Page 2 of Not Fooling Anyone

My fists ball at my sides, but what am I going to do? Fight her?

I return to the back, glancing at the schedule hanging on the bulletin board, and lo and behold, I have no shifts again till next Monday night. Enough to keep me on without actually firing me. Why’d they hire me if they don’t want to put me to work?

I take a little too much pleasure in slamming my locker door as I retrieve my bag and stalk back out to the parking lot. The whole reason I quit my last bar was to make more money here, not work one crappy shift a week.

I check my phone before I start my car, seeing a text from Dad.

Dad:Can you stop by the gym? I have a business opportunity for you.

What’s he on about now?

Well, I’ve got nowhere else to be. I’m not admitting to Travis I’m not getting shifts at work. Then he’ll know I can’t afford rent. I literally have just enough in my account to pay my half tomorrow.

Me:Be there in ten.

I head over to Marty’s Boxing Gym where Dad works, holding onto the handrail as I descend the outside steps to the basement level. Why people willingly work out in this dank place, I’ll never understand.

As I’m about to open the door, I happen to glance down and catch myself, remembering the bustier. Oops. I run back to my car and slip on my hoodie, using the end of the sleeve to cover my nose as I enter the gym. It’s like they’ve never heard of actually cleaning the equipment. Or showering.

A few guys look in my direction, but most are focused on hitting speed bags, skipping rope, or punching heavy bags. Over to the left is the big ring, with a burly guy in the center calling out commands. That’d be Dad. With him are two others, one on the offensive and one guarding.

I wander over to the edge of the ring, sighing at the needless brutality of it all.

“You interested in training?”

I glance over, cut biceps the first thing I notice. Ugh, save me from boxers. Every time I come in here, at least one of them has the bright idea to hit on me.

“No.” I keep my gaze straight ahead, waiting for Dad to finish up.

“Lawrence is the best trainer at this gym. If you were interested, he’d be your guy.”

Is he trying to make small talk or something? “Look, I’m not interested, okay?” In training or him.

He continues to stand next to me and I finally take a peek, finding a guy my age with vivid green eyes and an amused smile on his face. His teeth are almost startlingly white against the dark of his beard.

That’s weird. These guys don’t usually smile. They’re too focused on their bloodlust.

“No problem,” he says easily, turning his attention back to the ring.

I stand there, slightly unnerved. That’s the first time a guy hasn’t gotten defensive or slunk away when I make it clear I’m not receptive to whatever they’re offering. Is this a mind game or something he’s playing?

Dad finally turns my way, noticing me, and takes a moment to set the guys he’s coaching up with training drills, telling them he’ll be back in a few.

“Lex.” He slips through the ringside ropes and hops down, pulling me into a sweaty hug.

“Ew, Dad. You’re all gross.” I push him away and he wipes his face off with a random towel laying across the ropes. God, I hope that was his.

“I see you met Ethan. He’s not like the other meatheads around here.”

“Who you calling a meathead?” one guy in the ring calls out good-naturedly.

Dad turns to trade insults with the guy, and I glance over again at the dark-bearded man. Ethan. I highly doubt he’s all that different from the other brainless idiots getting their heads punched willingly.

“All right, sit tight and I’ll go tell Marty you’re here.”

“For what? You didn’t say whatever this business opportunity is.”

“Marty needs a bookkeeper. I told him you could do it.”

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