by Shey Stahl
“Yeah, I could ask him. Food is always a big motivator for people who live out of shopping carts.” I held my arm up, well, as best as I could. “And before we go, I need you to carry me to the bathroom and help me to pee.”
Catie had no idea what she was in for this morning.
I was able to get out of bed, but it wasn’t easy. Catie thought it was hilarious. Asshole.
“So, who’s responsible for this?” she asked when I sat down on the toilet. I didn’t care one bit that she was watching me pee.
“Destry Stone,” I growled when I stood, hunched over and walking like I was, well, sore. We walked into the living room where I contemplated changing out of my sweatpants but then decided that was too much work.
“Oh….” Catie raised her eyebrows as she reached for her bag on the kitchen counter. “Tell me more.”
“Later. Let’s eat first. I don’t want to think about him right now.”
Truthfully, I didn’t. I didn’t, not at all, want to think about that asshole.
CATIE HAD A car, but it was easier to take the bus around Seattle. On the way there, she asked about Silas. Everyone knew who Silas Cade was. But she didn’t know I used to date him. Most people you told never believed you anyway. I mean, why would they believe you dated a rock star?
That was like saying you once fucked Brad Pitt. Never happened once they’re famous unless you had a video to prove it.
If I knew Jared, and I did, he hadn’t told Catie because for one, Jared believed me, and two, I had pictures of us in high school.
When Catie asked about Silas, I went all giddy on her. “He’s coming to town in six weeks and called the other night to have me meet up with him.”
“Do you think he wants to get back together?”
I sighed, and it hurt to do so. “No, probably not, but whatever happens, I’m going to make it a night he’s never going to forget. That much I can do.”
Catie smiled. “Good for you, girl. Rock that boy’s night!”
“At least someone’s happy for me. Jared’s being all weird about it.”
“He’s just worried about you. It’s in his nature. He’s always been protective.”
She got me thinking about Silas again, and a little nervous about the meeting. I did wonder what he wanted, how he’d react. Would I be nervous? How much had he changed? From pictures and articles—and the life he was leading—he had changed.
When we made it to the restaurant—and seated at the bar with its white walls and clean glass surface—she asked about Destry again. “So, what’s he like?”
I drooled over her potatoes and bacon. “He’s a fucking asshole.”
“Tell me how you really feel.” Catie laughed, barely keeping her food in her mouth.
“Can’t sugarcoat it. The guy is a tool. I don’t know what his deal is but he’s mean. Just plain mean.”
“Hmmm.” She paused. “That sucks. Too bad he’s not nice. I mean, from what I’ve seen he’s a total hottie.”
“He’s hot. It’s the personality that sucks.”
“Maybe he’s been fucked over too many times. I mean, he can’t be that bad. He had a steady girlfriend for years,” she noted, as if she knew everything about him already. “You know how he lost the title, right?”
“Years? That’s surprising.” I wasn’t even sure I cared, but I asked anyway. “Why’d he lose the title?”
I’d been so busy googling Silas these days I failed to do the proper research on the man I was paying $100 dollars an hour, yes, by the hour, to get me in shape. Not researching someone, or something, was rare for me. I did research on everything. Even bottled water.
“Well, some say he lost it because he wasn’t trained enough and got into the ring unprepared. But then it’s rumored he lost the fight on purpose.”
I stared at her. “You mean like it was fixed?”
“Yeah.”
“Who said that?”
Catie shrugged. “Reporters, I guess.”
“Fixing a fight is illegal. He would have been suspended, wouldn’t he?”
“Probably. But no one could prove he lost on purpose, from what I’ve heard. And Destry denied it.”
Hmmm. Maybe he had been fucked over too many times.
WHEN CATIE AND I returned from breakfast, she left and I took a nap. I had to. Going to breakfast had exhausted me. This getting in shape was no bullshit.
When I got up, I went through my emails and saw a few that needed attention.
One was from Lauren, but the last thing I wanted to think about was that article and her editing notes. So, I closed that one and clicked on the one from Marcus Hadley.
Marcus was a sports editor who I worked with in college when I covered a story on college football. We also went to high school together but didn’t know each other that well. More like passing acquaintances. He was also friends with Silas back then. Not great, because believe me when I say I begged him for information back then and he had none as to why Silas left.
Marcus basically asked how I was doing and if I had any leads on sports articles I could write for his blog. I told him I would keep an eye out for potential leads. This wasn’t unusual for him. I usually heard from him every few months looking for stories he could feature.
Something about his email struck me as odd. Like he was searching for information he thought I had on someone.
Like a famous boxer I might know.
When your coach tells you to “be first” he or she is wanting you to throw your punches before your opponent. In other terms, he/she wants you to be the aggressor.
It was nearing evening and I could already feel the anxiety of working out. It shouldn’t be dreaded, should it? I bet no one liked working out. Only crazy people. It was like they were brainwashed by endorphins.
Around five, Destry called and said he was running late and wouldn’t be able to meet me at the bar until seven thirty. Believe me when I say I was okay with that. In fact, I tried to get out of it even. “I’m really sore,” I said. “Maybe I should take a day’s break.”
