Authors: Maxi MacNair
My face heats up, but not with embarrassment this time. Do I really look like such a little girl that this stranger felt the need to protect me? Some of that must be showing on my face, because Becca tilts her head to the side and her eyes narrow.
“You don’t have to listen to me, but don’t say that I didn’t warn you. No matter what else, he’s a fighter. Now, move over. I had a game running.”
“About that…” I scoot my chair well out of range in case she gets angry with me. “I might have ruined it.”
“Well, that figures.” Her head shakes and she launches up a new game, making very deliberate and careful moves. I watch her for a short while, but it’s almost more mind-numbing than just sitting in silence.
“Do you do any sports?” I ask her, feeling out any kind of neutral ground. She shrugs, and I feel my teeth gritting. “You look like you do some serious running,” I continue.
“You know, newbie, I have things under control here. Why don’t you go around and pick up some towels?”
My mouth drops open as I stare at her, but I collect myself and stand up. “My name’s Anna,” I say as I walk out into the main area of the gym. I try not to let myself get too upset, but it doesn’t work so well. I’m pretty beyond pissed, and I need something to distract myself. It doesn’t really help that there really aren’t any towels lying around. It would be nice to at least feel productive as I try to get a handle on my temper.
‘She’ll probably be nicer once I get to know her,’
I reason with myself, ponytail swishing angrily behind me as I storm around the cardio machines.
‘She’s not a morning person, is all.’
I get back to the main hall and set off towards the more private practice rooms. Movement in the window of one of the lesson rooms catches me off guard. Morning yoga ended a while ago, and there’s nothing else scheduled until after lunch. What could it possibly be?
A punching bag dangles in the middle of the room, and a slender man goes to town on it, throwing punches and kicks in flurries of limbs. The dull sound of each blow landing on the bag travels out through the reinforced walls and penetrates even the pounding clamor of the generic house music pouring through the whole facility. Of course it’s Luke Stark. He’s shirtless again, bobbing around the bag and keeping light on his feet. There are a few bruises on his chest that I can tell he just got yesterday in his “little spar.” His hands are wrapped, but he isn’t wearing gloves. A small flutter grows in my stomach as I revisit the fantasizing that had led to me flooding the bathroom. But that isn’t helpful or professional, so I shake my head and refocus on the problem at hand.
I wonder what protocol is here. He’s really not supposed to be using the lesson rooms for his own training, but I can hardly fault him. I’d been about to do the same thing, just in one without a window. Maybe I should go and try to find Dwight or someone else with more influence than me. Even Becca would be a better person to tell him off than little, 120-pound me. The thought makes me set my jaw and barge into the room.
“Excuse me,” I say with as much authority as I can muster. He doesn’t respond, so I repeat myself louder. It takes me far too long to realize that he’s wearing headphones. I sigh and step closer, reaching out to tap him on the shoulder.
That’s when his elbow snaps back. I react before I can even process what’s happening, stepping back and shoving at his arm to narrowly miss me. He whips around, shock washing over his face.
“So sorry!” he says. He pulls the earbuds out of his ears and steps close to me. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No, not at all, I’m fine,” I say, waving off his concern. “I thought fighters were all about knowing where people are and stuff.” I feel like an idiot for saying it, but I have no idea how to defuse the situation.
“I was pretty zoned in on my opponent, here,” he says with a small laugh as he points back to the punching bag. “He doesn’t look like much, but he’s been giving me a rough time for years now.”
I look at the punching bag, and taped to it is a printed out headshot. The man seems to be another fighter. At least, it looks like his nose had been broken more than once. There’s a mean glint to his eye that reminds me of the way that Sam used to look after getting a bit too close to the edge.
“Friend of yours?” I ask with a forced smile.
Luke looks at me again, expression similar to the way he had looked at me earlier that morning. I shift where I stand, crossing my arms in front of my chest.
“I’m fighting him tonight.” His words come out careful and slow, and I try to keep my expression neutral.
