by Loren, Celia
I walk a few feet toward the couch and look around nodding. "So here it is," I say with a small smile.
He grins. "Alright, so I did also want to talk to you alone," he admits, stepping toward me until I can smell the sweat and heat coming off him. "Look, I'd still like to take you out. Maybe it's a little weird, but there's nothing wrong with it."
"What if it goes badly, and then we're stuck seeing each other every day?" I ask, raising my eyebrows.
He leans in close and a wave of adrenaline and anticipation courses through me.
"I don't think it's going to go badly," he whispers, and I can feel his warm breath against my lips. Achingly slowly, he closes the couple inches left between us, and skims his bottom lip over mine before separating my lips with his. A floating feeling blossoms in my stomach and then spreads throughout my body. This man can kiss.
His tongue flicks against mine and I taste the salt on his upper lip. His hand moves to my waist and—
"Cat? Could you set the table?" my mom calls from upstairs. I feel Austen's lips curve upward into a grin against mine and he pulls back.
"See you up there," he murmurs, then turns around, before pausing and looking back at me. "Maybe we should keep what just happened between just the two of us… I mean, our parents will know we're hanging out, but maybe—"
"Maybe they don't have to know everything," I finish his thought for him. Yeah, my mom definitely does not need to know about Austen's kissing skills. "Agreed."
He nods, then turns back around and heads for the bathroom. As he goes, he casually pulls off his sweaty shirt and tosses it onto the bed. I bite my lip as I see his muscles move across his back, each one sculpted into high definition.
"Cat?" my mom calls again.
"Coming!" I shout back. No pun intended. I hear the shower turn on as I jog back up the steps, trying to will away the blush that's spread across my cheeks.
Chapter Five
I watch mesmerized as Austen and Logan wolf down more food than I could eat in an entire day. Duke eats slightly less, though not by much.
"So are you impressed by my home decorating skills, Caitlyn?" Duke asks, putting down his fork and taking a sip of beer.
"Oh, um…" I stall, then smile in relief as I realize he's joking. He has such an outwardly gruff demeanor that it always takes me by surprise that he actually possesses a sense of humor.
"Yeah, man cave chic, I'd call it," I reply, and am surprised by the bark of laughter that comes out of Duke's mouth.
"What are your summer plans?" he asks, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his massive chest. The man still has a tree trunk of a torso, but he's added more weight in his stomach than I imagine he carried when he was a boxer. His blue eyes, so similar to Austen's, consider me thoughtfully above his short beard.
"I'm not sure yet. I'm hoping to find a job and save up some money before school starts in the fall."
Duke's eyes flick momentarily to my mom's. "Well, if you're not busy tomorrow, why don't you stop by the gym?"
"Oh, sure, that would be great."
"You can use the sedan in the garage whenever you want," he tells me. "Keys on the hook by the garage door in the kitchen. Your new house keys are there, too."
"Wow, thank you!" I reply smiling.
"Let me or the boys know if you need anything, alright?" he adds, and I see my mom's hand move under the table to rub his thigh affectionately.
"I think I'm set for now, but thank you."
Austen winks at me from across the table and I see Logan glance between us. Austen quickly brings up something about a fighter who just got injured and the conversation veers into a discussion of technique that I can't follow. My mom shrugs at me and rolls her eyes playfully, knowing we're both in the dark.
After dinner I help clear the table and clean up, and I'm pleasantly surprised to see Austen and Logan bring their dishes into the kitchen without any prodding from their father. I'm glad they don't expect me or my mom to become the de facto housekeeper. My mom eventually leaves to find Duke, and I look out over the backyard. There's a good distance between the houses in this neighborhood, and I can see the sky turning a slight pink as the summer sun sets.
I sigh, feeling out of place, and walk into the foyer. I consider going down to Austen's room, but his door is closed and I don't want to bother him. I walk slowly up the stairs, conscious that I don't really have anywhere to be. I hear giggling and glance toward my mom's closed bedroom door. The floorboards creak and I snap my head in the other direction to see Logan watching me from the doorway of the bathroom.
