Clothes hid my shame, my past. I cleaned up pretty good on the outside, like a cracked and taped together mannequin disguised in couture. Without the window dressing though—defective and imperfect. There was nothing I could do about that. I couldn’t change it and thus, I needed to get over my fascination with the Redwood.
I racked another plate to both sides and went to do a sit-up set before tackling 450 pounds. Today was the day. I was determined to work up to 540 pounds before I left this gym—I’d never lifted more than 450, but I felt better than I did earlier and my legs had always been freakishly strong. Perks of being a hardcore swimmer, once upon a time.
Walking out of the sit-up room and back to the leg press, I peeked over at the squat rack. The Redwood’s gear was nowhere in sight.
Shit. Was I gone that long?
“Good morning.”
My breath caught in my throat and I jumped before swinging around to the bent over row bar . . . right next to the leg press. “Hi— hello.” I nodded and gave a little wave. “Good morning.” I smiled, feeling like the awkward ass I was.
Why this machine, Redwood? I like you so much better from afar . . . where I can covertly ogle you.
I squatted over my bag, digging for my leg straps, and dammit it to hell, I’d left them at home. I’d washed them and now had a clear image of them sitting neatly rolled up on my washing machine. Perfect. What was with me? Not double-checking my bag? Seriously? Oh well, not like they were going to magically appear and I’d lifted this much without them before.
I settled back down into the seat, grabbed my phone, and had to hit the code on my lock screen three times before my fingers got with the program. Lifting over 360 required Sevendust or (Hed) P.E., but lifting over 450 with the Redwood not ten feet away? I needed Slipknot for proper concentration.
Shoving my earbuds as far into my ears as I could and double-checking that the volume was maxed, I settled my feet on the platform. I pushed, raising the rack and unlocking the security slats. I forced myself to deal with the weight, to savor the power in my legs as I slowed down the reps, making sure to keep my form correct. Full reps only, or I’d do them again—because that was how I did things—to perfection, or not at all.
I lost myself in the strain, the pressure in every muscle engaged. Beads of sweat dripped down my face as I pushed myself further. My legs weren’t “strong for a woman,” they were just strong, and they could take this weight. This is where I built strength, where I became all power. Strong rather than weak.
The fifteenth rep was a struggle to get up and locked in, but I did it. My chest pumped up and down as I pulled myself up and walked off the burning in my hamstrings, my quads, and my ass. 450 was a bitch, but if I could do fifteen reps with that much weight then I could do 540 pounds—straps or no straps. I’d give myself a few more minutes rest and do at least five reps.
Even with the Redwood right next to me, making me anxious and sweatier than I should have been, I had this!
Damn that man straight to hell!
3
Jaxxon
Six . . . seven . . . eight. Motherfuck!
I let the bar drop. The slam of 270 pounds hitting the floor echoed through the relatively empty weight room. New town. New people. It was obnoxious, and I hated fuckers who dropped weights, but I was exhausted, and who was gonna say shit to the new guy? I wasn’t here to make friends. Three weeks in and I’d only nodded or threw out the occasional “good morning” to some random person, or the mysterious chick beside me on the leg press.
Woman was all business. I’d give her that—sick-ass work ethic. The girl didn’t have an off button. She’d pound out super set after super set and she was always here. Did she ever sleep? If I didn’t have to be here at this fucked up hour, I’d still be in bed half-dead. Too bad, I didn’t get the casual dating vibe from her, because damn—hard and soft in all the right places. Could’ve been fun, but nah, not this one.
Walking to the preacher curl bench, I caught her adding more forty-five pound plates to the leg press. Going for 540 pounds? Pretty badass for a woman. I wasn’t sexist, but that was a lot of weight for most dudes.
She usually strapped her knees for 450 pounds, but she hadn’t just a second ago, and now she was going for 540? From the little contact I’d had with her, she didn’t strike me as stupid. Putting up six without knee straps? Not the smartest move.
And not your problem.
