“Good job today, Erin. Debbie, I better see you back here on Wednesday.” I pat two of my hardest working clients on the shoulder before heading back to the front desk. I need to check messages before I start training my boys.
“Only if I can lift my arms,” Erin jokes.
“You will,” I tease back.
“Bye, Matt.” Erin waves, bag in hand.
Debbie pulls on her sweatshirt. “Thanks, Matt.”
These ladies are regulars in my afternoon kickboxing style cardio class and today is no exception. They’ve both been persistent with exercise and diet, making huge strides in their health goals over the past few months. Though I wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, they’re two of my favorite clients.
As my cardio class heads out, the next UFC hopefuls pack into South Side while I check emails and phone messages. My uncle comes through with the painting job and asks me to start next Monday. I go through the schedule and shoot a message to one of my most reliable trainers to help cover the time I can’t be here.
Before I know it, it’s already six o’clock and time to run these contenders through the usual warm ups. It’s all a regular Monday for me and I wouldn’t have it any other way. For these few hours I can push aside my looming financial worries. In here it’s all about strength, hard work, and the will to never stop fighting. Principles that were instilled in me as a teen and those I work hard to give back. This group is a mix of my advanced fighters with my up and comers. They train together an hour of conditioning before breaking up into two groups. Mentally, I go through attendance when it hits me that two of my best guys are missing. “Hey, Salvador, you know where Ricky and Xavier are tonight?”
“No, Coach, I don’t.”
It troubles me to have them both absent. Ricky usually rides up with Xavier. Both young men live in an area of town known for gangs, drug running, and violence. These two are straight edge though, and hustle harder than anyone else in this gym. They both train on scholarships, and have been since they wandered in on a class almost fifteen months ago. I hope they’re okay.
Pairing up the rest of my guys, we run sparring drills for a good thirty minutes and then the entrance bell chimes with a late arrival. I glance over to see Ricky tug his hoodie from his body and grab gloves from his bag. His ebony skin shines with perspiration.
“Ricky, you’re late.” Stepping closer, I notice his chest heaves with quick breaths as he races to prepare for training. I glance beyond his shoulder and search the lot for Xavier’s car.
“Sorry, Coach.” Ricky finishes wrapping his hands in record time and stands from the chair, shoving his equipment bag underneath it.
“Practice is a commitment. Thirty minutes late is unacceptable.”
“Won’t happen again.” He meets my stare with nothing but his usual respect.
“Where’s Xavier?”
He shrugs and only then does his gaze drop. “Don’t know, Coach.”
“Doesn’t he give you a ride?”
He chews at his bottom lip. “His ride got repo’ed yesterday. Least that’s what I heard. Haven’t seen him ’round, though.”
“You take the bus?”
“Yes, Coach. That’s why I’m late. Broke down ’bout halfway. Ran the rest.”
“Then you’re already warmed up. Grab your gloves and pair up with Mason.”
“Yes, Coach.”
A foreboding apprehension grips my gut as we work through practice. That Xavier isn’t here doesn’t sit well with me. I have a lot riding on his success. Hell, if he doesn’t perform the way I know he can at his next fight, I might as well kiss my gym good-bye. But it’s not only that. He’s the kind of person who does whatever it takes. He’s no stranger to challenges or setbacks, but he’s got so much damn drive. It’s what propels him further than most of these guys, some who’ve been training more than half their lives.
“Again!” I shout and run the boys through the same drill we’ve run for the last twenty minutes. They’ve got the mechanics down, but going repetition after repetition, they’re starting to lag and fall back, the weak separating themselves from the strong. Half of pulling out a win in a fight is endurance, so I’ll run them hard through the same damn exercises over and over again until they all drop out, their muscles and minds refusing to battle onward.
“Harder, Mase. Don’t you dare let Ricky beat you. Again!” These are my boys and I’ll ride them the way my coaches pushed me, because no matter where they come from, whether it’s up by Lake View or down near Fuller Park, they deserve the best from me. They need someone to believe in them enough to see their potential and bring it forth.
The bell chimes from behind and I swear if Xavier drags his ass in now after missing half of tonight’s practice, I’m going to lose my shit. My lips press together in a firm line and I look over my shoulder.
Only it’s not Xavier. Surprise, along with a good dose of lust, packs a punch straight to my gut as the woman from the bar—the beautiful, feisty, zombiefied vixen—scoots along the back wall, her eyes wide and taking everything in. She’s dressed in a black tee and jeans, hair pulled into a messy bun, and this time no fake flesh wounds paint her skin, but I’d recognize her anyway.
Her eyes catch mine and if I could stare all night, I would. Even though I knew she was beautiful before, nothing compares to her face when it’s not adorned with fake blood and guts. “Sorry,” she mouths and turns to leave, but before she gets far I shout out to my boys.
“That’s enough. One mile sprint. Go!”
They know better than to argue, and fly out the back door in a pack of muscle and sweat that dares to be messed with.
“Hey.” I step forward and she does the same until we meet halfway. I hold up my hands, and twist my features with mock worry. “I know better than to call you zombie girl.”
“You learn fast for a jock.” Her smile is weak and she shakes her head. “Sorry. I- I didn’t really think. You’re obviously busy and I can come back.”
“No. It’s fine. You’ve got seven, maybe nine minutes, but that’s only because they’ve been at this for a while.”
