It’s clear they have history.
But if they do, then why is he here with this chick? Shouldn’t he be, I don’t know, trying to win her the fuck back? I don’t know what their deal is, Violet didn’t share much when it came to him, but this isn’t cool.
Suddenly, the last place I want to be is here.
“We can go to my room,” he offers.
“No need. I was leaving.”
A blush covers the girl’s face when she lifts it, and something tells me she has no idea what she’s getting herself into.
I didn’t have a problem with Webber when I met him. I thought he was decent and down to earth. After seeing this? I’m wondering if maybe I was too quick to give him a pass.
Turning on my heel, I go to my room to grab the bookbag I take to Gulliver’s. Here’s to hoping the gym downstairs has a punching bag because I’m ready to get this energy out and don’t want to make the drive to Harrison Heights.
Between work, Mom, Finn, and walking in on Webber fooling around with someone when a girl like Violet is mere floors away…
Yeah, I need to get the hell out of here.
The gymon the second floor is as fancy as everything else in this building. There’s equipment out the ass, an entire wall of mirrors that gives your reflection right back. Lucky for me, I spot a punching bag in the back corner and make my way past the ellipticals to get to it. There are a couple of people around; a woman on a treadmill and two guys lifting weights. All of them wear headphones, and I take their lead, pulling my Bluetooth ones Sebastian got for me a few years ago from the small compartment on my bag. They’re older and have been heavily used, but they continue to pair with my phone without issue.
I open my music app and start my go-to playlist for an occasion such as this one—when I’m about to beat the living hell out of a leather bag.
Remember The Nameby Fort Minor blasts in my ears. The beat of the song amps me up, twining with all the emotion I’ve been feeling as I work through a set of warm-ups. I fall into a good rhythm of neck rotations, side bends, and arm circles. I’m ready to chase the release that comes afterward.
A minute later, I’m tugging on my new-to-me gloves. They’ve seen better days and aren’t anywhere near the best out there, but they’re better than my old pair and were a lot cheaper than anything Llewellyn could offer at Gulliver’s. Getting into my stance, I blow out a breath and take my wrath out on the bag.
Eye of the Tigercomes on at the perfect time, my jabs following the thuds in the beginning of the song. I keep going, my glove connecting with the bag in a jab, cross, hook pattern. My feet twist with the movement, and it never felt so fucking exhilarating to hit something.
It’s easy to fall into the repetition I’ve done so many times in the past, and for the first time all day, that sensation of being able to breathe comes. It clears my lungs, allowing me to pull in a breath that goes as deep as my belly.
Jab, cross, hook.
Jab, cross, hook.
Moving, work, and Finn have taken priority. No fucking wonder seeing Webber with someone other than Violet got to me.
I welcome the sweat that wets the back of my neck and forehead. My shirt, a gray polo that Llewellyn gave me, sticks to my back. It’s one of two that he’s told me to wear to the gym, and I know when I leave here that I’ll have to wash the stink out of it.
He’s got me doing anything and everything at the gym. Attendant is what’s stitched onto my shirt, but my duties have gone above overseeing the equipment and aiding members. Since it puts money in my pocket, I’m okay with it. I’d still show up without complaint even if I wasn’t.
For the next twenty minutes I go hard, working on my stance and form and going back to the pointers I’ve learned from guys at Gulliver’s over the years. I work on rolls before I plant my gloved fist into the bag repeatedly, stepping side to side and crouching down low.
I finish with doubling my punches. A jab to start, then work into a three-punch combo that eventually leads to a K.O.
My heart beats as rapidly as the song playing from my headphones. My muscles, tight and brimming with the exertion of going hard, will definitely be sore tomorrow but I don’t mind.
Those day-after pains of not being in a gym for far too long will hopefully provide enough of a distraction that I won’t be overthinking things I can’t change.
I walk over to my bag, sweat dripping down my face, and search for a water bottle but come up short. I usually carry an extra one in case I need it but must’ve never replaced it when I drank the last one. I need hydration pronto, and the more I think about the fact that I have none only intensifies my thirst.
I look around the room, noting how the three people that were in here when I arrived have left. But then I spot a water dispenser at one end of the room next to a door and a wall with windows. As I approach, I mindlessly glance through. They’re double-paned, and it sort of reminds me of a recording studio, how it’s easy to look through to the other side as the musician does their thing.
Except there’s no artist in the room beyond. Well, not of the musical kind, anyhow. I notice Violet’s workout clothes first, and the way they fit her body like perfection. High waisted with the thick band covered in daisies, her leggings hijack my imagination as she moves, her body bending into a V formation, her ass in the air.
The energy in my body shifts from exhaustion to excitement. Liquid heat swoops through me, reminding me of why I came over—water, but who needs it? My mouth salivates from thinking about running my tongue over the strip of bare skin on her stomach between her leggings and sports bra. Has anyone ever fucking told her how good she looks? Hell, I bet her body could bend all sorts of ways, and for a minute, I imagine it.
Her, bent over the kitchen table I’ve eaten breakfast at every morning, her ass in the palms of my hands.
