Page 60 of I Am Lioness

My blood instantly boiled. I pivoted to face her, meeting her beady black-eyed stare.

“Heard you actually got knocked out on opening night. Way to go, champ.” I retorted.

Lexi’s lip curled at the reminder. “She got lucky.”

“Yeah, that's what they all say.” I said sarcastically.

She took a step toward me, narrowing her eyes. “I'm taking my title back this year, Perry.”

Wrong.

“Yeah? Isn't that what you said last year and the year before that as well? Less talking, Panterra. More action."

She growled, the sound vibrating from deep within her chest, but it didn’t phase. She was all bark, no bite.

“Now if you'll excuse me, I'm here to actually get shit done, not hide away in the shadows and run my mouth behind the safety of my phone screen.”

“Who said I was hiding?” She snapped.

“No one said it, the fact you've made yourself very scarce after that KO says it all. It's okay to be scared, Lexi. You should be, especially since you know damn well you're leaving the finals empty handed…. again.”

“Remember that when you're coming to after I beat the shit out of you.” She snarled.

I laughed, actually laughed out loud. “Whatever you say. Now do me a favor and get the hell away from me before I give you a preview of what the finals will really be like.”

Her lips thinned, her hands clenched into fists, but she backed away, glaring a hole through my head. I flipped her the bird and took a deep breath, refocusing my attention on my workout rather than allowing her unexpected appearance to throw me off and sour the rest of my day.

Continuing where I left off, I bent my knees and kept my back straight as I squatted low. Counting the reps in my head, I watched two young women hop on the leg press machines not too far away from me.

They were loud, chatty, and clearly here for all the wrong reasons. Afteroneset of ten reps, they moved over to the leg curl machine, taking turns this time since there was only one. Once again, they went through one set, ten reps each.

Talk about a record timing work out. I had to bite back a laugh as I watched them high-five each other and wipe down the machine with a clean towel and some disinfectant.

“He's abeast.” I heard one say abruptly in an unnecessarily breathy tone.

From the corner of my eye I caught her fanning herself with her hand, because you know, apparently it was scorching hot in here.

“He's hella fine is what he is.” Her friend corrected her.

“Mhmm. And those tattoos? Yum!”

They giggled in unison with a hand at their mouths.

I rolled my eyes, bending down in another squat, my kettle-bell flying up with the motion.

“He's lifting those chains like they weigh nothing! Are you seeing him?!”

The squealing that ensued was absolutely ridiculous. I had every urge to spin in a circle and clock them both with the weight in my hands.

They went on and on and eventually I grew very intrigued. Out of pure curiosity as to who this so-called beast was they were gushing over, I stole a peek over my shoulder.

OH. HELL. NO.

At the back of the gym—where they had been gawking—was Knox with a monstrous set of thick, silver chains in his hands, his lips curved in a concentrated snarl each time he brought them back up toward his chest in a curl.

Even from my vantage point, I could see his arms flex and ripple with the fluid movement, his pecs hardening under the strain of all the weight. My mouth may have watered a little.

“Look at those arms! God, can you imagine what he's like in bed?” Said one of the floozies.

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