Page 2 of Filthy and the Beast

“Right. But you don’t mind?”

Reggie laughs. “Me? Hell no, man. I’m not trying to win any medals. I just like working out. I do eat pretty healthy at home, though. Makes it easier for Everett to do the same.”

Reggie recently married his husband Everett, a professional tennis player at the top of the game. “Hey, that’s right. Where is your man?” I glance back at the clock. “Why are you at the gym this late? Shouldn’t you be home with him?”

“He’s out of town for a couple nights. I’m just stopping by.” Reggie points into the massive facility, but his eyes drift down to the cupcakes. “Got a special client. He only comes by at night.”

I nudge the plate toward him. “Eat.”

“Whoa. Thanks, man. These are amazing.” He unwraps another. “You touched it with a lemon?”

“That’s right.” As I lean forward, my glasses slide down my nose. “But hey. Back it up. Is that grumpy old dude your special client?”

Reggie snorts. “Do yourself a favor. Don’t let the Sledgehammer hear you call him names.”

“Oh, Sledge?” I wave my hand in his direction. “I’m not scared. I offer him baked goods, and he grunts and pretends I don’t exist. It’s kind of our thing.”

Reggie chuckles. “Hell, I’m not scared of him, either. But that makes us the only two here.”

Wrinkling my nose, I study this so-called Sledgehammer. He’s still throwing around big pieces of metal, cussing and snorting while his muscles bulge, but he doesn’t intimidate me.

The routine is kind of cute, actually. Right before he lifts something big, he keeps wiggling his butt, and when he catches his breath, he bounces on the tips of his toes.

It’s a very nice ass, coincidentally. Looks great when he wiggles it.

“Why are the jocks scared of him? Is it because he makes those noises? And why would you come in for a client in the middle of the night? It doesn’t look like he’s recovering from a sports injury. Is he hurt?”

Reggie devours his second cupcake. “Lot of questions at once, Damian.” He licks his thumb. “Everything okay? The night shift getting to you?”

“No, it’s perfect. It means Nico and Shadow get some privacy, too.”

Losing my job wouldn’t have been quite so devastating if I hadn’t lost my apartment too.

And car.

Really a spectacularly bad week.

Luckily, my best friend Nico and his boyfriend Shadow have plenty of room to share in their rockstar loft, and Seattle has a fine public transit system. My current arrangement isn’t a long-term solution, but it will get me by.

Reggie chuckles. “Nico and Shadow still can’t keep their hands off each other.”

I tilt my head at him. “Like someone else I know.”

Reggie beams proudly the way he does whenever his husband comes up. “Got me there.”

I grin. “Nico and Shadow are very happy and also very busy with their careers. The lovebirds are gracious hosts, but I can tell I’m cramping their style. You can only walk in on a moaning duet so many times. Plus, every hour I put in behind this desk gets me a little bit closer to having my own place again.” I lean forward, confessing because Reggie is so easy to talk with. “I’m a bit self-conscious, honestly, about the whole ordeal. All my friends are fabulously successful, but I need a couch to crash on. The sooner I’m out of there, the better.” I blink. “Hey, you never said. What’s up with the Sledgehammer?”

As though to answer my question, a monstrous roar echoes through the gym. Reggie and I both snap our heads to the side, and I gasp. The Sledgehammer's fallen to the ground, one hand gripping his side.

“Shit.” Reggie licks his fingers clean. “Duty calls.”

Rushing across the gym, he helps the guy to a bench, carefully supporting his back while the old jock curses loud enough for me to hear. They exclaim at each other, arguing about something.

“Sledgehammer,” I mutter as I pull out my phone. “I wonder…”

Finding him only takes a minute. The man was apparently a boxer, competing for titles. For a minute in the late nineties, people thought he was going to be a champion, the next big thing. He had a solid winning streak until something called the Vegas Thrashing ending his career in disgrace.

“You can’t be serious, man,” Reggie appeals to the Sledgehammer, his deep voice booming. The boxer stutter-steps his way out of the gym, his jaw tight as he swallows his pained grimace. “You remember what happened last time? You can’t just go home and sleep it off.”

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