Destry was quiet for a moment. My heart thudded waiting for his response. And then it came, and I wasn’t pleased. “Yeah, I figured you would quit.”
The nerve of this asshole. That pissed me off.
Who is he to fucking judge me on being sore?
“See you at seven thirty.” I hung up and didn’t wait for a reply. Screw him.
When I arrived at the bar, Destry was in the basement sitting on the floor against the wall staring at his phone. I was ten minutes late and he wasn’t impressed. I tried to be enthusiastic when I walked in and not act like I was dying from muscle fatigue, but I wasn’t convincing.
Destry saw right through my fake enthusiasm. “I hope you’re here to work out. Don’t be wasting my fucking time.”
I was done with his shit. I wasn’t paying him to be treated like this. “Jesus, what’s your deal, man? Why are you so mean?”
“You called me for help.” He gave a huff and started slamming weights around. “This isn’t something where you get to know me. So don’t bother.”
“Okay.” I nodded, smiling. “So you’re always a dick?”
“Pretty much. Get used to it.” He motioned toward the weights. “Grab a weight that feels comfortable and follow what I do.”
We started out with some stretches, where I stared at the wall and refused to look at him.
He stood beside me. “Follow what I do.”
It was as if asking nicely was against his religion. I bet he’d never said please in his life. I did as he said and stood next to him. There was about a foot of space between us, but I could feel his body heat that close, and smell him. So good. Like sweat and some kind of cologne. It made me want to dig through that gym bag and find it so I could buy some to inhale it.
Unconsciously, I sniffed him. I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to know what he smelled like and judging by the looks of him, I wasn’t going to be disappointed.
I wa
sn’t.
Of course, Destry noticed, gave me a look—something between a glare and confusion—then rolled his eyes.
He rolled his fucking eyes at me.
Humiliation worked through me, as if he insulted me—which he more than likely did—but I ignored him anyway.
“You know what a lunge is, right?”
If I dropped this weight on his foot, I bet it could break his toe. I wouldn’t even feel bad.
Go ahead, Tallan. Drop the weight.
Instead, I crossed my arms over my chest, glowering at him. “Yes.” I tried to sound annoyed. I didn’t exactly have to try too hard either. Fuck enthusiasm. “Of course I know that.”
But... I didn’t. Clearly.
“All right, follow my lead then.” Destry made one step with his right leg, and squatted down until he was at a ninety-degree angle. Then he rose, and did the same thing with his left leg, all the while walking toward the brick wall.
He had good posture and his legs looked like solid muscles. I couldn’t help but stare. If he wasn’t such a dick, I’d be attracted to him. I’d probably ask if I could sit on his lap too.
And then he turned to look back at me. “What the fuck are you waiting for?”
That’s why I wouldn’t sit on his lap.
I also didn’t answer. Instead, I put my head down and started walking toward the wall like he’d done. We continued like that, alternating lunges and squats, and then he dug out the jump rope. Even when I was a kid, I hated jumping rope. Pretty sure my feelings hadn’t changed.
“Just start out basic here. But jumping rope is great for cardio,” he noted, beginning a pace that seemed slow for him but would have me panting in ten seconds.
I looked up at him and watched the effortless way he moved the rope with a simple twist of his wrists.
Look at those arm muscles and veins! Gah. I wanted to bite them and glide my tongue over the pulse beneath them.
Sick. Stop it.
And stop staring at him.
I did as he said but the problem was everything jiggled so much I couldn’t focus on anything but my boobs bouncing around and the way I must have looked. It wasn’t like Destry was even paying any attention to me though. He stared at the wall. In reality, a girl like me would never be on his radar.
While I was visibly panting, he stopped and motioned for me to continue. “Do that for five minutes. Then do the lunges, squats, and jump rope again. Keep that up for thirty minutes.”
And then he disappeared again.
I could have stopped. He wouldn’t have known, but I would.
To motivate myself, I put on some music. All Silas Cade songs, of course. I didn’t care for his last album, but the one he released two years ago, the one that got him that number one spot on the Billboard 100, was my favorite. It kept me moving for sure. Imagining him singing it to me, I kinda got in the groove and before I knew it the next thirty minutes had passed me by.
That was when Destry appeared again. Without much grace, he ripped out my headphones. “Let’s go for a run.”
“It’s like nine at night.” I grabbed my ear and glared. That hurt. “No one runs in Seattle at night.”
He stopped and walked backward scrunching his eyebrows at me. “Says who?” He didn’t wait for my answer before he was walking toward the door.
Rubbing my ear where he’d ripped out the headphones, I gathered my phone up and set it by my bag. I touched my ear once more when I approached him. “Do you have to be so damn rough? That pulled my hair.”
He turned, never making eye contact with me and rolled his eyes. He didn’t give a shit. He had no fucking manners at all.
Like Catie said, how he actually kept a girlfriend was beyond me.
Not wanting to be left alone in that basement, I followed him up the stairs. “Leave the music,” he ordered when I reached for my phone again.
So, no manners and demanding. That was what I was working with.
I followed, not sure what this would be like. I wasn’t a runner. Unless you counted running from the bus to my apartment because I was afraid of the dark. That was how I ran. A full-on life or death sprint.
