Page 11 of Nothing To Lose
"Did you just move in?" I ask awkwardly.
He huffs. "You could say that." I cock my head. "I'm renovating the building."
"Oh," I say simply, because I'm too dumb to come up with a better response. "But you also live here?"
"Yeah. There's an apartment upstairs, but it's worse than down here. I figured it was best to get things down here in working order and get my business going before worrying about fixing things up there."
"Your business?"
He nods. "I'm opening a MMA training gym."
I'm racking my brain to remember what MMA is. “That’s not the guys in funny costumes that wrestle, right?”
“That would be WWE,” he says, looking amused.
“Ah yeah, that’s basically drag for straight people, right?”
Isaac barks out a laugh. “I guess so.”
“Yeah, you don’t really seem the type.”
“MMA is mixed martial arts. It’s real fighting, not staged.”
“Wait. Is that, like, cage fighting?"
"It's usually in a cage, yeah."
My expression must give away my thoughts. He seems amused, though, and laughs again. I can't tell which of us he's laughing at. Me, probably, for being a nerd to whom the idea of people pummeling each other for sport seems horrific.He grins, and it transforms his face into something equally beautiful and terrifying.
"This would just be a training gym, though. No cage here."
"That sounds… cool."God, I'm such a loser.
"I plan on teaching some self-defense classes, too." My spine stiffens as his words sink in. Self-defense. Because I'm defenseless. Because I didn't defend myself—not effectively, at least.
"Hey," Isaac says, stepping forward and touching my chin, angling my face to look back at him. "I didn't mean anything by that."
I shrug. "I could clearly use the help."
"I've come away from a fight looking worse." I cock an eyebrow. "It's true, I swear."
"I have a feeling the other guy came out looking even worse," I say sardonically.
"I haven't won every fight I've been in, just most of them."
Then he winks—WINKS!—before allowing me to pull away. And now I really need some space to get my head straight.
"Can I, uh—can I use your restroom?"
"Of course," he says, tossing his empty bottle in a blue bin and leading me out. I follow him through a short hallway and out into the main room. One wall is floor to ceiling windows that face what I recognize as Main Street. I thinkThe Nookisn’t far from here. It's light out, but the light is beginning to fade, meaning it must be late evening by now.
"What time is it?"What day is it?
He checks his phone. "Nearly six. I was going to order in for dinner. Want anything specific?"
"Uh, no," I say, confused by his hospitality. Not that he hasn't been anything but accommodating—he let me sleep in his bed, for fuck's sake. But he doesn't know me. I must be really pitiful for him to feel the need to baby me like this. I don’t want to put him out anymore, so it’s probably best if I don’t stay. I’ll just use the bathroom, try to get cleaned up as best I can, and ask to borrow his phone to call a ride home. Or… somewhere. I’m still not sure I’m ready to be somewhere he could find me.
He leads me into a large tiled room. " Everything is kind of a mess right now, but this is eventually going to be a locker room with stalls and stuff." I get the impression he might be embarrassed, but I don't understand why. It’s impressive that he’s fixing this place up himself.
