Page 35 of Waiting for Acceptance
“Uh, I guess just give me a membership then.” I flip my wallet open and pull out some cash to pay for the year—whether I’m here for another month or the rest of my life—which feels like a possibility with as many months as I’ve already been here. This acquisition feels like it’s taking a lot longer than most, but I haven’t had the energy to care why. Plus, I don’t really mind it. I’ve found something, someone rather, to entertain my time while here. After filling out the membership information I take my things and head onto the floor. I’m halfway through my workout when I see three familiar faces walk through the door and one I don’t quite recognize.
“Who’s going in with me today?” The guy who picked up Lauren from work a couple of months ago asks the other three.
“I’m not even saying anything because you know I’m out until the season is officially over,” the guy with longer hair answers.
“I think getting my ass handed to me yesterday was enough to last me at least a month.”Bar owner.
“As much as I have always dreamed of beating the shit out of my little brother, I’m getting married in a few weeks so I’d rather avoid having my beautiful bride yell at me for getting blemished.” The red-headed guy slaps him on the back and he groans.
“Pussies. All of you.” I almost snort when he slaps them all in a row with a towel he just pulled from his bag.
“Oh my god, dude. Did you dry your fucking ball sweat with that towel? Why does it smell like that?!” The older brother covers his nose and slaps him in the back of the head.
“That's what amansmells like, dude. It’s understandable you don’t recognize the scent.” I realize I’ve completely stopped my workout to eavesdrop on this conversation like a fucking creep,but it did give me a good laugh—and the urge to spar with this complete stranger. Fuck it, how bad could it be?
“You need someone to spar with?” I ask, approaching them from the weight bench I was just working at.
“Oz. What are you doing here?” How clever.
“Working out somewhere better than the stale gym in the hotel I’m staying at.”
“The fuck did you just call him? I thought his name was like… Lucy or something?” the red-headed guy says.
“Lucifer,” the guard dog corrects, staring at me with his arms now crossed over his chest.
“Uh, hey. I’m Sawyer,” the guy with long hair introduces himself. The most unthreatening of all of them so far.
“Hey man, it’s Fitz, actually, but I admire Lauren’s term of endearment choice.” The red-headed guy barks out a laugh at that.
“My bad man. I’m Tucker.” He holds out his hand to shake mine. I nod and shake it, looking over at the broody one.
“I could keep referring to you in my head asThe Bar Ownerif you’d like—” He huffs and italmostlooks like he smirks.
“Max.” He holds up a fist and I bump it, turning to look at the last man standing. Who doesnotoffer me his name.
“So you want to spar then?”
I shrug in agreement. “Let’s do it.” I notice as the other guys share glances with each other but think nothing of it and glove up. Not even five minutes in the ring and I’m on my ass.
“Jesus Christ,” I mumble and the dog finally cracks a smile. Of course he’s pleased with my pain.
“What’s the matter, Big Money? Daddy never taught you how to fight?”
The fuck is wrong with this guy? And no, he didn’t, dammit.
I get back up and we go another few rounds where I actually get a couple of good shots in. Pleased with myself; I let my guarddown, apparently, and he gets one last hit in and I go down hard. I lie on my back, breathing heavily with no desire to get back up. I toss my gloves, sit up with my arms draped over my knees, and look up to see Tucker offering me his hand.
“Probably should have warned you that you were getting in with a former Marine with like, ten years of martial arts training.”
Goddamn. Yeah, that would have been useful information.
“Yeah. Maybe mention that to the next guy.”
“So, how do you know Lauren?” Sawyer asks, the others clearly listening for the answer too.
“We work together,” I answer simply.
“Did you steal her favorite pens or put a push pin in her chair or something?” Tucker laughs and I give him a confused look. “Must have done something shitty to earn the nicknameLucifer.” I chuckle, thinking of my little troublemaker getting worked up enough to call me the devil.
