After receiving more inane requests from Steve and yet another reminder that he needed to show up that weekend, Nolan had had enough. In a fit of pique, he used a whole ream of paper to make copies of his meal plans before he left early to go to DS Fight Club. Petty? Sure. But it made him feel better.
He sat in the parking lot for a while just looking at the people going in and out of the fight club. Many of the patrons were very fit, but a good amount looked a lot like Nolan, and he appreciated that. Having decided he’d procrastinated enough, Nolan gathered up the menus and hauled himself out of his truck.
Once inside the double doors of the gym, he suddenly became unsure about dropping off the meal prep menus. Maybe he should wait until Colin was there? What if he hated the plans?
“Nolan?” Nanda stopped pushing a towel-laden cart to approach him, peering at his face. “Your color isn’t great. I’m not sure if you need to be having a session today, guy.”
“Oh, no. I’m, I’m not having a session today,” Nolan stammered. “I promised C some meal prep menus last week and wanted to drop them off.” He waved the manila folder in the air and felt like an idiot. “He said you’d be at the front desk.”
“You did those meal prep plans? Everyone was going nuts over the samples he teased in the newsletter last week.” Nanda clucked her tongue. “Bridget’s been keeping you a secret.”
Nolan’s stomach clenched at the mention of Bridget. He still hadn’t heard from her, not even a “Fuck off.” He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he hoped to see her today and timed his visit for when she usually finished her afternoon workouts, but he didn’t see her messy topknot anywhere.
Nanda cocked her head to the side. “You sure you’re okay?”
Nolan pressed his lips together, fearful that if he answered Nanda’s question even a tiny bit, he would vomit his insecurities all over the woman standing in front of him. He sucked in some air through his nose and nodded. Nanda gave him a skeptical look and then grabbed the cart and motioned for him to follow her.
Nanda had pulled a copy of a meal plan from the envelope and was oohing and aahing over the plans when a burst of sunlight appeared, denoting that the front doors had been flung open. He heard the click-click-click of fast-approaching high heels on the resin floor.
Nanda’s face screwed up in concern. “Whoa—Bridget?”
Bridget burst past the two, holding up her hand, fingers splayed out as she booked it down the long hall toward the locker room.
Nanda whistled low. “Oh, shit. What the hell happened at that presser?” Nanda asked someone behind Nolan.
“It was good until it wasn’t. And when it wasn’t good, it was really, really bad.” Bruce shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know the details, but Birdie and Kowalczyk? They have history, and I think it’s well beyond the cage.”
“Ow!” A sharp blow on the arm redirected Nolan’s attention away from Bridget’s tense figure.
“Go get her, you goof! What are you waiting for?”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. We haven’t talked in a few days. Since . . .”
Nanda put her hand over her mouth. “Oh my God, did y’all . . . ?”
“No, no, no. She called me, and I might have called her desperate. I apologized, but . . .” He smiled weakly and gave a little shrug. “Yeah. So.”
“She has been nuts about this press conference—totally preoccupied. I’m sure it was just an oversight. Go. Go get her. She’s in the locker room.”
“The women’s locker room?”
Nanda rolled her eyes. “There aren’t any other women in the gym right now. Go, or I’m going to kick your ass.”
Fuck.
Nolan exhaled and set off across the gym. Yeah, his going into the women’s locker room to see the woman he had already pissed off was a great idea, right? He got to the door and paused, taking a deep breath before glancing back at Nanda, whose gesturing compelled him across the threshold.
He poked his head inside. “Bridget?” He took one step inside the door but didn’t proceed any farther. “Bridget?” he called again.
Okay, this is not the dumbest thing you’ve ever done, Nolan, but it’s probably up there.
He took a deep breath and rounded the corner . . . and the room was empty. Huh. He figured she’d slipped out the back door and crossed the street to her house. His next decision: to go to her house or not?
Fuck it. He was going over there.
He spun around, meaning to head to Bridget’s before he lost his nerve, and crashed into the woman as she came around the corner, sending her sprawling.