Chapter Nine

Joslyn

“Come on, ladies! You can do it!” I leap from side to side, swinging my fists through the air, and hopping on the balls of my feet. All around me, strong women do their best to attack the punching bags hanging from the ceiling. As the loud sound of “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking” blares through Tribe of Amazons, I realize I’ve never felt prouder.

I’m doing it. I’m helping other women.

“Joslyn, this is hard,” Haylee whines. Her normally pale face puffs up into a ruddy, tomato-red and her forehead glistens under a layer of sweat.

“I know, but you can do it,” I call loudly over the music. “Keep going, ladies! We’re almost at the finish line! Dig deep!”

Haylee groans but she obeys, kicking and punching with more force than ever before. As the song winds down to a close, I wipe my brow with my forearm and stand with my shoulders squared and my feet planted firmly on the ground.

“That was great.” Taryn grabs her designer water bottle and walks over to the water cooler in the corner, filling it up and pouring most of the cool liquid over her soaked hair. “I haven’t felt this good in like, a really long time. Like I’ve really accomplished something by pushing my body to its limits.”

I grin, because I really like her. She’s the type of dedicated, cool chick that makes for an excellent friend. “That’s the point. And you can keep with it too. I’m proud of you.”

Taryn nods. “I’m wiped, but I feel great.”

Haylee and Marcella join us at the water cooler, chattering excitedly about the next class.

“So, Joslyn, when is Troy coming back? I want a chance to kick the shit out of him.” Taryn chuckles as she punches her closed fists into the air above my head. “Or did you scare him off? He’s so imposing on the casino floor, intimidating tourists right and left. I loved seeing the shoe on the other foot.”

I roll my eyes, thinking of the big man. “I don’t know. But Nixon’s not going to assign another guinea pig to this class, so I guess he’ll be back sometime.”

Taryn nods. “Good. I’m looking forward to it. Can I be the first student to have a crack at him?”

I’m not glad he’s coming back, but I force a smile as I remember him bellyflopping into the water hazard of my ninja course like a giant carp. “Don’t worry.” I pat her sweaty shoulder. “We’re going to whip you ladies into shape – man or no man. You’ll get a crack at him, no doubt.”

Haylee tosses her sweaty hair through the air and nods. She looks beat, but happy and pleased with herself. “Joslyn, I’ve been meaning to ask you – have you ever thought of teaching a children’s class?”

“Not really. I’m not sure if I’m trained for that,” I reply, reaching for my own water bottle and taking a long drink. “Why?”

Haylee clears her throat. “My daughter, Atlee, is only eight, but I don’t think that’s too young for her to start learning the basics.” She bites her lip, lost in thought. “She told me that she was being teased at school, and I wondered if maybe taking a self-defense class would help her. Not that I ever think violence is the answer, but it’s more about the self-confidence. I can’t deny I’m feeling safer since this class started.”

A shiver runs down my spine, and I press my lips together as my mind drifts back to that horrific day so long ago. What might have been different had I been able to defend myself against my kidnappers?

“Right. Well, it’s definitely not outside the range of possibility – and you’re right, I don’t think it’s ever too early for girls to learn how to defend themselves. I’ll look into it. It’s possible that someone I know could start a class, or maybe I could learn myself.”

Haylee looks relieved. “Thanks. I’ll tell Ford.”

“If I ever have kids, I’d sure want them to learn self-defense,” Taryn says. “This world is a dangerous place, especially for women.”

“It is,” I agree.

Unpleasant memories crawl into my brain, and I shake my head, hoping to toss them off with the beads of sweat flying from my curls. But no matter how tightly I ball my hands into fists, the uneasy feeling remains.

“So, see you next week,” Taryn says with a flirty wave, unaware that she and Haylee have brought me back to my darkest mental place. “Have a good one, Joslyn.”

“You too.” I wave as I watch Haylee, Taryn, and Marcella walk out of my studio. They’ve already moved on to a new topic – dresses for some kind of benefit – and I wish that I could move on too.

