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I pride myself on being tough, on being unflustered, and of never letting a man cloud my brain, but all I can manage is another, “Huh?”
He chuckles and turns away to snatch up a bottle of water and a set of keys, then flashing a wink, his grin grows the longer I sit in a clichéd daze. “Be safe, okay?” He shows off the powerful lion on his back as he turns away and out of the room.
Gone.
His absence is a powerful beast, like a black hole in the universe, sucking me in so my every thought is consumed by someone I didn’t even know existed a few minutes ago. It’s just…
“What the hell just happened?”
* * *
Ninety minutesand a long session in silence after stepping into the gym, I pass the front desk in fresh clothes after a shower, with my keys in hand and an inability to shakehimoff. Kit Kincaid is wife to Bobby, the former champion fighter who owns this gym. She’s spent every day for a decade and a half in this building, and not just behind the desk. She trains, she takes part in classes, she instructs classes, and if rumors are true, she has clout in the fighting world in a managerial-type position.
Mostly she became the spokesperson when her little brother was the champion, and as big sister, she made sure no one was taking advantage or selling him shitty contracts. In her position as manager, she laid down the law and secured lucrative deals for him, which, to her brother, simply looks like a big sister taking care of business, but to the sports world, she was the most formidable manager they’ve ever had the displeasure of negotiating with.
Now the original owners of this gym are retiring from competition, and training up the local teens for their shot at a title, which means Kit is still formidable, especially when she’s watched those kids grow since the day they were born.
For them, she’ll forever be in big sister mode.
She stands behind the counter alone, tapping at a computer and smiling at whatever entertains her. Stopping, I jiggle the keys in my hands and try to work up the courage to ask. I don’t know why I’ve let a two-minute encounter with a stranger get to me, but after yesterday with Donohue, then my dream, and now this… it’s too much.
“Kit?”
She hums under her breath, a “hmm?” type of acknowledgment, which would normally be enough, but when I don’t speak, she stops bouncing her knee and reading, and instead meets my eyes. “Hey, Lib. What’s up?”
“Um…” I look around, as though concerned he’s here. “I wanted to ask you something. About someone that was in here today.”
She lifts a brow. “Is something wrong? Are you a cop or a friend?”
I chuckle and force myself to relax. “Friend. Nobody’s in trouble.”
“Okay. Who’s got you acting all weird?”
“Uh… there was this new guy in here a little while ago. Brand new face, lots of ink on his shoulders and back.”
“Short hair?”
I nod.
“Blue eyes?”
I nod again.
“Lion on his back, and broad shoulders women would happily cling to?”
Heat burns my cheeks, but still, I nod.
She lifts a shoulder. “I have no clue who you’re talking about.”
My lips firm into a scowl, but that only makes the blonde snicker.
“I’m kidding. He’s kinda high-profile, and we don’t get weird about those types around here, do we?” She’s referring to the fangirls who have tried their luck at meeting a Kincaid over the years. Her husband, brother-in-law, and brother were all title holders at one point. They were massive names who had clubs of fangirls who would have sold their panties to the devil to get a minute alone with the guys.
The rule around here is no one is allowed to be weird. It’s a literal rule painted onto the wall “Don’t be weird!”, which helps others who are high-profile feel comfortable training here, when many other establishments would use the moment to call in the press and have their business splashed all over the six-o’clock news.
My mind races over the options of who the blue-eyed high-profile man could be. That’s why I know his eyes, no doubt. That’s why my subconscious is screwing with me.
“I’m not gonna be weird,” I promise. “You know that about me. Ineverget weird.”