Damn straight. Sure as hell wasn’t, but I’d noticed her all right. The fact that her long, multi-colored hair was always in some kind of out-of-control ponytail or bun she didn’t seem to give a shit about was kind of hot. She wasn’t here to impress. Most people in the gym at this time weren’t. I’d seen her talk to a few people, but she seemed distant. I pretty much kept to myself anyway. Liked it that way. Drama-free. When she did smile, though, the whole fucking place lit up. And that I shouldn’t have noticed.
Bachelorhood, dick—say it with me.
Divorce sucked ass. Mainly because I missed my kids, but that was life. I’d done the right thing out of high school and married the woman I loved. But it hadn’t worked. Now, I was out to enjoy the younger years I’d missed and bang everything in sight. Since that was my new motto, I wasn’t about to get wrapped in someone else’s shit. While mystery chick seemed nice enough, there was something kind of haunted about her, and in my book that spelled drama. No thanks.
I’d catch her glancing at me once in a while, the same way I glanced at her. Eye-fucking. At least for me, that’s all it was. Okay, maybe not all it was, but all it could be was the point. I couldn’t get a good read, since I’d barely spoken to her. Respect the ethic. Respect the workout. The gym wasn’t a place to hit on women. I got my ass up and here to pound iron and get the day going right. But I did enjoy nice scenery.
I finished up on preacher and made my way back to the bent over row bar for another round just as she settled back in the press with 540 pounds up on that bitch. With no spot or straps? Hope you know what you’re doin’, sweetness. I smirked at the balls on her, figuring if she needed a spot, she’d ask someone.
Getting back to business, I slid 315 pounds onto the bar and secured my weight belt. I chalked up before kicking the music back in.
A sharp, pained cry behind me had me whipping around just as the leg press barreled down on top of her. Her eyes slammed shut, lips pressed tight together in a white line and her knees jammed into her shoulders, the weight of the press crushing her.
Son of a bitch.
Hurdling my bag, I got under one side and pushed the rack up. Her right leg immediately dropped to the ground. “Lock the rack,” I barked. The clank of the security slats immediately turned over and I lowered the press back down.
“Oh, God.” I heard her whisper as I knelt down by her side. She shook her head back and forth quickly and she still hadn’t opened her eyes. I rested a hand on her forearm.
“You all right?” Before the words were even out of my mouth, she shifted in the seat and had my wrist twisted back in a two-handed defensive hold. I swear to Christ, if I wasn’t as strong as I was, she might have broken it.
“Don’t touch me,” she hissed. Her face paled from the pain she had to be in, but her voice was steady, rock-solid.
I gently tugged on my wrist.
I guess I should have been pissed at the ingratitude, but the panic behind her wide red eyes hit me like an uppercut to the chin. “Easy . . . Just want to help you, but I’m gonna need my hand back.”
Her eyes stayed locked on mine, but she hesitantly released her grip.
I raised my hands up and away from her. “What hurts?”
She settled back in the seat and gently poked around her right knee. It had already begun to swell. “My knee. I think I hyperextended it.”
“Can you move it at all?”
Using the upper part of her leg, she tried to lift it, but grabbed the hand rails the second her ankle twisted on the ground and torqued the knee. “Hyperextended,�
� she repeated.
It looked bad. I’d have guessed it was much worse than a hyperextension, but she seemed pretty convinced. Thing had to hurt like a bitch, but she fought not to show it. Tough woman. Her breathing slowed.
“What’s your name?” I asked, standing up and trying to figure out how I was gonna get her out of that seat without her kicking my ass, bad knee and all. By this time, people had come over to see if she was okay. Her regular crowd had already left, and when her grip on the handles turned white, I figured the new faces weren’t welcome.
“Valentina—Toni. My name’s Toni. I’m okay. Thank you, though.” She nodded to the people around the press. “I’m fine. Really.” The nod, a dismissal these people weren’t getting.
“I got her. Thanks,” I barked. Kneeling down again, I didn’t make the mistake of touching her as the people walked away. One of the perks of being as tall and as big as I was, I intimidated the fuck out of pretty much everyone.
