The gym, although just a few blocks down the road, was eons away from the glamorous life she usually found herself surrounded by, or often drowning in. A bit of a dive, it housed some of the best equipment and training for serious boxers and mixed martial artists.
Jaclyn loved everything about it—from the rank BO that infused each breath of air, to the dingy grit and grime that covered nearly every surface. It beat the hell out of those worthless dance classes she’d taken as a child.
Her toddler years were spent rubbing shoulders with all the right children, those from families as exalted as hers, and finally ended with dance class. Twirling in pointe shoes was hardly the life she was meant for. The other children’s snobbery was only outdone by their cruelty to a little girl who never felt completely comfortable in her own skin.
Fattie Jackie.
Two taunting words from another miniature ballerina had shattered her love of dance, and in some ways, her love of herself. Not that it mattered now. She’d long ago rationalized that the harsh judgment made her stronger. Determined. Driven to do whatever she needed to in order to be the best of the best.
A fighter.
And a woman who’d always prefer everyone call her Jaclyn.
Well, almost everyone.
She arrived at the gym on time and raced to her muscular trainer.
“You’re late,” Dylan shouted in her direction.
“I’m exactly on time,” she said as she climbed into the ring.
She tugged a scrunchie from her wrist and wrangled her long, thick locks into a high ponytail. With no time to hit the locker room, she dropped her bag from her shoulder to the corner. Her trainer grabbed her hand, slipping a bright red boxing glove on it before lacing it up, then followed with her other hand.
“For you, on time is late,” he said before they touched cheeks with an air kiss, then he playfully smacked her ass. “Ready?”
After an hour and a half of giving kicks and punches as well as she got, the lesson was over. Another hug and cheek-to-cheek kiss with her trainer, and Jaclyn was ready for a shower. She returned to the corner of the ring for her gym bag, when a hot bod vigorously beating a punching bag caught her attention.
Who is that?
It had to be someone new. Or, at least, a man who didn’t usually frequent the gym at this hour. Based on his drenched shirt, he’d been pounding away for a while.
Jaclyn watched him doggedly beat the bag in a disciplined rhythm. The dark gray cotton of his sweat-soaked shirt molded to his lean physique, showing off every too-hot-for-prime-time muscle of his back. He rounded the bag, still keeping the tempo of his alternating punches. She followed the lines of his taut biceps toward the rugged angles of his face, now in full view.
What the hell?
Without care or concern for her disheveled appearance, she swung off the ring ropes and hightailed it over to him.
“Are you following me?”
Richard hid his smile at the sharp question, not missing a beat on his punching bag. “Oh, hello, Jaclyn. Following you? I was here first. I saw you arrive,” he said, his focus remaining on the bag.
“Really? Because I didn’t notice you.”
He huffed out a laugh. “I feel like that’s becoming a thing with us.” His internal counting continued as he pummeled the bag. “You sound like you don’t believe me.”
“That’s because I don’t.”
“You want me to prove I was here first?” He spared her a quick glance but didn’t miss a beat. “Sure. You came in, hopped into the ring, you and your grabby trainer kissed cheeks, and then he spent the next ninety minutes playing with you under the pathetic pretense of training. We good?”
Jaclyn’s squinting pout let him know she was far from good. “It’s training. Serious training. And you sound jealous.”
He scoffed. “I’m not jealous.”
Internally, though, he sighed. I do sound jealous.
Hiding his quick once-over of all her curvy goods, he managed to maintain his momentum, barely glancing her way as she leaned against a nearby piece of workout equipment.
“You have nothing to be jealous about,” she said. “I’ve never actually kissed him.”
Her mocking tone hit a nerve.
“No, you just let him smack your ass on what I can only presume is a regular basis. Must be a trainer’s perk.”
Fine. I’m jealous.
Whatever.
I happen to be right.
Richard stayed focused on the bag as he pushed each punch harder. He didn’t need to look at Jaclyn. He could feel her fury boring into him until she stormed off toward the locker rooms.
Fuck.
With a final heated blow, he slammed the bag into submission and charged after her. At the entrance to the ladies’ locker room, he knocked.
“Jaclyn?”
A muffled “go away” came from behind the door.
Turning the handle, he opened the door a crack. “Jaclyn, I’m counting to three, and then I’m coming in. So, please cover up. One. Two.” Two and a half. “Three.”
He stepped in. Walking around the corner, he found her waiting, her arms folded tightly across her sports bra. She stood, irate and unconcerned that the T-shirt formerly covering her body was now draped over the bench.
“This is a ladies’ locker room. You might have barged in on several women.”
“Really? In case you haven’t noticed, you’re the only lady in this joint this morning. Maybe ever. Look, I’ll leave in a minute. I’m . . . ” Still recovering and panting from his workout, he sucked in a breath and calmed his speech. “I’m sorry I lost my temper. I was frustrated, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. It just righteously pisses me off that this d-bag is taking advantage of you.”
She sucked in a sharp breath and lowered her hands to her hips. At least she’s opening up.
“Look, Richard, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“No? How long have you been taking lessons?”
“Three years.”
“Three years?” Again, he breathed through his anger. “Then why can’t you do a Muay Thai kick to save your life? And why are his touchy-feely hands all over you?”
Without warning, Jaclyn pivoted and shot a hard kick at his waist. His wildcat reflexes allowed him to catch her foot without trying. Frowning, he kept her in his controlled grip.
“See? It’s everything Muay Thai isn’t. Unpolished. Predictable. Powerless.” He gently released her foot.
Her expression sheepish, she regained her balance as she accepted the feedback. “Okay, so maybe my technique isn’t great.”
“Jaclyn, it’s not your technique. It’s him. And even though you didn’t ask, in my humble opinion, he needs to keep his hands to himself.”
“Would it make you feel any better to know he’s gay?”
Richard dropped his head in disbelief and shook it from side to side. She can’t be this naive.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Gay? Not a chance. Have you ever seen him with another man?”
Dumbstruck, Jaclyn stood there for a moment, overthinking the question. Then her forehead smoothed and her brown eyes turned playful. “Look, we can argue the point all day, or I can just prove it. But I’m going to need you to help me out. How do you feel about the name Bennett?”