"They never slept at your place, did they?" he asks, his dark brown eyes impossible to read.
"No. Thin walls," I reply drily. There's another laugh from the bedroom.
"I don't think they make walls thick enough," he says over his shoulder as he heads toward his room. I follow him a few steps and stop as I think about what he said.
"Gross," I moan.
He turns around, and for the first time, I see him smile, his sensuous lips cracking open happily. But just as quickly as it spread across his cheeks, I see him cover it. We pause for a moment as an awkward silence settles between us, me just outside the threshold of his bedroom, and him just inside. He's in a white, ribbed tank top now, and I can see tattoos snaking out from under the fabric on his right shoulder. He sees my eyes flick toward them.
"My dad hates them," he murmurs, his dark eyes flashing, though with anger or humor I can't tell. I steal a look around his room – the only room in the house I haven't been in yet. I spot a book on his bed and glance at the title.
"Are you interested in math?" I ask, trying to find some way inside this man's rather opaque personality.
"What?" he asks with a frown, and I worry I've misstepped.
"Oh… your book. The title is Outliers so I thought—"
He chuckles, turning toward his bed and picking it up. I catch a glimpse of green in his dark eyes as he turns back and realize they're not brown as I previously thought, but hazel. He holds the book out, and I step forward into his room to take it from him.
"Not about math," he tells me. "It's a book about what makes successful people successful."
"Oh," I reply dumbly, feeling embarrassed as I run my fingers over the cover. "And? Is there a secret brew or anything I can take?"
"Afraid not. Gladwell, the author, he brings up over and over how success takes time. You have to put in at least ten thousand hours to be truly successful at something."
"Something tells me you've already calculated how many hours you've put in at the gym," I reply, thinking of his focused intensity.
"Good guess. I'd put it at around eight thousand. But then there's also the matter of opportunity. Without the right opportunities, you might never reach your full potential," he says, so gravely that I don't think he's just speaking abstractly. He clears his throat, realizing that I'm staring at him inquisitively. "You can borrow it, if you want."
"Really? Thanks." I turn for the door, glad to have something to occupy my night. "Also…I wanted to thank you again, for helping me out at the bowling alley."
"You don't have to thank me. I just did what anyone would do."
"But not everyone would," I counter.
He shrugs, then murmurs, "Well, as long as you're alright."
I pause, and then decide not to embarrass him anymore. "Door open or closed?" I ask.
"Closed," he answers. "And hey, just so you know, our parents are conspiring to get you a part time job at the gym. Thought you might want to know."
"Ah, thought I noticed something off at dinner."
"You going to take it?"
"I guess so, if it’ll make my mom happy."
"Right."
"Well, goodnight," I murmur, shutting the door behind me. I head back toward my bedroom, feeling intrigued. I can't help but think there's far more to Logan than meets the eye.
Chapter Six
When I wake up the next morning, e
veryone else has already left for the day. Granted, it is almost ten, but I had trouble falling asleep last night in a new bed in a new house. After I eat breakfast and shower, I take the car out of the garage and head over to the gym, following the directions that Duke scrawled on a piece of notepaper and left on the kitchen counter.
It's in an area of Thurmont that I haven't visited much before, on the opposite side of school from town and near one of the Navajo reservations. It's located in a small shopping complex with a crafts super store occupying the main block, and I park in the lot out front. The sign above the entrance reads "Big Rig's Gym", and then underneath that in smaller letters, "Home of Team Apex".
Huh. I always thought that MMA fighting was more of an individual sport. I smooth the cotton skirt I'm wearing and make sure my polo is tucked in. Since Logan clued me in that Duke might be offering me a job, I wanted to look a little more professional. I pull open the glass door and walk inside. The front desk is manned by a short thirty-something guy who smiles at me as I approach him.
