There I continued to sit, in the stark silence, chewing on what my kid just said.
He wants me to date?
Well, dammit. I’d been using Jamal as a smoke screen to keep myself unavailable to relationships, and now my own kid ripped away the safety blanket I had, leaving me exposed. I could run from my own feelings, but it was a hell of a lot harder when he held up the mirror, showing me all the parts I’d been avoiding.
Just because he told me to do it didn’t mean I had to.
If your own kid thinks you need to get laid, you need to get laid.
“That isnotwhat he was saying.”
He may not get the mechanics, but he gets the mood, and he knows you are too uptight.
I hadn’t felt uptight yesterday with Xander.
Standing and stretching my legs, I didn’t think the answer is fucking a half feral god before I kill him for the umpteenth time.
Stopping at my bathroom door, I scrubbed a hand over my face.
Oh fuckity ducks. I’m going to have to start dating again.
Before I could think about it too much, I grabbed my phone and downloaded three different dating apps. I didn’t do anything halfway. Which meant I had a whole other mission to complete before Jamal came home. Go on at least one date with a perfectly normal guy.
But before I tackled that, a trip to the gym was still in order.
* * *
After liftingweights for thirty minutes, I wound my braids up into a bun and crossed to the boxing gym that was attached. I paid extra for the access, and ever since I started having to fight off gods and vampires, I found it a wise investment.
Finding myself an available bag in a corner, my fists slammed into it until sweat dripped into my eyes.
Loneliness.
Pow pow. My knuckles crashed into the bag over and over. I tried to beat away the feeling.
I’m not lonely. Loneliness wasn’t a factor. It was just a feeling and feelings couldn’t control me.
I’d learned that after Rashon passed.
Xander’s words returned to me.
Pain means feeling and you work very hard not to feel, don’t you?
Pow pow.
My breathing turned shallow as I tried to punch his words away. Tried to fight away how quick he cut to my core.
“Jeezus, Miranda, you pissed today or what?”
I pivoted to find myself face-to-face with Amos, the boxing gym owner. A massive wall of muscle with a shaved head that gleamed. His skin tone was rich as midnight, with bluish-red undertones. A crimson shirt stretched across his powerful barrel chest. Amos had the warmest smile, gave the best hugs, and punched like a beast. Not that he’d unleashed that power fully on me when we were sparring, being so far out of my weight class. But he was helping me level up little by little when I could fit in one-on-one sessions with him.
“I’m not pissed,” I responded, winding a couple braids back up that had fallen out of my bun.
He held his hands up and chuckled. “Sure.”
Okay, so I even said it like I was pissed.
“Just don’t go breaking my bags. They are hella expensive.” Then he seemed to think better of it. “On second thought, break the bag if you want. It will only make the others train harder, and they’ll think I’m responsible for your badassery.” He tossed a look over his shoulder to where a couple of guys were training. One of them pretended he hadn’t been staring at me, while the other gave me a suggestive grin. I wouldn’t be surprised if he approached me to ask if we could spar in an attempt to get my number.
