Pulse

by Alycia Taylor

  PULSE

  THE FIGHTER ROMANCE SERIES

  By Alycia Taylor

  Copyright 2015. All rights reserved.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  The only good thing about this week was that it was finally coming to an end. Absolutely every work-out outfit I owned was dirty because the washer had been broken since the previous Friday and I couldn’t afford to get it fixed until the beginning of the following week. I worked late every day this week so my brilliant plan was to get up early this morning and go to the laundromat and wash at least one load of clothes so I had something clean to wear to work. Go figure it would be the one stinking night that I’d forget to charge my phone, so while I was sleeping, it died and the alarm never went off.

  I woke up in a complete panic. I could tell by the amount of light sneaking in through the blinds that it was a lot later than I’d planned on getting up. I’d thrown back the covers, cussed a lot and ran out to the living room in my underwear—the last clean pair I had. Thank God I lived alone and I’d at least showered before I put them on last night. It was already seven thirty a.m. and my first session was scheduled for eight o’clock. The gym was a ten-minute drive if I obeyed the speed laws¸ five if I didn’t and I got lucky and all the cops were at Starbucks. I realized that as I stood there in my underwear thinking all of that, I was wasting precious minutes. I ran to the bathroom, stripped out of the underwear I was going to put back on while the water in the shower heated up and then took a two-minute shower. After I dried off, I pulled on a pair of compression pants and a wrinkled tank that I fished out of the hamper. I did sniff them first to make sure they weren’t completely disgusting. I grabbed my gym bag that had my deodorant and body spray in it which I could slap on when I got there and then I pulled on yesterday’s socks and my Nikes and ran out the door.

  I didn’t even bother warming up my poor little car before pulling out of the driveway but she got a quick warm up as I sat and cursed the garbage man who was blocking the exit. I made good time for a few minutes after that, but it seemed like all the city workers were against me. A city bus came to a dead stop at a green light right in front of me. I had to slam on my brakes to keep from rear-ending it and then wait until it decided to move again before I could go because I couldn’t get over into the other lane. There was a lot more cussing. I finally made it in one piece and left everyone on the road with me that way as well. I parked my car in the lot in front of the Madison Gym where I worked and finally allowed myself to check the time. Damn! It was eight- oh-five! I got out of the car and felt the chill from where my wet hair had lain on my back as I ran into work. I wish I could get a do-over on this day…just this once.

  When I got inside I pulled my time card out of my bag and stopped in front of the clock to punch in. The time on the work clock said eight ten, lying bastard. I bent in half and flipped my long wet hair over my head. Using my hands and the elastic band I had around my wrist, I twisted the curly mess up into a bun in the middle of my head. When I stood back up I realized I had attracted attention. Some of the men in the gym had actually stopped working out and were staring at me. Geez, how bad did I look? My face felt as red as my hair as I forced myself across the room through the maze of exercise machines and the curious stares and found my first client of the day waiting for me. Mark Fox was an MMA fighter. He was one of those guys who were born with a six pack and a propensity for sports. He’d never had to try hard to do anything, it always just came naturally. He was quickly finding out that mixed martial arts was a whole different ballgame so to speak. He was taking it good-naturedly for the most part though. I had yet to see him get genuinely upset about anything.

  “There she is,” he said with a grin.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late,” I told him. “You wouldn’t believe the week I’m having.”

  “No worries,” he said. “I’m not in a hurry today.”

  “Good,” I said. “Please just ignore how I look today. My washer is broken and I overslept…” I realized I was talking too much. I talked too much when I was nervous and I had a tendency to say stupid things when I was anxious. I told myself to shut up before I said way too much and embarrassed myself in front of one of my best clients. I was new at this, and since I was only an assistant trainer, he was one of my few personal clients. I liked training Mark. He was a nice guy and he didn’t hit on me throughout the entire session like some of the men I trained did. I took a deep breath and said, “Anyways, let’s get started over here on the steps.”

  “I hate this one,” Mark said like an insolent child. I laughed and said,

  “Most guys do, but trust me, your feet are the foundation for your entire body. If they’re not functioning top-notch it can throw off your entire kinetic chain.”

  “And what is a kinetic chain again?” He knew what a kinetic chain was, he was just stalling. I explained it anyways as if he really didn’t know.

  “The fifty-cent definition is that every part of your body, your muscles, your joints, and your nerves have to work together in order to make you move. If just one of those things is off, it will throw everything else off…and that includes your feet. So let’s go, four-way holds.”

  He made a face at me but he moved over to the step. He just stood there, though, acting like he didn’t know what to do. It killed me sometimes how these grown-ass men acted like gigantic babies sometimes.

  “One leg heel raises at twelve, three, six, and nine o’clock and hold for thirty seconds.” I looked at my stopwatch and said, “Okay, now.” Mark started the exercises and while he worked I told him, “Good, you’re doing good. You’ll see, this will make your foundation solid and keep you on your feet more.”

  Mark grunted out a laugh and said, “Are you suggesting I spend more time on my ass in the cage than I do my feet?”

