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“Lucky for you we’ve got some of the best,” he said. “One of our trainers should be finishing in a second. I can introduce you to her.”
“I’m happy to wait.” I gazed around the place, my blood thrumming again. It was like every time I entered the ring, the outside noise filtered away, leaving me fully in the moment. And I needed that feeling, the focus as of late. Not like I could find release the other way—hell, ever since I got cheated on, my favorite vibe had been sitting in the box from when I’d moved. Allie and I hadn’t been together for ages, a year, but losing Chaz, the trainer I’d worked with since I started? Fuck. My chest squeezed tight.
“How long have you been doing fights?” Emmit asked. He rifled through a stack of papers, like he needed to constantly set things in order.
“A few years now. Working my way up.” I wasn’t a slouch in that department either. My folks were supportive as fuck, thankfully, and I had Nina as my eternal cheerleader too, which would keep me motivated for the next match. Even though the upcoming fight would feel different without Chaz getting me amped up, setting the tone.
Hopefully, I’d find someone who could KO him from my memory.
“Oh, there she is,” Emmit said, tossing an up-nod to the right.
A woman approached, undoing her black hand wraps.
She was drop-dead gorgeous. Dark brown hair pulled into a ponytail, lush, pouty lips, and dark, broody eyes. Sweat glistened across her temple and highlighted the dips of her arm muscles plus the abs her sports bra left on full display. Her body was a work of art, all lean, sinuous curves, and she brimmed with intensity. I got suckered in on the first glimpse, but that wasn’t what had me full-out stopping.
I hadn’t seen her in over a decade, but she’d only gotten hotter with age.
My first crush, my eternal masturbation fodder.
Emmit gestured her over. “I’ve got someone for you to meet. Ames? This is Sam Taylor.”
Chapter Two
Sam
Today had been an early-as-fuck start at Knockout, but I lived for those.
The quietness of the mornings, getting to settle in with a client, sinking into the rhythm of a workout first thing—all of it kick-started my system like nothing else.
Funny, because if my folks could see me now, they would be shocked. I’d been the teenager who needed to get dragged out of bed to make it to school on time. However, the moment they kicked me out, they lost the right to an ounce of my life. Apparently, they’d rather have no daughter than a lesbian one. Besides, they at least had my baby sister, one kid intact in her heterosexuality. My gut pinched, but I pushed the memories of them down. Not here.
I placed the gloves I’d used for whaling on the punching bags into their normal cubby along the back wall of the room. I specialized in training MMA fighters, and nothing got me soaring higher than watching my clients succeed. Getting in the ring, in the fights, might’ve been my original dream, but when I started going for my goal seriously, I’d realized I’d rather be behind the scenes than in the spotlight.
Part of the problem might’ve been my mental state at the time. When I’d been rising up the ranks in the fighting circuit, I’d found myself homeless and without family. Put a damper on my headspace, and I’d fucked up match after match until I needed to focus on survival instead. However, when I’d seen the help wanted ad for a trainer at Knockout, Chuck and the others had not only gotten me on my feet again, but they’d given me a new purpose.
I tugged at my wraps as I stepped out of the training room. Over by the front desk, Emmit was gesturing my way, so I sauntered over. Beside him, a woman leaned against the desk like she owned the joint. A tiny little thing, she couldn’t be more than a few inches over five feet, but even from here, I could see the compact muscle of her arms, the dangerous way she carried herself. Her wavy, light-brown hair was pulled back into a tight bun, but charming wisps escaped, and her blue eyes were bright and vivid, like a sunny-day sky.
The tattoos winding down her arms had me wanting to take a closer look, but honestly, her open expression, the pretty-as-fuck curve to her lips, those ample tits on full display from the low neckline of her tank top—all of it had me staring harder. My core throbbed at the idea of stripping those clothes off and tasting every inch of her.
Fucking inappropriate, since this was probably a prospective client.
I finished unwrapping my right hand by the time I stopped in front of her. She looked at me, her brows drawn together.
“Hey,” I said, my voice coming out a bit huskier than intended. Down, girl.
She blinked and seemed to shake herself out of whatever stupor she was in. She offered her hand, and I took it in mine. I could see the freckles dotting her cheeks, her nose. This girl wasn’t just hot as hell—she was cute too, my total kryptonite. Her breath hitched the slightest bit, and her lashes fluttered as she shook my hand, the motion firm.
Electricity sparked up my veins. This close, she looked familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
“So, you signing up here?” I pulled my hand away.
“Only if you’re my trainer,” she said, her tone dripping with a sensual note and those blue eyes fixed square on me. Well damn, this one had pluck.
Grinning, I rested my hand on my hip. “Emmit, better hand her over the paperwork. Looks like she found her gym.”
He shook his head, a small grin on his face as he snagged one of the welcome packets we kept on standby. “Read over these documents, and here are the fees. We’re pretty simple, so you won’t have pages and pages of signing your soul away.”
My new hottie client turned to the front desk and grabbed the pen Emmit provided, skimming and then signing. Emmit gave me me a pointed look. I shrugged. Knockout had no rules against fraternizing with the clients—just the overall clause of “don’t bring drama to the workplace.” I had no issues with that. I communicated up front with my hookups that I wasn’t a great bet long term, and rarely did any clients lure me beyond some casual flirting.