Surely we’d need to pace ourselves.
When we made our way outside, there was a mist enveloping the city. Everything was coated in a haze, blurring my vision immediately. Though this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, the rain helped calm me down. Wrapping my arms around my waist, I pulled at my shirt that clung to my already sweaty body.
Destry noticed immediately and gave me another look and watched me fidget with my clothing. Like it or not, the dude made me so nervous I couldn’t act myself around him. “Have you ever run before?” He glanced over his shoulder up the street when someone honked and called his name out their window, and then back at me.
“Well, yeah.” I gave him a stupid look.
“I mean like five miles.”
“Oh yeah.” I waved my arms around. “Sure I did. When I was training for a marathon last month.”
Not even a smile. He never found my jokes funny. Not that I was trying to be funny, but Jesus, crack a smile every once in a while. And then he said, “Yeah, sure you have,” followed immediately by him rolling his eyes yet again.
Stupid fucking jerk. I would have loved to throw a few punches at this guy. Maybe I could pound some laughs back into him.
Destry didn’t wait for me before he started walking up Alaskan Way and then began a slow jog. I watched his ass. I wasn’t sure why, but I did, and it was nice. He was sexy. And he knew it.
Between watching his ass and the muscles in his back, I wasn’t exactly jogging. When he was out of sight, I had no choice but to go after him. It wasn’t bad at first. I did wonder if my own ass had bruises from all the shaking. It was awful. I would have to see what it looked like from behind.
Destry turned around about twenty feet ahead of me, jogging backward. “Tallan?” Call me crazy but I pretended I didn’t hear him so he would say my name again in that velvet smooth voice of his when it was somewhat winded. “Tallan?”
God. Damn. It was like what it would sound like if we were having sex. I bet, at least.
What? Why are you even thinking that? This guy is a total tool. Don’t think that way about him.
“You coming?”
Not yet, boxer boy, but I bet you could get me there!
Damn, why am I thinking this shit about this asshole?
I couldn’t actually speak at that point. I couldn’t even catch my breath let alone utter a monosyllabic response. I hoped we were heading past Harborview Medical Center because I would sneak inside and get some oxygen. Or pass out.
“Remember to breathe.” Destry slowed his pace more and waited. “Take slow, even breaths.”
Is he for real? Slow, even breaths. It was like he was talking me through losing my virginity. This wasn’t my first time having sex. This was much more intense.
We made it to what seemed like another ten miles when we ended up back at the bar. I had no idea what direction we went, where, or how long that had taken. I couldn’t think because all my blood was going to my legs.
“How far did we go?” I asked with my hands resting on my knees as I used the building to hold me up. My face was on fire to the point where my sweat was actually cooling me off.
“Maybe a mile.”
What the fuck? Really? With ragged breathing and sweat coming out of every pore, I stood and held my side like I’d been stabbed. I was sweating so bad my hair fell in my face and stuck to my cheeks. Muscles and lungs burned like each breath might be my last. “Well, shit.”
He laughed.
Destry.
Stone.
Laughed.
Pinch me. This couldn’t be real. Maybe I was hallucinating. Squinting at him, I looked closer. Nope. Not hallucinating. He actually laughed. The smile was barely visible but then the sound and smile faded as easily as it came. He lifted his dark gray T-shirt to wipe the sweat from his own face. My eyes immediately
went to the visible tan skin that peeked its way out and glistened with sweat.
Holy mother. Look at that guy’s stomach!
He caught me looking but didn’t say anything. For a moment, there seemed to be an awkward silence between us and then he shrugged. “Make sure you stretch out your muscles before bed and drink plenty of water tonight and tomorrow.”
How about you stretch me out?
Destry left, no more words, nothing. He disappeared inside the bar while I went downstairs through the other door to retrieve my bag.
He was so weird.
An outside fighter or range fighter tries to maintain that gap between himself and his opponent, fighting with longer range punches. Outside fighters have to be fast on their feet, stepping in with a jab and stepping back out of range quickly to evade their opponent.
On the way back to my apartment, I could barely walk. It hurt so bad. I wanted to murder the person who decided it was a good idea to invent stairs. No seriously, fuck you, stair inventor. That’s exactly what I would say to them.
Once I made it to my apartment, my mood had turned to shit, as if it hadn’t been already. Not only could I not walk, and Destry was a certifiable dick. But for the sake of my jiggly ass, I kept enduring the pain and going back for more every night.
The door was unlocked, and I wondered why Jared gave me such shit but he could leave it unlocked. “How come you don’t lock it and I have to?” I asked, knowing he was more than likely on the couch.
Yep. There he was drinking a beer. “Because I have a gun and you don’t.” Jared held up his gun on the coffee table in front of him.
I was tempted to snatch the beer from him. What I’d give for a beer.
His eyes were still on the television but when he did look at me, he laughed. I was sure I looked like death, or something fairly similar. “Wow.”
“Shut up. Don’t say anything to me unless it’s nice. I want coffee. I can’t move and I’m dying for some fucking sugar.”
Running his hands over his face, he sat up. “You can’t have sugar?”