“I got the address from your card. I wanted to . . . I don’t really know what I wanted.” She shoves her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, and I try not to notice the way her breasts press against the cotton of her shirt. Her eyes dart around the gym and it’s strange because even though we don’t know each other well, she’s different than before. Her assertiveness over the weekend has been replaced with nerves. I wonder at the cause for that, or if it’s what happens when she’s without stage makeup.
“Okay, how about we start with the basics. I’m Matt.”
“I know that.” She almost laughs, her hands going to her hips as she meets my smile with a raised brow.
“This is the part where you tell me your name, I say nice to meet you, and then we get down to why exactly you’re in my gym tonight.”
“Never mind. I knew I shouldn’t have come.” She turns on one heel but I reach out and hold her arm to stop her. Her eyes widen as they follow to where I barely grazed the fabric of her sleeve and travel all the way up my arm, shoulder, and neck. But as our stares meet, her mouth falls open on an exhale and she takes one big step backward. “Mia.” She shoves her hand between us and I capture it inside mine for a handshake.
“Nice to see you again. I never thought I would, but I’m glad you’re here.”
“About that . . .”
“You’d like to go out sometime? Cool. Me, too. How’s Sunday afternoon?”
She laughs, a genuine burst of joy, and I like the way it sounds. “Um, no.”
“Burn.” I cringe and run my fingers through my wild hair. I like to leave it long, but usually pull it back after a few hours in the gym. “Be gentle with me, Mia.”
“I have a feeling you’re tough. Again, I’m sorry I interrupted your class. Very impressive, by the way.” She nods behind me.
“Thank you. Is that all you came here for? To turn me down and scope out the gym, because it seems there was more.”
“Oh, yeah, um.” She chews at the inside of her cheek. “After everything that went down at the bar, it got me thinking. Do you really offer self-defense classes here? Or maybe have some place you’d recommend? From your website it seemed you did, but this seems more like professional fighting.”
My mouth pulls wide with my grin and she places her hands back on her hips.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. I’m happy you stalked my website.”
“Yeah.” She rolls her eyes. “So glad I could add to your weekly page hits. Don’t flatter yourself, either. I design for a living and your website needs a serious tune-up. It’s not nearly as notable as this.” Delivering both an insult and a compliment doesn’t deter my smile. If anything, it grows wider because I can tell it pisses her off.
“These are my advanced fighters, but you’re right. I do more than that. Fitness classes, all kinds of martial arts for any age and level. Self-defense, too. When do you want to try it out?”
“When’s your next class?”
“Tomorrow at noon.”
“Oh, well, I work—”
“When are you free? I can train you one-on-one.” I get the words out and then fight the need to adjust myself. Yes, my dick tries to weigh in on the decision. The thought of pinning her down on one of the mats while she moves against me is completely unprofessional and yet extremely tantalizing.
She waves a hand, dismissing my offer. “Oh, I can’t ask you to do that. It’s not really in my budget either. I’ll just watch a YouTube video or something.”
“No. Let me teach you. We can work something out.”
“Really, it’s not your problem.”
“Mia.” God, I love how her name tastes on my lips. “I want to do this for you.”
“Why?” She cocks her head and narrows her stare.
“Because of our mutual love of cosplay and zombies, of course.”
“Wait. You’re into that?” She eyes me skeptically.
“No, not really.” I laugh and her lips form a thin line.
“I’m going now.”
“Mia. Wait. Teaching and training, that’s what I’m good at. I’ll teach you how to defend yourself faster and better than anyone else.”
“But I don’t have any money.”
“Good. Neither do I.” A chuckle escapes along with the honest truth.
“I’m being serious.” Her brow pinches and she places her hands on her hips. I almost respond back with the same words, but she’s too earnest to cut off with another retort.
She shakes her head. “I won’t take up your time for free.”
“We’ll barter then.”
“What could I possibly help you with?” she asks and my mind lights up with endless possibilities. Most of them are inappropriate, but the obvious hits me and I open my mouth. She cuts me off with a scowl and point of her finger. “And so help me God if you suggest sexual favors, I’ll call the cops.”
My lips pull up with my laughter. Her mind was in the gutter along with mine. I take delight in that, even though she’s fighting it. “My website.”
Her mouth snaps shut and she raises her brows, as if she’s actually considering my proposal.
My head bobs along with my idea. “Yes, that’s perfect, really. You can give my website a makeover and I’ll gladly work you in with private training sessions.” I wasn’t planning on an overhaul to my online presence, mostly because I don’t have the funds, but if she’s able then I’m most certainly willing to trade services. Doesn’t hurt that there’s an unexplainable need to spend time with this woman.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” I’m surprised she conceded and it throws me off guard.
“I said yes. Unless you’ve already changed your mind,” she snaps with irritation.
“No. I’m still game. When can you train?”
“Late. Or really early, but fair warning; I’m salty as hell in the mornings.
“Evenings, it is. Tomorrow at ten okay?”
“That’s not too late?”
“Last session with my boys ends just a few minutes before then. Is that okay with you?”
“Perfect. Thanks, Matt. I’ll see you then.”
“It’s a date, Mia.” I smile with the words even though it causes her smile to falter. She opens her mouth to respond but my boys race back into the gym, a chorus of smack talk and ragged breathing that cuts her off. She gives one curt nod and turns on her heel, out of my gym before I can say another word.
But that’s okay because she’s coming back tomorrow. Funny what can happen within the span of a few days. Last week bordered on hopeless, but today things are looking up.