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“Thanks.” I’m looking for Trouble, and I’m going to find her.
Chapter
Five
Kat, a few days later…
Having just returned from a trip to Greece with my cousin Darius and his new family, there’s no denying how painfully out of shape I am. New and improved Kat, I remind myself as I press the button to Ace’s Wild Boxing.
I’m buzzed inside, and Russell sticks his head out of his office. “Hey, Kat. Glad to see you back.”
“Hey, Russell. Thanks. Thought I’d take you up on your offer to try out the gym.”
“Excellent.” He flashes a friendly smile. “Step into my office, and I’ll let you fill out the paperwork.”
I do so, taking a seat in a chair across from his small desk. He opens a drawer, producing a form and pen.
I fill out the application and sign the waiver, handing it back to him.
“Great. Why don’t you stash your bag in the locker room, and then we’ll get started,” he suggests.
“I’ve got to warn you, I don’t have the first clue about boxing,” I admit.
“Perfectly fine,” he assures me. “Everyone’s gotta start somewhere. I’ll meet you next to the bags when you’re ready.”
“Sure.” We stand, and I walk to the ladies room. Placing my bag in my locker, I sigh, dropping the key in my sports bra cup. Pockets, people!
Stepping out into the hallway, I run into the cute bartender from the poker party the other night. “Fancy seeing you here,” I say.
He flashes his pearly whites. “We could see even more of each other if you’d go out with me.”
“I think you’ll survive without me.” I pat his cheek before walking to the main floor. Wow, look at me flexing my ‘just say no’ muscles.
Russell’s waiting by a punching bag in the corner, and I join him. “Ready,” I tell him with fake bravado.
“Let’s start with some warmup drills.” He hands me a jump rope. He’s joking, right? I haven’t jumped rope since elementary school, and I sucked at it, even then. He must sense my hesitation. “Just try your best.”
I hold the rope behind my back, and try to fling it over my head while jumping; of course, I get tangled in it.
“How about we start with jogging in place and some jumping jacks,” he mercifully suggests.
By the time warmup is over, I’m doubled over with my hands on my thighs, feeling like I might die. Glancing at the clock, we’ve only been at it for five minutes. Fuck.
Hobbling outside, I’m starting to question why any sane person enjoys exercise. Dopamine, my ass.
I feel someone behind me, but before I can turn around, it’s too late—a large hand’s over my mouth, and I struggle as a strong body drags me to the back of the alley.
My assailant lets me go, and I spin around. “What the fuck, Darius! Are you trying to give me a heart attack!” I smack my cousin with my gym bag.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he growls.
I square my chin. “I live in this city, in case you forgot.”
“What are you doing at this gym?”
“I started working out,” I tell him. “Boxing with a trainer. My friend recommended this place—she loves it.” My friend, who is clearly a sadist.
“Since when do you work out?” He narrows his eyes at me.