But the memories haunt me, and somehow, I have a feeling they’re not going to release their grip on my psyche. It’s crazy. I feel exhausted and worn from teaching my class, but my mind races, leaving melancholy in its wake. Normally, when I feel like this, I go for a run. But the Vegas heat is oppressive in the late afternoon, and I know I won’t last long laboring underneath the bright sun.

Still, I know I have to do something if I want to shake off this funk before dinner. I’m supposed to meet my dad at our favorite diner. Gritting my teeth, I walk over to my bag and dig around for my cell phone. Rolling my eyes, I dial Troy’s number and hold the phone up to my ear.

“Hello?” It’s more of a grunt than a greeting. Just hearing this meathead’s voice sets my teeth on edge, but it also makes my nipples tingle. For a moment I think about hanging up.

No. If we have to work together, we’re going to have to learn to get along. Right fucking now.

“Hello? Who is this?” Troy grunts. “Jack, is that you?”

“No, it’s your worst nightmare.”

“Joslyn?”

“Ding ding ding,” I say in a dry tone. “Winner, winner, chicken dinner. I had an idea.”

“What?” Now Troy sounds wary. “Lemme guess – you want me to come back to your gym and be a human punching bag?”

“Hey,” I snap. “Don’t talk about my girls like that. They’re all trying really hard. Harder than you,” I add. “And no – at least, not yet. I think we should go running together.”

“Joslyn, it’s over one hundred degrees outside,” Troy says as if I’ve lost my mind. “Are you kidding me?”

I slap my hand to my forehead and groan. “No. Jesus Christ, Troy. Not now! You really are thick, aren’t you?”

Troy doesn’t reply, but I think I heard the squeak of his molars grinding together.

“I mean in the mornings. You know – before it gets too hot outside.”

“Uh, okay.” Troy clears his throat. “I have to be at the Armónico by ten.”

“We’ll start at four-thirty.” My pulse quickens at his answering groan. Good. He should get his ass out of bed at a reasonable hour. How can a person get anything important accomplished if they won’t greet the day? “And run five miles. That shouldn’t take long.” I wonder whether or not Troy will be able to keep pace with me. Probably not. Either way, it will be fun to leave him coughing in a cloud of my dust. “It might help.”

“Help what?”

I can feel hot irritation swelling in my chest, but I resist the urge to go off on Troy and call him every insult in the book.

“Help our relationship.” I keep it diplomatic in spite of itching to go ballistic on him. “Because we have to work together. So, we may as well try to get a sense of each other. I find shared physical activity to be the best way to do that.”

“Right,” Troy says. “Fine.”

“So, come over tomorrow morning. You think you can remember how to get to my house?”

Troy sighs. “Yes. I think I can remember.”

I hang up the phone and slide it back into my bag, wondering how the fuck I’m supposed to go on working with this lunkhead of a human being. What was Nixon thinking? I shake my head as I turn out the lights and lock up Tribe of Amazons. Troy is the last man on earth I would have handpicked for my class.

But he’s the first man I’d handpick to fuck me silly.

***

The next morning, I get up at three-thirty. I wish that I could sleep longer, but the prospect of running with Troy has me feeling almost…nervous. I wonder just how awkward it’s going to be. I’m torn in how I feel about him, and even though he’s Nixon’s right-hand man, I have a feeling he knows exactly how I feel. Usually, when I lack respect for a person, I just avoid them. Nixon Caldwell’s made that impossible. Even more irritating, I’m not positive that he’s got any incentive to change, aside from showing Nixon that we can work successfully together. If you’re not growing, you’re stagnating.

With a sigh, I pull on my favorite pair of Lululemon leggings and a bright pink sports bra that shows off my tan…and my abs. After twisting my hair into a high bun and pinning down the curly tendrils, I spray on a light coat of sunscreen and rub some lip balm over my chapped lips. I strap my iPhone to my arm just as there’s a knock on the door.

I glance down at my watch – it’s four-thirty on the dot. Well, at least he’s punctual. I roll my eyes as I stomp over to the door and pull it open.

Troy stands there, the last of the moonlight gleaming off his ball cap. For a moment, I forget everything I’ve ever thought about him. Darkening my doorway, he certainly doesn’t look like a stupid pussy. He looks like a gorgeous, well-sculpted man. Fuckable. A shiver runs down my spine.

