Page 40 of Not Fooling Anyone

“You need this?” He points to the computer on his desk.

I nod. It’d be a lot easier if I had a laptop, but my last one finally crapped out on me a few months ago and I haven’t had the money to replace it. For now, I’m making do with the computer lab on campus.

“Sounds like a good excuse for me to get on home, then.” He stands, smoothing down the front of his wrinkled white dress shirt over his flat stomach. For an old guy, he’s still in great shape.

“I wasn’t trying to kick you out.”

“I was looking for an excuse to leave. The gym doesn’t need me as much anymore. It runs all right on its own for the most part.” He doesn’t appear particularly saddened by that statement. “Steve’s closing tonight, so the place is in good hands.”

He rounds the desk, hightailing it out of here. Was he just waiting for me to show up so he could leave?

I shake my head and settle in at his desk, pulling out the ledger and getting to work.

The next time I look up, my neck has a crick in it. How long have I been at it?

I focus on the lower corner of the screen. Two hours? Wow. Well, at least the tedious part is done after transcribing everything.

I stand, stretching until something pops in my back, and glance out the office window onto the main floor. There are fewer guys out there now, most hanging out around the rings on the other side of the room. There’s a huge guy with shaggy blond hair in the closest ring duking it out with another equally big guy, three men on the sidelines watching them.

In the farthest ring is one of the gym’s trainers, working with a dark-haired man whose back is to me. Could it be…

No, it’s probably not. A ridiculous number of guys here have dark hair.

I sit down, staring at the computer, but my concentration is broken. My gaze cuts to the window, hoping I can see the man’s face, but no such luck.

Okay, would it be such a big deal if I went over to the ring and double checked? Then at least I would know for sure and wouldn’t spend all my time in here wondering.

I meander out there, pulling my sweater tighter around me, and take a wide berth to avoid the first ring, the guys on the sidelines calling out increasingly filthy suggestions about what the two men in the ring should do to each other. Why are boys so weird?

As I near the farthest ring, the boxer in there turns, showing me his profile, and my stomach sinks in response. It’s not Ethan.

“You finally taking a break?”

I jump, thankfully keeping the scream contained in my throat, and whirl around, finding my fake boyfriend there. “Why are you trying to scare me?”

He holds his hands up. “I asked you a question. It’s not like I came up and goosed you.”

I hold a hand to my chest, willing my heart to slow down. “Where were you? I didn’t see you out here.”

His mouth crooks up on one side. “You were looking for me?”

Damn. He got me.

I roll my eyes. “I was just curious is all.”

He nods, but doesn’t take it further, letting me keep my dignity. He points to the punching bags about twenty feet away. “Practicing. Steve’s with Johnson tonight.”

“You normally train with him?”

“My first choice is your dad. His style meshes with mine the most. But Steve’s my second choice.” He holds a hand up to the side of his mouth. “But don’t tell him that,” he stage whispers, “He thinks he’s number one.”

Does he ever stop with the antics? Even if, I have to admit, they’re occasionally amusing? “So you don’t have anyone to punch tonight?”

He strokes his beard thoughtfully. “Well, I could practice blocking.”

“With who?”

“You.”

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