Page 28 of His Greatest Muse

I’m a woman training in a space dominated by men double my size. They don’t know that I could knock them on their ass ten times easier and faster than someone of their own height and weight. Even had I not decided to make a career out of boxing, my dad still would have made sure I knew how to stand up for and protect myself.

I inhale and exhale a full breath, my heartbeat finally slowing. A glance out the front window tells me the sun has only just begun to set. It was hot this afternoon when I got here, and I’m already dreading walking back out into the heat.

Maybe an ice bath does sound appealing.

Shouldering open the locker room door, I quickly set my things down on a bench and grab everything I need to take a shower. Normally, I wouldn’t bother showering at a gym, but it beats suffering with the water pressure—or lack thereof—on the bus.

The showers are small but clean, which is all I need to know. I turn the water on and strip out of my soiled clothes, tossing them in a pile in the corner before tossing my hair up and out of the way. The hot water pelts against my back the moment I step into the stall, and I moan, feeling my muscles relax.

I stay in the water for longer than necessary, my eyes shut and head tipped forward. Exhaustion hits me like a brick a beat later, and it takes everything in me to peel my eyes back open and start to lazily wash myself.

I’ve only started rinsing away my body wash when a bang ricochets through the gym, loud enough I can hear it over the rush of the shower. My blood runs cold as I jerkily reach behind me to turn off the water and grab my towel, wrapping it around my torso.

Hunter probably forgot something and just came back for it. It’s the most comforting idea and the most realistic. I let the knowledge of that help calm me as I wait for another sound. A bang, or maybe even a familiar voice calling my name. When the seconds tick by with nothing but silence, I give my head a rough shake with the hope of flinging my worries away.

“Don’t be that girl, T,” I tell myself. Don’t be the girl that runs toward the creepy noises like a complete idiot, like she doesn’t have a care in the world for her own livelihood. “Anddefinitelydon’t do it naked.”

The door bangs a second time when I step out of the shower, the steam fogging the mirrors above the sinks. It’s like someone cranked the temperature up around me. I’m suddenly too hot. Sweat begins to collect on my neck as fear attempts to sink its claws into me. But I refuse to let it win, even if I’m following in the footsteps of a horror movie heroine.

Drying off in a hurry, I throw a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt on before gripping the door handle. My palm is sweaty as I squeeze the metal knob and turn it until it won’t go any further.

I abandon my things in the room and pull the door open, peeking into the hallway. It doesn’t look scary. There’s more than enough light for me to see an abandoned pair of gym shorts on the floor and the small No Smoking sticker on the back door a few feet from the men’s locker room.

The scolding I give myself for getting so nervous in the shower is one for the books. The gym is completely quiet, and I doubt more than a handful of people have a key to this place. Hunter wouldn’t have left the door unlocked behind him.

I roll my neck and let my shoulders drop as I swipe the back of my hand over my forehead. I’ve almost started to smile despite myself when footsteps start to clunk toward me. I spin toward the sound, and my heart jumps to my throat. Movement from my peripheral has a scream building in my chest before flying loose as a bulky male figure comes into view.

It takes all of five seconds to recognize him and for my scream to die.

“You fucking fuckity fuck!” I shout, instantly dropping to a squat and covering my face with my hands. They’re shaking, so I press my palms into my eyes to try and make them stop. It doesn’t work.

I hear Noah rush toward me. He falls to his knees—so hard I hear them knock against the floor—and circles my wrists, pulling my hands from my face. There are spots in my eyes from pressing them so hard, but when they clear, I see the concern on his face. It flashes like a warning beacon. My heart tugs at his worry.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, sounding like he’s swallowed glass. Like he’s on the brink of losing it.

I almost laugh at the ridiculousness of his question. There’s nothing wrong. I’m just a scaredy-cat who’s apparently scared of her ownbest friend. Ugh.

I try to compose myself. “I was in the shower and heard the door slam shut. I didn’t know you were planning on coming here tonight, so I was hoping it was just Hunter forgetting something. I’m fine. Just a bit freaked out.”

His eyes are cold and dark, brutally so. “He shouldn’t have left you here alone. Something could have happened.”

I shake my head and turn my hands so our fingers can interlink. Pulling them to my lap, I smile to try and reassure him that I’m okay. He’s always been overprotective, and when he gets this look in his eyes, it’s usually trickier than normal to calm him down.

“I’m good. You’re here. Who’s a better protector than you?” I tease. He doesn’t reply, doesn’t lose the tension straining his muscles. “The answer is nobody. Obviously.”

“Anyone could have come in here. You wereshowering.” He spits the word out.

“Nobody did but you. Wait, how did you get in here, by the way?”

He shrugs. “Got a key.”

I should ask how he got one and who gave it to him, but I’m too exhausted to care. Instead, I lean forward and rest my forehead against his shoulder, breathing him in. He always smells like leather after he plays guitar, and tonight is no different. I don’t think he’s ever worn leather in his life. The smell comes from the guitar strap I got him for his fifteenth birthday.

Maybe I should get him a new one for his birthday this year, but something tells me he likes his current one more than enough.

“How do you feel about chicken and broccoli for dinner?” I ask into his shirt a few moments later. It’s a terrible attempt at changing the subject, but it’s all I’ve got in me.

He flexes his fingers before tightening his grip. “I’d rather starve.”

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