“You sure she’s okay?” an older lady asked me, before looking down at her. “Sweetheart, are you all right?”
“Martha,” she said. “I’m okay. I promise. Thank you so much. I’ll be fine.”
Couldn’t be a dick to someone older than my mom. “I’ll make sure she’s okay, ma’am.”
“She overdoes it in here.” The lady, Martha, touched her head.
Then little Miss Spitfire shocked me by leaning into her touch for a second. She may not have wanted the others around, but she clearly cared for this lady. “I’ll be good, I swear. Finish your workout. I’ll text you later.”
“Okay, honey.” She ran a hand over Valentina’s head before looking to me again. “You sure you have her, son? Should I tell them up front?”
“Martha?” When she nodded, I tried to ease her concern. “I’ll take good care of her. You have my word.”
“Good man.” Martha nodded with a final worried look before walking away.
I studied Valentina’s face for a second. She’d let me handle the people. She’d let Martha touch her, but was seriously concentrating on her breathing. “Valentina—”
“Toni. My name’s Toni,” she insisted.
“Whatever you say, but we need to get you up. See what we’re looking at here.”
She took another deep breath and shifted her left leg closer to the seat, putting all her weight on it. Leaning forward, she put both hands on the platform. “Really, I’m fine. Thank you for the save.”
Damn stubborn woman.
“Why the hell weren’t you strapped?” Shit. It just came out. Dad mode—I couldn’t help it. Fuck it, now that it was out there . . . “I’ve seen you strap for five, and you don’t for six?”
She snapped her head toward me, eyes blazing. “Are you seriously lecturing me right now?” Grimacing, she grabbed the knee once again, but continued to glare up at me.
I bit back a grin. Scrappy. “We’ll argue about this later. Right now, let’s get you up.” I stood and offered my hand to her.
“I’ve got it, thank you.” A shaky breath tumbled from her lips and she pulled herself up from the platform with the right foot suspended off the floor. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as if even standing took too much energy. “Shit,” she whispered and squeezed her eyes shut again. She peeked up at me as if remembering she wasn’t alone. “Sorry. I have a black belt test in a few weeks. This is a problem.”
I had just enough sense to not scream, “Which is why you strap the fuck up!” The overwhelming urge to pick her stubborn ass up and haul her up front to the boys at the desk was almost too much to fight. When she tried to put pressure on the right foot and almost fell, she made the decision for me.
I grabbed her under her right arm before she hit the floor, holding her upright. “Look, you seem to know what you’re doing in here. The more pressure you put on that knee right now, the worse it’s gonna get, and you know it. Can you walk?” I knew she couldn’t, but she had to see for herself before I went hero on her ass.
The left side of her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth and she held onto the machine’s frame. Glancing up at me, she nodded. She let go with a wet little pop and tiny teeth marks whitened her lip. I wanted that swollen lip between mine.
The fuck?
“I’ll try.” She hesitated, putting pressure on her right foot.
As soon as she shifted her weight, the strained gasp was enough for me. Patience wasn’t my strong suit. She was just gonna have to deal.
“Hey, don’t freak out on me, but this isn’t happening.” I moved in front of her.
She jerked her face up to mine, her eyes going wide. “Wait—”
“You need this looked at. Don’t argue. You can beat me up later.” I bent down and wrapped one arm under her arms and around her back, the other around both thighs. Pulling her into me, I ignored the fact that she went ramrod stiff and pushed against my shoulders. I stood up, dropped a hand around her right thigh, and moved her injured leg to the side of mine so it wouldn’t bend before walking out of the weight room.
She sucked in a quick breath at the intimate contact. “What the hell are you—?”
“Look, Sparky, I can’t pick you up like a bride on her wedding night or a fireman’s carry because it’s gonna torque the knee. Keep it straight and just hold on.” Feisty women—the bane of my fuckin’ existence. She reminded me of my sisters.
“You don’t have to do this! I’m all sweaty and—” She pushed her hands against me harder.
“Hey,” I snapped and her eyes shot to mine. Jesus, they were an amazing color green close up. A brilliant hunter green and they were gorgeous.
