“This is Antonio,” Tristan introduces, clapping the guy’s hand. “He works for me so you’ll see him around.”
Antonio looks vaguely familiar already. His sleeveless shirt shows off his muscles and his gym shorts are nothing like the suit he wore when acting as a doorman at Ren’s apartment.
“How many employees do you have?” I ask, pulling my gym bag along. The gym isn’t my favorite place, but I’m happy to be outside my apartment. It’s a cloudy morning, but the drive here helped me escape the misery swirling in my belly.
“Right now, just a handful.” Tristan closes the car door, ushering me inside.
Whirling box fans circulate the smell of body odor. The warehouse has been made into a typical gym, the ample space even allowing for a boxing ring.
“Oh.” Recognition hits me. “This is the place where people come for fights, isn’t it?”
Leon’s holds boxing matches. I’ve heard the stories. Glitz and glam and a shit ton of gambling. The gym must be set up differently for the matches unless people are working out on the treadmills while they watch.
“Rojas!” Tristan whistles, catching the attention of a willowy man in the boxing ring. He might be over eighteen, but he definitely still lookslike a teenager.
The guy ambles down, heading over. Antonio and Luis met him halfway, the guys appearing completely at home in the space.
“Locker rooms.” Tristan points down a hallway.
I felt his eyes on me most of the car ride, but he’s remained neutral since the Ren incident.
“You come here often?” I ask. Rojas glances over at me, and I get the feeling the huddle of guys is discussing me.
“No one’s gonna hire a bodyguard who can’t keep up,” Tristan says. “We meet up here as much as we can. It’s exercise and team bonding all in one.”
“And you’re the drill sergeant?”
He smirks. An overhead light shines down on him, his brown eyes warmer. “You’re welcome to join Matheson, if you think you can keep up.”
It’s a hard pass, and he knows it. I keep in shape in case shit goes down. Not because I enjoy it. I’ll be on the treadmill, fine with being a basic bitch.
The locker room is clean but sparse. My mood takes a hit again when I scramble through my gym bag.
I was so annoyed and off-balance that I forgot to put in an extra pair of workout pants.
“Fuck,” I mumble under my breath. “Fuck!”
The pangs I’d just tried so hard to get rid of vibrate in my chest.
A stall door opens.
“Damn, girl, are you all right?” Adeline Akatov stops short. “Isolde! What are you doing here?”
Long, dark hair with fresh highlights falls around Adeline’s shoulders. She’s taller than me, with a willowy figure. She did not forget her gym clothes because she’s wearing a matching set of black leggings and a sports bra. I’d think she’d be at a spin class or an equally expensive workout class.
“I’ve never seen you at Leon’s before. What’s up?” Her cheeks are rosy, but there’s not a bit of sweat on her, so I can’t tell if she’s magical or hasn’t worked out yet. “Are you okay?”
“Forgot my leggings.” I know I’m wearing sweatpants right now, but I don’t want to be a sweaty mess when I’m done. Not if I’m driving home with Luis and Tristan.
“I don’t have leggings but I have an extra pair of shorts.” Adeline rummages through her bag and pulls something out. “They’re biker shorts, but if you don’t mind, I promise it’s not that bad wearing them. Especially if you have a baggy shirt. Though, I can say for the most part there aren’t a lot of leers at Le?—”
Adeline’s red lips form a little ‘O ’, making me think of Ren again.
I realize her abrupt stop is specifically in response to the panic clearly written on my face. “I, I don’t really wear shorts.”
“Oh.” Adeline nods, polite enough not to pry but appearing slightly confused.
Maybe it’s this reaction and the fact that Adeline is being so damn nice that I explain further.