“Is it…” I don’t know how to form the question that I want to ask. It doesn’t matter and I’m not about to interrogate him or anything, but I’m too damn curious. “Well, some of the staff seems to think that you’re all wrapped up in something…illegal.” I mentally curse myself for throwing my coworkers under the bus; even without naming names, Luke could probably guess which of them were talking about him.
Instead of doing what I expect and getting angry, Luke just laughs. “Nah, nothing like that,” he says, face finally losing the edge it had since we started talking. “It’s an official enough match. Down at the arena and everything.”
He leans in close and I get a good smell of him. His odor isn’t unpleasant by any means, more than just the sweat that glistens on his torso. I feel my thoughts drift back to less proper subject matter, and I almost miss him say, “You could always come and check it out. Make sure I’m not getting myself into any trouble.”
I take half a step back, and he winks. I can feel a dozen different expressions crossing over my face as I try to think of any kind of response. “Why do you care what I think?” I ask, amazed that I didn’t stammer.
Luke only shrugs. “I just do.” His eyes sweep over me, and I suppress a full-body shiver. “So what do you say?”
I shake my head, even the slight motion making me feel a bit dizzy. His smell is so much, and I can’t think straight. I can’t meet his gaze, so instead I feel my attention drift down his stubbly face and neck, and I finally get a good look of the tattoo on his upper arm. It’s a tally of some kind. I want to ask, but I’m already in too deep.
“No thanks,” I tell him, giving him my best business face and stepping further away from him. “I’m not a fan of brutality. Good luck, though.” With that, I turn and flee. I know that I look like a scared little girl, but I can’t be bothered to care. Becca might be cold and hard to get along with, but she was right about one thing: getting involved with Luke would be a huge mistake.
When I get back to the front desk, I take my seat without a word about Luke or anything else. My cheeks don’t stop flaming, and it’s a struggle to try to forget about the sight of Luke circling the punching bag, landing blow after blow on his makeshift opponent. The hard lines of his chest and abs. The way his muscles flex and stretch with his every movement, as if everything he does is a way to measure his strength.
“You’re finished for the day,” Becca says. I snap out of my train of thought, thoroughly startled.
“What?” I ask, fumbling with my watch to see if she’s right. I blink. My shift apparently ended twenty minutes ago. “Oh, you’re right. Sorry, I guess I zoned out.”
“Justin’s running late.” Becca frowns, and then lets out a sigh. “You go ahead. Do your walkthrough and then go home. I’ll hang out until the kid gets here.”
“Oh, um…” I’m thrown off. Maybe she’s actually a nice person. “That’s okay. I’m not really…” I trail off as Luke Stark walks out past the desk. He nods my way as he heads out and I can’t help it. “Wait!” I call after him. Turning back to Becca, I say, “Thanks. I’ll just be a second.” She gives me a withering stare, but sighs and nods, returning to her game of minesweeper.
I dart out from behind the desk and catch up to Luke. “Fine,” I say before I can change my mind. It’s probably the worst idea ever, but I can’t help myself. “I’m in. I’ll watch your fight.”
Luke’s grin washes away my doubts, if only momentarily. He reaches over and claps a hand on my shoulder. “Fantastic. It’ll be around seven. The address is…” He digs a pen out of his bag and pulls my hand into his. Before I can protest, he writes down the venue on my palm. “Meet me here around six, okay?”
With him this close to me, I can’t help it. I stare into his bright blue eyes and let myself get swept up in them. I know I’m already in trouble, but I can’t fight the magnetism. I’m a sucker for mysterious men. Maybe erasing some of the mystery will erase some of the hold that he has over me. His smile fades, and he just looks at me. Goosebumps start to crawl down my throat and chest, and I know that I should say something. Before I get the chance, he turns and walks out the door.
I’ve been this flustered before, but it usually doesn’t interfere with my basic functions to this degree. I make my towel-sweep completely on autopilot, and I don’t even register that I’m on my way home until I get there. I try to remember anything about what the traffic was like, but I draw a blank. I’m too fixated with the address on my hand and the phantom feeling of Luke’s fingers touching me.