  “I’d have to reserve judgment on that one until I saw one of your bouts,” I told him. I didn’t like fighting. It made me sick to my stomach to watch two men pummel away at each other. I was about to say something else, but when I looked up all thought other than what I saw directly in front of me was completely gone from my brain.

  For a second I was sure that I was imagining him. He was looking right at me, watching me, I think. I’d never seen anything or anyone quite like him. He was literally beautiful. He was tall, probably at least six three or four with closely shaved dark hair and the sexiest pale blue eyes I’d ever seen. He didn’t have a shirt on, which was probably the cause of my cotton mouth. I tried to tell myself that it wasn’t as if I’d never seen a half-naked man before. I see them every day, all day long at work. I work with them, next to them, I train them, and I even touch them…a lot. But this guy was different. He looked like he’d been sculpted out of clay and then painted by an artist. He was lightly covered with sweat from working out and it glistened across the colors of the tattoos that ran across his muscular chest and disappeared over one shoulder. I suddenly realized that the entire time I was thinking about how hot he was, he hadn’t taken his eyes off me. Of course that also meant that I’d been staring at him. Slightly unprofessional I was sure. He had to be wondering why someone who was obviously gainfully employed looked like a homeless person with her wrinkly clothes and uncombed hair. I had to force myself to return my attention to my client. He finished his four way holds and I said,

  “Okay, onto glutes.”

  He winked at me and said, “You just like looking at my ass, don’t you?”

  I rolled my eyes and said, “Maybe if you did more squats like
I tell you to, you’d have an ass to be looked at.”

  Mark wasn’t offended, he laughed. He was also a guy who knew how nice-looking he was and no amount of teasing from me would change that. We moved over to a different mat and I handed him a long thick band.

  “Hip thrust,” I told him.

  He curled his lip but he took the band and wrapped it under his butt like he was going to sit on it. I counted as he did his reps. We did ten the last time we conditioned so that day we increased them to twelve. Mark was in great shape and this was an easy exercise for him. It was like squats, only he’d be using the band instead of weights. We didn’t use weights during conditioning; he’d have his weight training tomorrow. I looked over at the guy with the tattoos again. He had his back to me now and I saw that his tattoos ran down the back of one arm and across the top of his back. Both legs were tatted up too, and speaking of glutes…damn! Mark could take a few pointers there.

  “Hello?” I turned back and realized I’d forgotten to give Mark his count.

  “Sorry about that, I was thinking about a bill I had to pay later on.” Mark glanced over to where I’d been looking and said, “Yeah, okay. I’m paying you to look at my ass, not his.”

  “Moving on, let’s work those abs.” We moved over to the mat where the power wheel was already out. Mark got on his knees and grabbed the handles on the wheel. As he rolled out and back in I talked him through the proper technique for optimal effect.

  “Okay, keep your hips, spine shoulders, and head in a straight line.” He did a few more and I said, “Your back is going to hurt doing it like that…do we have to go back to technique?” Mark didn’t answer me, he was using his wind elsewhere, but I knew he heard me because his body was as straight as a board now. Sometimes you had to talk to them like they were children to get results.

  We finished that exercise and on the way to our next station Mark said, “Damn it! I left my water in the back in my bag.”

  “Don’t drink half of it on your way out here. Remember, only sips.”

  “Yes, Mother,” he mumbled good-naturedly under his breath.

  While I waited for him to get back, I noticed hot guy looking at me again. I smiled and as he passed me on his way to his next station I said a very polite, “Hi.”

  Mr. Stoic didn’t even twitch a lip and whatever he said in response to my “Hi” came out in an unintelligible mumble. It figures, he’s way too pretty to have a personality too.

  “Okay, got my water,” Mark said as he walked back up. I looked at the bottle, it was half empty.

  “Did you drink all of that between the locker room and here?”

  “No, it was only half full when I got here.”

  “You are such a liar,” I said.

  “I can’t believe I pay you for this abuse,” he said with a grin. “What’s next?”

  “Upper back,” I told him. “We need to work on getting rid of those rounded shoulders of yours.” He suddenly stood up straight and tried to force his shoulders back. I ignored him and said, “On the mat.”

  “Reverse crawl?” he asked, obviously unenthused. “I hate this one.”

  “You say that about every single one.”

  “I know,” he said as he got on his knees on the mat again. “I hate them all.” He began to crawl backwards. I’d found that it was a really good exercise for strengthening the upper back and shoulders as well as straightening out the spine. The benefit for a fighter was that it added more power to their punch. They hated it because who really looked cool crawling around on the floor…in reverse? I had to keep reminding them that it was about what they’d look like later, in the ring or the cage or on the field…wherever their prowess may be.

  I made him do that for ten minutes and after he got a drink of water, we moved on to his neck. I tossed him the stability ball and he put his arms out and held it against the wall. Once it was stable against the wall, he leaned forward slightly and pressed his forehead into it. “Keep your feet stable,” I told him. He wiggled to adjust them a bit and when he was in position he started his Isometric holds. He was up to six seconds on the clock this week and as he worked, my stopwatch and I counted for him. When he finished that one he told me,

  “I think I hate that one most of all.”

