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Chapter 12
Astrid
Over the weekend, I run a hundred errands and spend all my money. Typical how fast cash flies out of my hands, and it’s on stuff I need. When I stop by the Rockingham Savings Bank, the teller won’t tell me the other name on the account. In fact, she looks at me like I’m crazy for suggesting there even is one. Fu—Screw her.
When I return to Stonehaven, I put on my gear and head over toward Stonier to work out. Maybe that’s the problem. I really haven’t been releasing the tension, and it’s bunching up my shoulders into a knot. I walk past a group of girls gossiping by the main door, and the conversation stops as they stare at me. I’m dressed in navy and black, not pink like the other girls, who are trying to bring me down.
“She dresses like a little boy.”
I ignore it and head for the counter. “Do I need to sign in?” I ask the kid sitting there.
He pushes a notebook over without answering, and I write down the time along with my name. He watches as I write and then grabs a metal cash box from under the counter. I freeze as he puts it down, knowing that I’m down to a couple of hundred. It might be okay, but I don’t know when I’m fighting again.
He opens the lid and holds out a key card. “Here’s your membership card,” he says, “You have an unusual name, so I recognized it.”
The laminated card has my ID photo on it from my school ID. I tuck it into my gym bag, and I head toward the main gym where I had class.
“Hey,” he glares. “You’re going in the wrong direction.”
I have no clue what he means as I watch the other kids running up and down the court, playing basketball through the archway. My confused expression is enough to tell him I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.
“The private gym is up the stairs on the left,” he explains, “Use your card to open the door.”
I don’t ask another question as I walk away. Obviously, Bryce has paid for my membership to the private gym. I try not to get weirded out, though maybe I should. When I told Roni that Bryce had paid my club fee, she just shrugged her shoulders. “It’s not a big deal,” she said, “When you’re rich, people give you free things.” She eyed me carefully. “You just have to get used to it, that’s all.”
I don’t think I can. I dash up the steps, two at a time, and find a door with a brass plaque with the scripted word private on it. I swipe my card, and the door handle clicks. Entering slowly, I’m not sure what I’m going to see when I enter. The gym is spacious and filled with free weights, weight machines, treadmills, and stationary bikes with individual screens. It’s like the gym of my dreams, at least to me.
I wait for someone to tell me I don’t belong here and point me to another room with ratty-ass mats, but no one even glances over. I smile to myself, eager to start working out, when my eyes lock on Wyatt’s. His sweaty hair is falling into his eyes as he curls a dumbbell, working that gorgeous muscle that I’d love to squeeze. He winks at me because it is so apparent that I’m checking him out all over. Panting like a puppy in love, I toss my bag on a bench, and he saunters over, picking it up in his huge hands.
“You can’t keep personal items in here,” he smirks, “you have to store them in a locker.”
I shrug, clinging to my cool. “Where are they?”
He has this crooked smile that makes my knees soften like jelly, but I act like he’s no big deal. But he is. I watched every move Wyatt made in the ring last night. Ducking and weaving around the other guy as if Wyatt was dancing a solo to music only he could hear. He got hit a few times, but he shook it off quickly. But there’s proof under his eye in the shape of an oval bruise.
“You want concealer for that?” I ask as we walk toward another door.
He screws up his face. “What, to match my lipstick?”
“Just trying to help,” I pout a little.
He stops short, and I walk straight into him. My body tenses up against his solid form. He looks at me, smiling, and I fucking sigh. I’m such an ass. We enter a locker and head toward the back. Past the wall of lockers is a wide-open bathroom, and a shower is running. I look around and see a bag on a bench with a pair of men’s sneakers sticking out.
“Is this locker room for girls?” I ask.
“It’s unisex,” he replies, “But there are private rooms.”
“Why are you smirking at me?” I ask him.
“Nothing,” he pauses then sits on a bench. “You have your makeup with you?”
I nod and dig through my bag for my concealer. “This is the best for covering up everything.” I unscrew the top off and dip my finger into the cream. “Look up.”
I try not to stare into his deep brown eyes or admire his lashes, which are thicker than mine. My breathing picks up as Wyatt places his hand on my waist.
“To help you hold steady,” he explains. Wyatt watches me closely as I dab concealer gently under his eye. “You have a light touch for a girl that slaps boys into submission.”
I frown, and he pulls me closer, so I’m resting against his amazing body. “You smell good,” he whispers.
