Luca
I’m not good at much in this world, other than killing and getting myself neck-deep in trouble and even deeper in pussy. I do both with skill and panache, and make for an interesting life — even if it’s one that could end at any moment.
Even with the risks, with all the bullshit that comes with a Mafia life, I was good enough to claw my way to the top of my corner of the underworld. My Family made me rich, and I aerated their enemies skulls with lead.
And now?
I have a mop. And a bucket of dirty water. I’d have some janitors scrubs, too, except they’re too dirty to wear right now. The laundry service doesn’t come until Tuesday, so until them, I’m making do with my workout gear.
“What the hell are you doing here?” says a woman’s voice from one of the sets of lockers.
I’d paid a bit of attention to her when she came in — she’s hot, curves up and down her body that I could spend days exploring and still not be tired. I’d checked her out because I happen to have a set of working eyes, but I’ve since gotten back to work.
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m working,” I reply over my shoulder.
I shake my mop at her for emphasis. Droplets splash everywhere.
Even with the glare she’s shooting at me, she’s a knockout. But she is too hot and too innocent-looking to be in a place like this. People like her don’t come in here. The only people that come to Reyes Boxing are people that need to turn someone’s face concave with their fists. Whether that’s for personal or professional reasons, we don’t ask questions.
Besides, she is definitely not my type.
She looks like she belongs in front of some grade school class, with kids putting apples on her desk, or whatever the hell it is they do. I wouldn’t much know. School isn’t my thing.
I doubt she’s ever been in a fight. Or even set foot in a strip club.
But still, she’s got curves, dark brown hair, and these wide, hazel eyes that just seem to suck me in. Even if she’s not my type, she’d be good for a night or two, I’m sure.
I hold out the mop in my hand — which is still dripping — and use it to point towards the yellow “Caution: Wet Floor” folding sign I have set up not more than ten feet from where she’s at.
“Watch your step.”
“Can you leave, please? I need to change.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, which has the dual effect of making her look both more upset and making her tits stand out more from her chest.
Is that supposed to make me do something other than stare at her tits?
“Are you sure that’s what you want?”
Her body’s just begging for an audience, and I’m happy to fill that role.
The way she blushes — this gentle pink that lights her up from face to cleavage — is too fucking sexy. And she’s wavering.
“I’m sure. Can you give me a minute alone so I can change?”
There’s a small open duffel bag in her hands and she holds it up to emphasize her point. I see a pair of yoga pants and a “Clash” t-shirt poking out of it.
That’s it.
No boxing gloves, no wrist tape, no mouth guard.
She’s got to be in the wrong place.
“You know, we don’t really do the whole ‘boxercise’ thing here, sweetheart. There’s a place a few miles from here, near Sepulveda and Spring Street, that might be more your thing. I hear they even have a smoothie bar.”
Her brows come together and, even though she’s trying to look angry, she just comes across hotter. There’s more fire in her than I’d thought.
“Don’t call me ‘sweetheart’,” she says, with a sharp edge to her voice. “And I really don’t think it’s any of your business as a janitor to give me boxing advice. Get the hell out.”
She’s pissed.
I like it.
Nice tits? Nice ass? Pretty face? And an attitude?
Maybe I misjudged her.
I shrug in reply. “Fine, bella, but take a bit of advice and take it easy out there. A lot of people hurt themselves starting out. They can go from Joe Schmoe to Joe Frazier in just a couple sessions.”
She nods in the way that says I’m not listening to a damn thing you say. “Thanks for the tip. Now, can I change?”
You could change now, I wouldn’t mind, I think. But instead, I nod.
On the way past her out the door, I stop one last time. For a legitimate reason — but even so, I check out her ass out of the corner of my eye.
“Oh, and be careful with a couple of the faucets in the shower. Some of them leak and spray all over the place if you turn them on too high. We’re working on fixing it, but for now, just be aware.”
She’s silent a second, and I think she’s taking the time to come up with some other way to tell me to get the hell out.
I take that extra second to keep checking out her ass.
It’s fantastic.
“Did you try opening them up and checking the seal around the o-ring?”
She says it so matter-of-fact that it catches me off guard. This woman is just full of surprises.
“I will. Later. When the locker room’s not in use,” I say.
“If that doesn’t fix it, you’ve likely got mineral deposits in the shower head. Calcium or lime, probably. It’s pretty simple to clean out, you can buy stuff for that at most any hardware store.”
This woman has me all turned around. She doesn’t look at all like he belongs here in this gym, and, now, she’s suddenly an expert on plumbing?
“How the fuck do you know this shit? Are you a plumber?”
She shakes her head.
“No. I’m just someone who wants her privacy.”
Then, casually, she puts both hands on the door and shoves it closed right in my face.