“Ready to go?” Troy’s dull, slow voice breaks me out of my moment of weakness, and I shake my head.

“I just have to get my shoes.” I sit down at the kitchen table and reach for my Asics running shoes. Like most athletes, I own a plethora of footwear, each pair used for something special.

“You’re late.” Troy’s voice contains a hint of smug satisfaction that chases away the lust lingering in my mind and body.

“This is my house,” I snap. “I can’t be late.”

Troy doesn’t reply, but I have a feeling he relishes this moment. As soon as my shoes are tightly laced, I leap up and bounce lightly from side to side on the balls of my feet.

“Come on.”

“What?” Troy glances around. “No water?”

I pause. Part of me wants to head back inside and grab my Camelbak, but I don’t want to look inept in front of Troy. I pull my willfulness around me like a badge of honor and soldier on.

“No,” I say definitively. “We’ll just get coffee afterwards.”

Troy rolls his eyes. “That’s a recipe for dehydration.”

“Hey. This was my idea, remember? No improvising.”

Troy salutes me, and I feel another wave of irritation pumping through my veins. Good, I think as I tuck my house key into my sports bra and pull the door closed behind me. I need some motivation this morning.

Troy and I break into a run. I set the pace – deliberately fast – and soon, my lungs burn with a fire I can’t tamp down, and snot drips down my face. We don’t talk as we run side by side through the desert hills behind my house. After just a few minutes, I’m covered in so much sweat that my Fitbit slides around on my wrist, and my iPhone armband expands to a grossly tight pressure.

Glancing over at Troy, I realize that he’s barely broken a sweat, even at the impossible pace. He wears a muscle tank and a pair of Spandex shorts that hug the muscular globes of his ass. To be honest, I have to admit that he looks delicious.

What the fuck, Joslyn? I force myself to stare straight ahead. What’s wrong with you? My stubborn annoyance pushes me ahead even faster, and I practically sprint through the sand and rock. The desert dust clings to the sweat on my body, and soon, I drop straight into my body and out of my head. I remember everything I love about running: the pain, the hard work, the feeling that almost mimics a marijuana high. This is perfect. I close my eyes as I leap over a large stretch of rock and land triumphantly on the other side.

Moments like this make me believe in a higher power.

“Joslyn,” Troy calls. “Hey, wait a minute.”

I huff out a breath, irritated that he just interrupted my perfect runner’s high, but I gradually slow down. My calves burn as I turn around, and I stretch, leaning over and placing my palms on the desert sand until my thighs ache.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” Troy frowns and takes his phone from his own armband. “I think it’s dead.” He shakes it a couple of times.

“So?”

“I can’t run without music. Besides, I need to take a piss.” Somewhere along the line, he lost his ball cap. He shoves his phone back in his pocket before sauntering over to a cactus.

Men are so gross. I roll my eyes. Like animals.

Troy’s sudden yell makes me whirl around and jump. Thankfully, he already pulled his shorts up, but he darts backwards from the cactus. “No, no, no!” he murmurs under his breath. “No fucking way!”

“Troy.” I approach with caution, wondering if he’s having some kind of mental breakdown. “What is going on? Is it a rattler? Don’t you know you should never corner a poisonous snake?”

Troy shakes, his entire hulking body trembling with something akin to fear. “Fucking spider,” he finally spits out, shaking his head. “There’s a big-ass spider over there! Hairy with fangs! Tarantula!”

I put my hands on my hips and narrow my eyes. “Seriously? A fucking spider made you scream like a girl?”

Troy glares at me. “Hey. One time when I was a kid, my father…” He breaks, his eyes growing glassy as the memory takes over.

Compassion hits me. “Your father what?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. I just hate those damn things with a passion. The only good spider is a dead spider.”

I sigh, but can’t help the smirk that tugs up the corners of my lips. “Want me to kill it for you?”

“No.” Troy’s nostrils flare. “Let’s just go.”

I groan to myself as Troy breaks into a fast run. The only thing left to do is trot after him.

Once a pussy, always a pussy. I shake my head. And I guess that’s just how he rolls.