Focus, fucker.
“What’d I say?”
She stared down, her eyes darting back and forth over my face. “Beat you up later.”
I nodded and kept walking with her statue-stiff in my arms. “Do that.”
“Count on it,” she mumbled through a gasp.
I slowed down so I didn’t hurt her. “You’re too funny. Hyperextended knee. You’re out for who knows how long, and you still want to fight with me?”
Her hands slackened against my shoulders and her body relaxed into mine a little. The pain had to be big-time. I’d hyperextended on the leg press before, and it was no joke. I tried to ignore the feel of her toned and slender body pressed tight against mine. She was soft where I was hard, warm as hell, and smelled like coconuts and the beach. I reminded my dick this wasn’t the time to get involved.
“I—I have a black belt test.”
“Yeah, you said that.” I glanced at her face, which was as white as my shirt.
“I can’t be out. I can’t.”
“You know as well as I do if it’s a hyperextension, you’re down for a few weeks, minimum. No choice. If it’s worse—”
“It’s not worse. I know my body well. I—I lost focus.” She shook her head hard.
“Did you now? And why was that?” I felt her eyes on me, but kept mine on the front desk. I honestly hoped it wasn’t me who’d made her lose focus, but she’d left the door wide open, and I was just dick enough to walk through.
“I—I don’t know.”
“Huh,” I teased as I reached the reception area.
The kid who manned the desk jumped up. “Toni! What the hell did you do? Shit!” He scrambled for the phone.
I leaned down, setting her on the couch. Grabbing the table from the side, I moved it in front of her and gently lifted her calf up on it. “You good?”
“Yes. That’s fine.” She grimaced. “Thank you again. I’m sorry to hold you up.” She leaned her head against the cushions and looked up at the ceiling before focusing on the poor kid freaking out on her. “Todd, I’m okay. Really, hon. I just need to sit for a second.”
Bullshit. She needs a fucking doctor.
I was about to go round two with her when Todd got on the phone with 911. Smart kid. Thank God, they were right across the street. As soon as she heard Todd on the phone, she about flew off the couch. Only my hand on her
shoulder and the pain of jarring her knee kept her in place.
She winced and shrugged off my hand at the same time. “Todd! Hang up the phone. I do not need a paramedic. Don’t be ridiculous. Hang it up!”
Todd looked at me, and I nodded for him to go ahead. She was in pain and wasn’t thinking about the gym’s liability. I sat down beside her. “Hey, he has to call. It’s his job. If he doesn’t, it’s a liability issue.”
Her head swiveled back and forth between poor Todd and me. “I don’t care! I don’t need an ambulance. They’re going to put me on—” She slammed her fist into the couch. “Todd, hang that damn phone up. Right now!”
Anger—and if I wasn’t mistaken, fear—made her voice break mid-tirade, but she needed to have her knee examined. I wasn’t sure what the big deal was, but I didn’t want this kid to lose his job, and she seemed to know him. She wouldn’t want that, either, if she were thinking clearly.
Round two it was.
“Look, princess. I know about corporate liability issues, and he could lose—”
She swung her head to me, mouth agape.
Good girl. Keep the anger here.
“Not to sound unappreciative for your help and all, but who the hell do you think you are? Don’t you dare call me ‘princess.’ You know nothing about me.”
I leaned in closer to her, and she pushed deeper into the cushion away from me. “I know you’re about to get this kid fired. He seems to care about you. Let him do his damn job.”
Fire danced behind fierce green eyes, and shit me if my cock didn’t stir. Fucking surly women—they were my weakness.
“You know what?” she grunted as she pushed herself up as best she could. “I can take it from here. Thank you for your concern. However, I’m not going in any ambulance. It’s a waste of their time and mine, especially when they’re needed else—”
The front doors opened wide, and the squeak of rubber gurney wheels on the matted floor stopped her mid-rant. If it were possible for her face to turn whiter, it did. The pink blush drained from her lips and her entire body began to tremble.
Phoenix (Flames & Ashes Book 1) Page 3
