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Liv
“EvenJohnwantsyoutodothis.Whyareyousonervous?”Veraasks.I’msittinginmycaronthephonewithher,debatingwhetherIshouldgointothegymorjustleave.Afewpeopledisappeararoundthecorner,headedtowardsthefrontentrance.Acanvascanopycoverssometypeofoutdoorworkoutareasurroundedbyanopaquefencethatfacestheparkinglot.
I don’t have an answer for her. But she knows me too well.
“You’re scared. I get it. It’s ok that you’re attracted to a man, Liv. He won’t bite. Well, not yet anyway,” she chuckles. I smirk at her innuendo. “I know being mugged rattled you even though you try to brush it off. This will help you feel confident again. Just focus on that,” she says.
I sigh. "You’re right. I can do this.” I stare at the building through my windshield.
“Atta girl. Now go kick some ass and let him tap yours later." I laugh and we say goodbye. I pocket my phone and take a deep breath before opening my car door and heading to the front entrance.
I take in the open floor plan of the warehouse layout. Machines are in neat lines in one corner, free weights in another. A boxing ring sits on the far left with padded up people pummeling each other. Others go to work at punching bags hanging nearby. Rubber, sweat, and metal assaults my nose as grunts of effort and clanging weights echo through Metallica blasting from a sophisticated speaker system in all four corners of the high ceiling. It's a nice change from the annoying pop tunes in commercial gyms. Big open windows near the ceiling let in plenty of natural light. Men make up the majority, and though they still glance at the women appreciatively, they aren’t obnoxious about it. It’s official. I like this place.
A gigantic man covered in tattoos, who looks almost the same size as John, stands behind the front desk. His dark gray Devil Dogs Gym logoed t-shirt strains across his chest. He turns to grab paper from the printer and I see the words‘personal trainer’on his back in red lettering.
He turns to the computer and does a double take as I approach. His neutral expression blooms into a friendly smile that puts me at ease. “Hi there. Welcome to Devil Dogs. How can I help you?”
“I’m here for my appointment with Brando at four.”
His grin turns almost cheshire-like. “Then you must be Liv.”
I nod and smile. “That’s me.”
He appraises me, curiosity and contemplation in his gaze, then he walks around the counter to meet me. I crane my neck to meet his light green eyes.
He holds his hand out to me and we shake. “I’m Brando.”
“Oh, perfect. Nice to meet you.”
“Luke is out back with Jackson. Let’s go say hi.” He releases my hand and turns on his heel, forcing me to follow him. My nerves kick it up to level ten as I fuss with my hair and adjust my shirt.
We walk through a set of propped open double doors that lead outside to the fenced off area that has half turf, half rubber flooring. The canopy shades most of the area.
I find Luke even though his back is to me. He’s wearing one of those dry wick shirts that’s drenched in sweat and clings to every dip and curve of his impressive musculature. His grip on the bar above him is wide, and he pulls himself up and lowers in a steady rhythm. I swallow and do my best not to ogle him as his muscles expand and contract.Jesus Christ, I was not prepared. We stop a few feet away, and I startle when Brando clears his throat. I glance over at him and his smirk is knowing, but he says nothing. I’m thankful, but it doesn’t stop the stupid blush from crawling up my neck.
Luke drops to the ground and turns, panting. When his eyes meet mine, his whole face lights up with a gorgeous smile, and I feel my knees wobble. I guess it’s not just an expression.
“Hi,” he says, his eyes sparkling as I struggle to keep my blush in check.
He grabs the hem of his shirt and uses it to wipe the sweat off his forehead, giving me a glimpse of his stacked abs. I rip my eyes to his and swallow as he lowers his shirt. “Hi,” I say.
We move towards each other at the same time and the blush covers my entire face as I realize he’s trying to shake my hand and I’m trying to hug him.Smooth Liv.
“Sorry, I uh, I shouldn’t hug strangers. I guess the lesson never stuck in kindergarten.” I resist the urge to facepalm.
Luke chuckles. “We’re not strangers. I just didn’t want to get you all sweaty.” He points to his impressive torso, and without my permission, my eyes glue to his pecs.Oh God, send help.
I shrug and manage a nervous chuckle as we stand there.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, just hug her already,” a man I didn’t realize was standing behind Luke says with a slight southern drawl.
Luke sighs like he wants to facepalm too, and it helps me relax. To save him, I open my arms and hug him before he can stop me. After a half second of hesitation, he wraps his arms around me. It should be awkward. We have an audience and there’s the weird build up that just happened. But I feel comfortable.
His arms tighten for a gentle squeeze, then we part and I wipe my hands on my leggings. “Ew, maybe you were right,” I say, and they all laugh.
The man behind Luke steps around him and holds out his hand. “I’m Jackson. We’re strangers, but you’re more than welcome to hug me.” He flashes me a charming grin. Luke shoots him a dirty look, and I do my best to keep my face neutral.
I take Jackson’s hand and meet his green eyes that are a few shades darker than Brando’s. “You earn that privilege.”
