Julie 8:51 AM: It’s not a bad image
Tiffany 8:52 AM: be careful, Jules! This dude is hard as hell to read. You don’t know what he’s got in his past. I don’t think anyone does lol
Julie 8:52 AM: oh, I won’t! Plus, he’s a strong, independent man that doesn’t need a friend, remember? He’s going to have to work harder than that if he wants my crush to return. I’m just stunned lol
Tiffany 8:53 AM: You got it, sis
I quickly lock the phone at her calling me “sis.” She picked it up from Jeremy, claiming it would be the perfect nickname once they were married.
He never got to propose, although hehadbought the ring. Tiffany got her princess diamond in Jeremy’s will, which he made right after he bought it. It’s where he also had the foresight to leave the title of the gym to me.
I rush back to work, trying to suppress the slithering melancholy. Whenever I spot Ryder training, I straighten my back with appreciation, considering that he gave me a second chance. He doesn’t earn mycrush, but I do feel like an accepted member of his team.
A few times, our gazes cross, and once, the connection even lingers.
Shrugging it off as an accident, I focus on cleaning the equipment. I won’t let my fantasies ruin this progress.
When I wipe down one of the machines, I lift my chin when I hear someone cry out—it’s just Lucky, thrashing his hand. Looks like he hit a bag too hard.
My attention snags like a purse strap on a doorknob when I spot Ryder resting on a bench. He’s already watching me. The confusing bastard doesn’t remove his gaze, either, like he’s considering a hundred things at once.
Well, what the hell is that about?
An annoying, wistful part of me lights the smallest flicker in my chest, using a wick from years ago that once intensely burned for Ryder.
I don’t know what’s changed in him, but clearly,somethingdid.
* * *
The men are sparring this weekend, crowding the ring while Andrew monitors. Not competing in Warlord doesn’t mean they’re allowed to stop training.
Today we invited a few guys from Pittsburgh as temporary fresh faces to mix up the routine, two of them even decent competition for our champion.
I’m standing against a wall, surrounded by the familiar sounds of the gym: the echoes of bodies slamming on the mat, generic gym music, and the guys cracking their ridiculous jokes.
Ryder paces in the ring, wearing his sweats and a sleeveless shirt that’s seeping with sweat, the harsh lighting beating down on him. He waits for Andrew to select a new partner.
Whenever his attention even remotely moves my way, I avert my gaze. My frenzied desire is getting out of control. I am constantly surrounded by ripped, intense men, and yet Ryder unwinds me in ways that has me worried about performing for my job.
He’s been a dick half of the time I’ve known him, and yet Istillcan’t control myself. Leaning on the wall behind me, I mindlessly play with the ends of my ponytail, looking down to see if I need a trim soon.
One of the fighters from up north saunters over, a mediumweight with a bushy brown beard. He walks like he wants to find the right way to smoothly slide into conversation.
“This gym got lucky with you around,” he says.
“Oh?” I ask, although I don’t really want to know why.
“I mean, I could definitely use a massage later,” he suggests. “Can we make that happen?”
Even if all I did was massage him down, he seems like the kind of guy that would brag about it later. Saying that I touched his thighs for too long not to have enjoyed it myself. Even if I’m wrong on the assumption, I’ve learned it’s best to be cautious unless Andrew orders it.
I survey the ever-moving gym, dropping my hand to rest it on my hip. Without looking at the fighter, I comment, “Honestly, you’re better off hitting the sauna. I don’t know your profile.”
“Sounds like a good way to get to know me, then.” He closes in the space between us, but I hold my ground. He doesn’t look at me as he quietly adds, “You can take a look at my profile in that massage room, then figure out a routine. It’s your job, isn’t it?”
I almost snort at how lame that is. Gently scratching my cheek, still not looking at him, I say, “Look, I work with fighters too much to read you. Are you flirting, or what?”
“I just want to see if I can get a massage later,” he defends, but stares at me like he’s judging my reaction tothat.
