Page 22 of Cruel Legacy

As soon as he realizes that, he’ll toss her to the side. He’s looking for that perfect prospect.A future wife.One that will catapult him to the top of the food chain. I turn back to my table, dismissing him. He can keep trying. He’s in a rival frat. His daddy might be some big shot lawyer, but nothing he’s done so far has earned him a second look by The League.

Unless he gets an in, that rise to power. True power is never gonna happen.

Chapter11

Deacon Wolfe

Today’s the first day of a new Physical Enhancement class. I used to get excited about the start of the semester, but now it’s just another day on the wheel. About fifty students sign up for the course. That number’s usually cut in half by the end of the first week. More than forty percent of the drops are girls, and I’m okay with it.

The future wives and mistresses of the top ten percent of the countries, one percent think flashing the waistband of their underwear, or sometimes even the whole damn thong, and a bit of skin is enough to get me to fall into bed with them. You’d think after three years word would have finally gotten out that it won’t. Just like their gender won’t get them out of having to do the same exercises as the men. There is no slow or easy pace for this class. Even some of the guys drop after the first week.

We do calisthenics, weight lifting and martial arts. The workouts get progressively harder and tougher. There’s a reason for that. On the other side of campus, behind a security fence guarded by a paramilitary organization and enough jolts to make your hair stand on end, is the Military Science and Tactical Strategy Command Campus.

MISTIC, is Canyon Falls University’s answer to West Point. Some students take my class to prepare them for the physical assessments they have to take each quarter as part of the MISTIC program.

Others use it to augment the physical training and conditioning programs they’re getting at another fitness facility or gym. There is no beginner class. Everyone does the same thing.

Today is probably the easiest workout they’ll have all semester. It’s admin day and the first class of the semester follows the same routine.

I give my speech about attire (because I don’t need or want to see nipples and ass cheeks); I pass out the liability waivers (don’t want mommy or daddy suing me for injuries incurred in the course of training), and I do a cursory assessment of everyone’s endurance level by administering a physical fitness test. It’s like the one they give out in high school. Real easy.

I’m lingering in my office, giving time for stragglers to walk in. This will also be the only day students beat me to class. At the ten-minute mark, I exit my office and step into the gym. I’m on autopilot as I walk to the front of the class, my welcome speech tumbles from my lips, and I ignore the excessive perfume wafting through the space, and the tittering of the girls trying to get my attention.

Everything is following the usual routine. I tick off the boxes on my checklist, not that I need it, but it’s a power move. It lets them know I’m being precise and detailed. Phones aren’t allowed in my class, so I look up to make sure no one’s holding a device, and that I’ve got their attention. That’s when things go sideways.

I pride myself on being able to maintain my composure. It’s served me well in and out of the ring, and when dealing with the more difficult aspects of teaching here, but I almost lose my shit when I come face to face with the blue-eyed sex kitten I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since Sunday night.

How the hell is this even happening? The whole reason I was drinking two towns over is because I wanted to avoid running into anyone I knew. Fucking people you work with will mess up a good thing at work. So will messing with a student.

I feel things tilting. An unexpected feeling of vertigo, like I just got my bell cleaned by someone wearing cement gloves. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t know she was enrolled here. Now that I do, I’m quickly evaluating my options. Is she even legal? It’s a valid question. We have some fifteen-year-old juniors here.

I pull up my roster and start calling attendance. The list is in alphabetical order. It makes it easier for me to match names with faces. I ignore the sugary sweet way the girls say here, or present, and the extra bass the guys put in their voices. I quickly drop my gaze back to my clipboard once I match a face to a name.

“Theona LaReaux?”

“Here, and it’s Thea.”

I don’t want to look up. I don’tneedto look up, because I know it’sher. Her voice is etched in my brain. The sass, the passion, the way she screamed when I made her come. But if I don’t raise my head and acknowledge her, it’ll look suspicious as fuck. I lift my head, barely looking in her general direction, before quickly averting my gaze.

I finish calling out the remaining names and put the class through a series of jumping jacks, pushups and sit-ups, before sending them out to run. This initial test will be what I compare their scores to throughout the semester to show them how much they’ve improved.

My gaze slides over her, again. She’s looking at me like she doesn’t recognize me. Maybe she had too much to drink that night, or has poor vision. Doesn’t matter. I’m happy to ignore her and pretend like I don’t know her too. With any luck, she’ll show up on my drop list before the week is over.

* * *

Thea

I’ve been enjoying my classes so far, even though the way the material’s presented is a little boring, but I guess that’s part of the stuffy vibe of this school. Posh professors, for a posh environment. My Physical Enhancement class starts today. A whole one and a half hours of working out every day. I’m here for it. When I step into the gym, I see there are mats on the floor in front of the mirrors.

There are more girls than guys here. They’re dressed in lycra tights and sports bras, or midriff shirts. Some are wearing cut off booty shorts or track shorts, which leave little to the imagination. Their hair and makeup on point. They look like they’re about to run errands, not work up a sweat.

I hope this isn’t like a Pilates class or yoga class or something. There’s nothing wrong with those forms of exercise. I actually love a good yoga session, but when I looked at the class description, it mentioned lessons in wrestling and martial arts.

I’m looking forward to knocking someone on their ass. It’s been a while, and I really need to work on my grappling moves. I check out the guys standing off to the right. They’re a mishmash of shapes and sizes. I could probably pin about half of them to the mat with no problem. The other half, I’d have to work for it.Please don’t let this be a yoga class.

The whispering and giggling on my left draws my attention back to the girls. Why the hell are they fluffing their hair? A voice cuts through the noise.

“Good afternoon class. I’m Coach Wolfe, and I’ll be your Enhanced Fitness Trainer for this semester.”

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