Page 15 of The Reluctant Hero

Now? In the cold light of day and sober? Not so much.

This is a mistake. How did I let her talk me into this?

I turn around to leave when Janine catches my arm with a laugh.

“Don’t chicken out. We’re doing this,” she says with an excited squeal.

Beth and Jessie give full-bodied laughs that bring a lot of attention. I stifle the urge to snap back at her and take a deep breath.

They look like supermodels with their tight clothes and strong, toned bodies. Their makeup is perfect, though I have no idea why. We’re not here to look good.

I only say that because I’m in some oversized five-dollar sweats with no makeup and my hair in a ridiculous ponytail.

“Come on,” Beth strides away from me. The exercise pants she’s wearing swish as she walks. I would burst out of those in a second if I could get them on over my thighs.

“Must be nice to be a stick bug,” I mutter and stomp after her with a glower.

For some reason, I’ve gone back to the serene doormat version of myself when they’re around. I want it to stop. Surely, they can accept me as I really am.

Then again, my own husband couldn’t accept either version of me. It leaves me floundering on how to behave. They’re used to the serene version of me. They don’t know the fighting in the halls, suspended to the point of almost being expelled version.

Now, I’m exercising at a gym for self-confidence. I glance around at the toned bodies around me and down at my muffin top. I have a lot of doubts. My chicken-wing arms agree with me.

This is stupid. Muay Thai? I don’t even know what that is. Yet here I am, on Janine’s free three-month ticket, trying toget out more. As if I want that.

Once the free ticket is up, I’m going to find something else. Possibly anger management classes. I could make a ton of friends to fight in the parking lot.

They drag me to the very back of the gym. This is someplace no one will hear me crying in agony. It’s a trap! It’s empty except for a giant floor mat, a few metal chairs along the back wall, and an empty shoe rack.

“Shoes off,” Jessie says and begins removing hers. “I read somewhere that it’s rude to walk around with shoes on while we train.”

The fact that she did research for this while I just shrugged it off makes me feel bad. They’re going out of their way to help me out of my funk, so the least I can do is participate and keep my attitude in check.

My enforced enthusiasm lasts until several people join us.

Severalmen. Not another woman in sight. They’re all dressed comfortably in shorts and shirts, wrapping their hands in tape like boxers.

I think we’re in the wrong section.

The people joining us seem to agree as they come to a stop and stare. There are five of them. We’re outnumbered and, based on the muscles, outgunned. I guess this is better than a parking lot?

A guy with messy blond hair, covered in flower tattoos, braces his hands on his hips with a frown. The dusky-skinned man towering over him crosses his arms over a massive chest and scowls. Standing with an open space around him is a man who looks familiar somehow. His pale gray eyes are intent, while his expression stays flat and emotionless.

The last two are the ones that hold my interest the most. One with blond hair and blue eyes with a light spread of freckles over his nose and a boyish grin of delight. The other with red hair pushed back as if he runs his hands through it constantly and hazel eyes.

They seem happy to see us instead of disgruntled.

The threatening postures are scary enough. The flirty vibes of the last two make me antsy.

The blue eyes of the blond meet mine, and for just a second, his expression becomes something else. Something that raises the hairs on the back of my neck. Almost like I’m about to be struck by lightning. His eyes narrow the tiniest bit and focus on me with the intensity of a surgeon performing a miracle.

I take in the intense stare and slowly turn my face away. I won’t hide, but I’m not inviting conversation either. Flirty or not, these guys are out of my league.

“Ladies,” the flower tattoo guy says in a cold voice. “Are you here for a class?”

“Yes, sir,” Janine coos. I cringe at the oozing flirtation. She can’t be serious.

“Are you our instructor?” Beth fans herself. I struggle to contain my eye roll.

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