  I smiled because I knew he was just trying to get me riled up now, telling me he hated every one of my choices for strength training. It wasn’t going to work, I was a slave driver and Mark knew it. I wasn’t even sure why he tried.

  “Well, it’s good that we have it out of the way, then,” I told him. “We’re onto grip training.”

  “You know, I don’t really “grip” anyone. I’m more of a throw the punch and step back kind of guy.”

  “A strong grip helps you hit harder.”

  “I don’t see the correlation,” he said.

  “Seriously? Or are you just being a butthead?”

  “A little of both,” he said.

  With a sigh I said, “Grip strength is a game changer, trust me.” He rolled his eyes like he didn’t believe that was a satisfactory answer, but he walked up to the rope and took hold of it. “Okay, lean back,” I told him, and then, “Walk your hands down, now up…keep your feet flat.” He did that for a few reps and then I said, “Okay, pull-ups.”

  “Shit!” It was said under his breath, but loud enough for me to hear. Again, I smiled. Mark grasped the rope above his head so his arms were fully extended. I counted for him as he pulled up, held for three seconds, rested for one and repeated for twelve reps.

  When he finished I said, “Get some water and chalk your hands.”

  “You’re gonna make me climb it?” he whined.

  “Yep.”

  He whined again. While he was getting his water I searched the gym again for hot guy. He was in the back now talking to my coworker and one of my supervisors, Sam. They shook hands and I stood mesmerized as hot guy pulled on his tank top, every muscle in his back and arms rippled as he did. Then he threw his towel up on his shoulder and his bag on the other arm and headed for the front door. I tried to pretend that I wasn’t watching, but he wasn’t that subtle. He was staring at me again over his shoulder and he didn’t look away. Geez! I can count at least five people in the room that look worse than me. I wonder why he’s singling me out.

  “Are we done?” I heard Mark’s voice behind me. I turned to him and smiled.

  “Not even close,” I told him.

  CHAPTER TWO

  After I finished up with the three clients I had scheduled for that day, I helped Sam with his. He was the one who hired me and he was awesome. I never worked with him and not learn something new. After his last client left, Sam, Debbie, and I cleaned up. We wiped down all the machines and emptied the trash cans into the big metal one out front. I cleaned up in the locker rooms and showers, holding my nose against the stinky boy smell in the men’s. Debbie cleaned the glass up front and wiped down the counters. She was the front desk girl and Sam’s girlfriend. We were almost finished when Sam got a phone call. I heard him say, “Hell yeah, I can use a beer.”

  After he hung up he said, “Jeff and Victoria and Greg are over at Sunset Sports Café watching the game. You girls want to go over with me for a bit?” Greg owned the gym where we worked and Victoria and Jeff were two of our other coworkers who had the day off that day.

  “Sure, as long as you’re going to feed me while we’re there; I’m starving,” Debbie told him.

  “I don’t think so, thanks. I’m just such a mess…” I couldn’t imagine going out looking the way I did; it was bad enough that I’d worn dirty clothes to work.

  “Oh come on, you look fine,” Sam said. He was a big liar. He probably couldn’t even describe what I was wearing that day.

  “Yeah, even when you claim to be a mess I have a hard time not hating you for being gorgeous,” Debbie said. It was a nice compliment and I appreciated it, but I didn’t believe her either. I just felt so disheveled. But, I really did want to hang out with my friend
s for a while so I said,

  “All right, you guys go on. I’m going to just freshen up a little bit and see if I can do something with this hair. I’ll lock up here and meet you there.”

  They took off and I went in the back, hoping I’d accidentally left some clean clothes in my locker. I wasn’t that lucky of course. I found a pair of jeans and a green T-shirt that I’d left crumpled at the bottom. I took them out and smelled them. They were wrinkled too of course, but they didn’t smell too bad. I showered off really quickly and dressed in the jeans and T-shirt. Then I flipped my head over again and ran my fingers through my wet hair. The only time in my life when I was glad for the naturally curly hair that I usually had to spend hours taming was when I was in a hurry. I found a half-full bottle of hair gel in my locker and put some on my hands and rubbed it through. That would at least keep it from drying in a ball of frizz. I had a compact in my purse and I put a little of the foundation on my pale face and some mascara on the pale red lashes that framed my green eyes. I looked at myself and made a face. My clothes were still dirty, so no matter what I did really, I wasn’t going to feel good about myself. I put on a little bit of lip gloss and decided I’d just stop in for a quick drink and head home. Maybe I could get home in time to run to the laundromat that night.

  When I got to the sports bar, my friends were easy to find. They’d claimed a big table in the corner. I went over to join them and to my hormones delight I saw that hot guy was here. He was wearing clean clothes and damn if he didn’t wear them well. He and Sam were at the bar talking. I sat down with the others and gave the waitress my order. She brought me my drink and I leaned over to Debbie and said,

  “Who is that guy that Sam is talking to?”

  “Seriously? How does a girl who is so into fitness for athletes never seem to know when she sees one?” I shrugged. I was very interested in physical fitness. The actual game they played in after I got them fit…not so much.