Wendy pushed past her, lifting the desk flap and leaving the reception—on a beeline toward the back of the gym. “Well, this hero is going to watch the first few minutes of their training. The best part is when they work up a good sweat and the shirts have to come off. Who’s with me?”
Christine and Erica followed with no hesitation, while the world as Ivy knew it came crashing down around her. She followed out of sheer bewilderment and utter desolation.
Their foursome headed past the punching bags and training mats toward a large training ring that dominated the back of the gym.
Walking through the sleek multi-purpose fitness center, a surge of pride swelled in her heart. Thompson Kickboxing had everything needed to compete with any elite martial arts and combat training gym in the country. Considering it had started as an old, run down warehouse, Sean had done an amazing job building the gym to be one of the most modern, quality facilities in the city.
She knew Sean had a rough childhood growing up in one of Chicago’s decaying suburbs. One night during a typical Pacific Northwest rainstorm, they’d been sitting on his couch sharing a Hawaiian pizza, and he’d told her about when his father had died in a workplace accident when he was ten, followed by his mother getting sick with cancer when he was sixteen and dying a couple of years later. She’d struggled to swallow the pizza around the lump in her throat, but it had been a precious moment of trust between them.
He had a brother, but he rarely spoke of him. And, as far as Ivy knew, he had been alone when he came to Portland over a decade ago.
Knowing this made his current accomplishments all the more impressive. He’d broken free of a difficult past and rebuilt.
Last night, she’d hoped he might help her do the same. But that wasn’t going to happen the way she planned. And now she had to live in the awkward world she’d built.
As they approached the ring, the three women beside her inhaled a collective sigh of appreciation as the firemen stripped down to their fight shorts and climbed between the ropes into the ring. But Ivy barely registered their glistening pecs and bunching muscles. No, she was too busy fixating on their giant, perfectly built, deeply focused instructor. A wave of awareness moved through her from fingers to toes as she took him in.
Since she had this harebrained idea of overcoming her sexual inhibitions with Sean riding shotgun, she had a permanent image of him looking exactly like this in the back of her mind. Ripped, focused, intense.
He said no. He turned you down.He doesn’t want you. Not like that.Her heart squeezed painfully at the memory. Despite everything, she’d thought he might say yes. Watching him now, his hard abs flexing as he led the trainees through their warmup exercises, his broad shoulders bunching, the muscles in his biceps contracting with every movement, was like torture. Self-inflicted torture.
Walk away,her brain told her body. Her body didn’t move a single inch. Besides, he hadn’t noticed her, so her humiliation wasn’t complete. She could risk another minute of ogling. As long as no one drew attention to her, she was safe.
“Hey Ivy.” The loud, familiar voice came the same second a solid arm looped around her shoulders.
When Ivy glanced up at the gym regular, Greg Lewis, she relaxed the tension that had instinctively knotted in her shoulders.
Greg’s Ken doll face had somehow managed to escape any permanent damage from his time spent fighting in the ring. He was climbing quickly up the amateur fighter ranks and was feared by most of his competitors, but here at Thompson Kickboxing, he was best known for his chronic flirting.
When she’d first met him she’d immediately disliked him. The smooth, confident, boyishly good-looking types tended to rub her the wrong way. And maybe it was unfair to lump everyone who looked, walked and talked a similar way into the same category, but sue her, she’d done it. On day one, she’d decided she wasn’t going to like Greg Lewis.
Time passed though, and Greg had grown on her. She’d seen him be helpful and respectful to his fellow peers at the gym. Gabe didn’t hate him, which she counted as a big plus. Then she’d spent some time with him over the summer when they’d taken the same weeklong intensive training camp, where she’d seen his more serious side. They’d shared good conversations over lunch with some of the other participants, and it had been refreshing to see him through another lens. They’d become…friendly acquaintances.
“They’re getting there aren’t they,” he rumbled in his typically confident, sex on a stick voice, referring to the firefighters who, over the months, had gotten significantly faster, stronger, and more agile.
The Fighting Five, as the firefighters had been dubbed, had been coming to the gym regularly for months, though obviously she hadn’t paid them the same attention as others had, she mused glancing over at the doe-eyed gym sharks beside her.
While Ivy didn’t go gaga over their looks, she did admire their determination. They were pouring every spare minute they had between shifts at the firehall into training for the annual “Fight for the Cure” fundraising gala. No one could say they weren’t dedicated to their cause.
“Fight for the Cure” was the annual, high-profile, red-carpet, black-tie charity event held at one of downtown Portland’s most elegant hotels. First responders from around the county signed up to train for this amateur boxing event to raise money for local cancer treatment and support initiatives. Most took it very seriously, training for months so they were fight ready on the big day, which was coming up in early November.
Each registered fighter had to work with a sanctioned certified trainer. This year Sean had agreed to take on the Fighting Five, and by the looks of it, he’d done a good job. All five of them appeared ready to kick some serious ass in the ring in one month’s time.
“Yeah,” Ivy agreed. “Sean will have them ready for the gala.”
Greg snorted. “They better win a few rounds, can’t have anything tarnish Thompson’s spotless reputation.”
Ivy frowned at the sarcasm. “Of course they’ll win. Sean’s one of the best trainers in the city, if not the best.”
Another snort. “We’ll see,” Greg said, but left it at that.
No one could seriously question Sean Thompson’s abilities as a trainer, a fighter, or a mentor. Hewasthe best. Period.
Still, nobody could say there was any love lost between Greg and Sean. They were two titans in the kickboxing scene. They had egos to protect and reputations to uphold. Ivy had come to realize that razzing each other was part of the deal. A stupid, ridiculous male part of the deal if anyone asked her.
Nevertheless, they were standing in Sean’s gym, and ultimately Greg bowed to his master. He never veered beyond razzing into the realm of disrespectful, so they maintained a distant but amicable rivalry.
The arm around her shoulders tightened affably. “So, when are you gonna let me take you out for a drink and a night on the town?” he asked, changing the topic.
