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But damn, this class tempts me to go off and prove to these weak fuckers I ain’t one to bother and taunt all because I don’t want to run like some Olympic champion with something to prove.
I’m on my last lap across the massive track while the rest of the group is in front of Coach Hennessy and Assistant Coach Jeremy.
Truthfully, I have no problem with Coach Hennessy. He’s a strict old fucker, who reminds me of one of my old trainers who was a ‘no-nonsense’ type of dude. He was strict, a pain in the ass, and barely praised you, but the man knew exactly how to make you into a true champion in any support.
He was the one to make me fall in love with kickboxing.
The idea of getting into a situation that paralyzes me was enough to force me into his gym a few years ago. Walked right up to the geezer, tossed the poster that was drenched with rain water like the rest of me, and demanded to start training classes that evening.
I got what I wanted.
A shame he passed away this year. Pneumonia that destroyed his lungs and left him on a ventilator. That wasn’t the life he worked his ass off to live, so he signed the documents to pull the plug.
Moments like these make me miss his harsh words.
Coach Jeremy, on the other hand, is a cocky bastard wannabee, who’s so close to getting his balls kicked by yours truly with his unnecessary commentary. It’s as though he’s trying to be Coach Hennessy’s copy.
“Any day now, Prescott. Unlike you, the rest of us have parties to attend.”
He’s a jackass.
Just hearing his voice makes me scowl before I purposely slow down until I’m walking toward the group. A few of the students groan as if my slowness is such an inconvenience for the class, but I notice Coach Jeremy holding back whatever he has to comment.
That’s enough to prompt me to look to my right and confirm the presence now walking next to me.
“Zander?” I’m pleasantly surprised to see him because my three Ruthless Kings are on the other team doing sprints on the opposite side of the field. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“True,” he agrees, yet here he is.
Offering me a granola bar.
“Want a granola bar?” he inquires with an excited grin that makes him look like a child anticipating to go somewhere awesome.
I like how he gets excited about the simplest things.
“Is it poisonous?” I tease with a questioning look.
“Not today.” He whispers like some sort of secret. I snicker.
“Wonderful,” I declare and accept the granola bar. “I’m okay, you know? I ate a very nutritious breakfast and lunch today.”
“I know you did,” Zander notes, casually sliding an arm along my shoulders as we’re mere steps away from the group that’s eyeing us. “But you were running like the tank finally ran out.”
“Observant,” I note and take a big piece of the blueberry-filled nutrition bar. I’ll have to admit, living with these Ruthless Kings made me realize I do have a bit of a sweet tooth.
Not sickly sweet like Emma’s obsession with candy, but I enjoy ‘healthier’ options of sweet stuff, especially granola bars.
“Did you make this?” I ponder because the wrapper isn’t a brand I know of. It’s just a plain black wrapper.
“Ares did,” he reveals, to my surprise. “I just sprinkled pre-workout on it.”
I give him a side glance as we finally reach the group of impatient students.
“You said it wasn’t poisonous,” I point out, not caring if anyone else hears my comment.
“Pre-workout isn’t poisonous,” Zander says with a wink. “Now be a good Queen and eat for your King.”
I pout my lips, trying not to acknowledge how hot my cheeks feel as I quietly nibble on my granola bar.