"Hi, I'm looking for Duke. I'm Caitlyn. His, um, his—" I look over his shoulder toward the group of grunting men behind him.
"Oh, Caitlyn! Right. Duke said you'd be stopping by." He walks out from behind the desk and gestures for me to follow him. "I'm Harold. This is your first time here, right?" I nod. "Come with me," he says, and I follow him toward the training area. The wall we're walking along is covered in old photos and newspaper clippings of Duke. I slow down and peer at one. The resemblance to Austen is pretty uncanny. "There's an area on the other end with all your typical gym stuff. You know, weights, cardio machines, all that. And then there's this," he adds as we stop at the edge of a black mat on the ground.
A group of sweaty men are scattered about the large room in front of us. On one end, there's a large, empty cage. Next to it swing several punching bags that are currently being beaten to a pulp, and floor pads and other equipment cover the rest of the space.
"Team Apex," Harold announces proudly.
"Um, why is it a team?" I query, a bit embarrassed but glad I don't have to ask Duke or his sons my question. "Don't they all fight solo?"
He grins. "Yeah, think of it more like a training camp, but it's a team because they're all helping each other, too. See?" he says, nodding toward one of the mats across the room, where Logan grapples with another man, suddenly tossing him over his hip to the ground.
"Do they ever have to fight each other? In the ring, I mean?"
"In MMA, it's a cage. Sounds worse than it is. And yeah, sometimes."
"It must be tough for Duke to watch his sons fight," I murmur.
"Oh, Austen and Logan are in different weight classes. Austen's a light heavyweight, and Logan's a middleweight. Duke doesn't believe in cutting weight, so—" he stops as he notices my confused expression. "You know, like in wrestling, how they'll drop weight before a fight so they can fight in the lowest possible weight class, be up against smaller opponents."
"Oh, yeah, a lot of the wrestlers in my high school did that. They'd work out in the school gym in sweats and trash bags wrapped around them. Didn't look too fun."
"Or healthy. Exhausts you right before a fight, so Duke decided his fighters don't do it."
My focus drifts back toward the mats as I watch Logan pull off his drenched t-shirt and toss it aside. Whoa. If possible, he's even more ripped than Austen. His muscles look a little longer, leaner. He bends over slightly into a fighting stance, bouncing on the balls of his feet, a look of utmost concentration on his face…
"Caitlyn!" I hear Duke call out, and my head snaps toward him. His huge frame approaches us, and he slaps Harold on the back, who manages to wince only slightly at the contact. "Thanks, Harold," he says, and Harold gives me a nod and walks back toward the front desk. "Glad you found the place," he says to me, and I see a glint of childish excitement in his eyes. "Come on, I'll show you around."
He leads me further into the space and I'm suddenly very conscious of being the lone woman as the fighters pause their workouts and turn toward me. One of them nods and winks at me and Duke's arm shoots out and pushes him hard. The guy stumbles back and chuckles before turning back to his sparring partner.
"How much do you know about MMA?" Duke asks.
"Not much. Mostly what Harold just told me."
"Got it. Well, the rules are pretty simple. Five rounds in the cage, five minutes each. No hits to the groin, no kicking when someone's down. You can win by points at the end of the match, or by forcing someone to tap out or by knocking them out."
"What's a tap out?"
"It's when you've got someone in a hold that could choke them or break a bone if they don't tap out, signaling they give up. They tap the ground or whatever they can get their hands on." I nod, thinking of the pain that Vince was in when Logan was holding his arm in that vise-like grip. Bet he wished he could tap out. "Austen!" Duke calls out. I follow his gaze and see a mess of arms and legs on the nearest mat and realize that one set belongs to Austen. He grins when he sees me. "Kimura!"
Austen suddenly spins and pulls the other man's arm through his and bends it. The man immediately reaches out with his other hand and taps on the mat, and Austen releases him.
