it after a member of the club is just putting a target on it for our enemies. While we ain’t keeping it a secret that we own this place, I’d rather not advertise it either.”
“I’ll keep it on my mind. See if I can come up with something that won’t either get us killed or at least a beatdown for the worst name ever,” I say with a smirk.
“You do that. And while you’re at it, try to keep your tongue in your mouth when you follow a certain friend of Kitten’s around. It’s pathetic, man.” Flint moves with a pat on my back that has me bumping into the bar.
“Ass,” I grunt, but I can’t help the smile on my lips while I follow my brother as he approaches his woman.
Guy’s got a point. I’m drooling for my girl already, and I haven’t even had a taste of her yet.
But I will. Soon.
Very soon.
Chapter 6—Bailey
“T
wenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty. Good job. Take a breather for a minute, and then we’ll move on to sprint work,” Jordan says like a drill sergeant.
I glare at him from my spot on the mat. I would get up and throttle him, but I really do need a breather after that last rep. Push-ups are not my thing. I could rock the girl way, but I’m not permitted. Jordan sees that as cheating. He runs his gym with the mentality that everyone is equal when you walk through the doors. There’s no judgment for someone who’s 120 or 420 pounds. Seasoned gymgoer or newbie, we all get treated the same. And if you get a coach, well, you’d better be ready to do it the way they do it, ’cause once again, we’re all equal. If the boy has to do push-ups with straight legs, then so does the girl. Now, if you get a girl coach, you’re in luck. I’m not so lucky. I tried to explain that I’d be happy with any trainer, but no. Jordan insisted I get trained by the best, and in his eyes, he’s it.
“And we’re up and moving.”
I grumble at his back as he walks across the gym floor to the treadmills. At least he’s not taking me to the track outside. It’s too damn hot for that, even if it’s early evening. The person in charge of the weather must be on vacation or something, because there’s no need for Kansas to be a 103 degrees outside at this time of day. Texas, maybe, but I live north. I should see ninety degrees at the most, but we passed that temp last week, and there’s no rain cloud in sight to cool us off.
Despite my grumbling, I get my butt off the mat and walk over to him. I don’t take my time either. I made that mistake on day one a few weeks back. If I dawdle, he just gets cruel and makes me work longer ’cause I’m wasting his time, he says. Which is funny ’cause I’m not even paying him. He’s doing this out of thekindnessof his heart.
Kindness my ass. He just likes to torture me.
“We’ll start off with a five-minute warm-up and then break into the short sprints.”
I sigh in relief till I see him turn the damn treadmill speed to a five. This is so not a warm-up.
“Are you trying to kill me?” I hold the handlebars to keep myself upright as my feet try to get accustomed to “walking” this fast. Okay, I’m running, not sprinting, but there’s definitely a run feel to this.
“We’ve been at this for three weeks now. You’re way past the walking stage. You’ve only got a few weeks to go, and I want to make sure you’re ready.” He swats at my hands till I let go of the bars.
“I told the kids I woulddoa mud run, notwinit. All I have to do is get from start to finish. I don’t even care about how long it takes. Heck, I even read I can walk the course if I want.”
“Walk it my ass. No gym member of mine is going to walk a 10K. You’re going to run the whole thing, even if I have to smack your ass each step of the way to get you going.”
“Oh please, you’re going to be asleep. We all know Saturday mornings are your rest day, meaning you sleep all day. You won’t even know what happens till I tell you later.”
He smiles, and my steps falter a bit. I latch on to the bars for support to avoid tripping and smashing my face before I get sent flying backward. He grabs my hands and squeezes just enough for me to let go as his smile turns evil.
“I volunteered to help, so like it or not, I’m going to be there the whole time, sugarplum. I promise the bubble-wrap job I did on your place before will look like a wet dream compared to what I’ll do to you if I see you go easy on this.”
If I didn’t love him so much, he would scare me. I know he would never hurt me, but torment me? Yeah, that’s happening.
I don’t say anything as he just continues to smile. He’s kind of terrifying when he gets in coach mode, and intense. I can see the appeal for why Meekail keeps him around. It’s hot. Not that I would ever see Jordan as anything but my friend. We grew up together, and he was gay the moment he could walk. He’s the brother I never had—and some days never want—but I love him all in the same.
And yes, I will admit only to myself that his workouts are working. I do feel stronger each time I come in here. Hell, last month I couldn’t even do this for five minutes without panting like crazy, but now I almost look like I’m a natural runner. Which I still hate and will never do for fun, but I can sort of see why others do this.