Monica isn’t home when I get myself in, and I’m grateful. I love her, but I’m in no state to take her teasing or judgment at the moment. I have to get myself presentable. I wonder absently what a person is supposed to wear to watch two men beat the living hell out of each other. My work clothes hit my bedroom floor and I pull the ponytail out of my hair. The weird wave of wearing it up all day makes me frown, but I shake it off. I don’t need to worry about what I look like.
‘I don’t!’
I scold myself as I scrutinize my reflection. I’m too flushed; I look too eager. I don’t miss the dating game. I’m not convinced that I’m looking to score a date, but the red-cheeked blonde girl in the mirror looks like she’s just brimming with nervous energy.
‘It’s not a date,’
I tell myself as I pull out my best lace thong and matching bra, both bright red.
‘Nothing like a date.’
I tie my hair back up into a ponytail, fetching my straightener to get it to look more intentional than lazy. I grab a salmon coloured top from the middle of my closet, knowing that it hangs on my body in the perfect, devil-may-care, sexy way. A pair of skinny jeans and a pair of flats finishes the look, and I head to the bathroom to get my face in order.
‘I should have gotten his phone number,’
I think absently as I check the time. I still have a lot of time before I need to meet Luke, but I can’t think of anything else to do. I try distracting myself as best I can, but when six o’clock rolls around, though, I can’t take anymore. So what if I’m a bit early? I can’t make myself sit still another minute. I’m in the car and on the road before I can second guess myself any more.
‘Stop being so neurotic,’
I tell myself, punching the address into my GPS. I can’t trust my sense of direction when I’m this spun up.
It’s only 6:20 when I get to the place, and it looks pretty official. There’s obviously a fight going on inside from the crowd sounds echoing down the street. There’s an announcer, but his voice is muffled and distorted coming through the stadium’s thick walls. It has to be a stadium, I decide. I have no idea what I’ll find inside, but my breath catches in my chest as I spot Luke already standing outside the entrance, doing something on his phone. I wrench my attention back to the street. I have to park my car. Thinking about things in steps is the only way that I can maintain my sanity. I get myself into the parking deck and find a decent spot, almost skipping my way to the elevator. I can’t convince myself to calm down or get myself under control.
Luke isn’t there when I get back to the entrance. Disappointment fizzles beneath my skin, but I ignore it, pressing inside the little stadium. It’s larger on the inside then I expect, with a large square ring in the center surrounded by metal bleachers. It doesn’t look like the most professional kind of setup and the lighting is terrible, but it seems to suit the fighters’ purposes.
Inside the ring, there’s a blonde with a French braid reaching halfway down her back, and she’s showing off her flexibility by delivering a series of kicks to the upper body of a shorter woman with close-cropped black hair. They both seem to be faring rather well, but I’m no great judge of fighting. I scan the crowd instead, trying to find Luke. I nibble at my lower lip and wish the lights weren’t so focused on the ring. I finally spot him standing close to the ring, cheering one of the women. An odd kind of envy grips me. For a moment, my imagination fills in for me what it would look like if I was one of those women and he was cheering for me. I dismiss the thought immediately. I don’t much like the idea of getting beat up, especially if it’s just to look cool in front of some guy.
As I head over, Luke looks up and I catch his eye. His grin is infectious.
“You made it,” he says. “And you’re early.”
“I was hoping you could maybe explain some of this to me,” I reply, gesturing at the whole stadium. “This all looks fairly underground to me.” Luke laughs his easy laugh, and I feel myself relax. How can he make me feel so comfortable so effortlessly?
“Well, this is a pretty small little league. We’re pretty locally competitive, but that’s about it.” He puts a hand on my shoulder and starts walking me up the bleachers. He leans in so that I can hear him. “These ladies are facing off in their division to set ranks for the tournament next month.”
“So…this is like the preseason?” I ask.