"Kimura," Duke repeats. "Very basic, very effective. What else can I tell you?" he says to himself as we continue to circle the mats. "Well, MMA breaks down into two kinds of fighting: wrestling and striking. The former for a potential tap out, the latter for a knockout, though of course you get points for moves in both. All fighters train in both, though most tend to have a more natural talent for one. Here, we train mostly in Brazilian Jiu-jitsu and boxing. I take the lead on boxing, of course, and Raul takes the lead for the jits," he adds, leading me toward an older, though still muscular, man watching Logan on the mats.
As Logan and his partner intertwine their limbs, I hear Raul swear under his breath and can't help the snort of laughter that comes out of my nose. Raul's head snaps toward me and he considers me suspiciously.
"You understand Portuguese?" he asks.
I shrug. "A little. My mom's friend Beatriz – they work in the salon together – she's taught me some. But she wouldn't teach me those words until I turned sixteen."
"I always thought you were speaking Spanish," Logan's partner comments as they break apart. Logan nails him with a sharp kick to his thigh. "Ow, fuck!"
"Raul's Brazilian, Tanner," Logan corrects him.
"Exactly," Tanner replies.
"Jesus," Logan murmurs, shaking his head.
"I'm Caitlyn, Duke's girlfriend's daughter," I explain to Raul, reaching forward to shake his hand.
"Prazer em conhecê-lo, Caitlyn," he says.
"Nice to meet you, too."
"Come on, I'll show you the rest of the place," Duke says, leading me back around the mats. After a tour of the weight room, cardio area, and changing rooms in the basement, Duke leads me back upstairs to the reception desk and clears his throat awkwardly. Ah, here it comes. "You know, if you're still looking for a job, Harold is actually taking some time off to get his personal trainer certification, so we could use someone else behind the desk."
"Oh, really?" I answer innocently. "That would be great." Even though I know about my mom's machinations behind this job offer, it's still a job offer, and I need the money.
"Good. Harold will fill you in on the schedule." There's some banging noises from the training area and Duke checks his watch. "Time for the fight. Want to stay and watch?"
"Sure," I reply, feeling curious, and follow him back toward the mats.
"We've been having a more formal sparring match for Austen once a week to prepare him for the AFF. That's the American Fighting Federation, the premiere MMA fighting league. Having one of our fighters get in would really put the whole team on the map, and Austen's our best chance."
The fighters and coaches have set up metal folding chairs around the cage on the far end, and Austen and another shirtless man are stretching in opposing corners. Duk
e nods to a nearby chair and continues over to lean on the cage by his eldest son, murmuring in his ear.
I take a seat and look around. A sense of tension has filled the air. Raul enters the cage and walks to the middle. He beckons to Austen and the other fighter to come to him, and they tap their taped fists together and then immediately fall back and begin circling each other. The men around me burst into cheers and yells, calling out encouragement to both of their team members.
The other fighter approaches Austen and throws a couple punches. Austen dodges the first and blocks the second, then nails him in the stomach with a punch of his own while he's still off balance.
I lean forward, fascinated. I thought I'd feel scared watching two men fight each other, but there's such a high skill level and artistry to what I'm seeing. Duke bangs on the cage, yelling instructions to Austen, and my eyes drift over the crowd to Logan.
He's standing behind the seats, fists up and eyes focused. I glance back toward the men in the cage, but he's not mimicking either of them. My eyes dart between them and finally realize that he's putting up his own fight against his brother, reacting to Austen's every movement as though he were the one in the cage.
Logan stays there until the fight ends in the fourth round with Austen's arms locked around his opponent's neck until the man taps out. Logan lowers his arms and surveys the room, catching me staring right at him. He meets my gaze and I blush, turning back toward the cage.
Chapter Seven
"Text me as soon as you get home," Maya insists over the phone. "What are you wearing?"
"Just a cute tank top and jeans," I reply. "I don't want our parents to think this is a date."
"So they know?"
