Chapter Eight
~Hadlee~
Wednesday comes and before I know it Lara is parking the car in front of the Joe’s Boxing Gym. She shoves her keys in her purse and looks at me intensely. I don't meet her gaze, but I can feel her eyes burning into my skin. “You ready for this?” she asks and her voice is laced with concern.
“Yes.” I know I need to do this. I know that taking these classes will make me feel better. Stronger. “I'm ready.”
We both get out of the car at the same time and the sidewalk is littered with people. A few are on cell phones and there are photographer's lining the door. Lara comes up on my left and holds the gym door open, and as soon as I walk inside I'm blasted with the musky scent of sweat that's permeating the moist air. There's a small reception desk off to the right and Lara walks over to sign us in for the class as I take inventory in my surroundings.
Loud chatter swells in the air and trails over to where I'm standing. There's an area with some treadmills, ellipticals, and weights where a few men and women are working out. In the far right corner there's an extremely muscular man squatting and as he dips down he grunts. My eyes center on all the weights he has stacked on each side of them dumb-bell. I wonder how heavy that is. I mean that man looking like he has mini footballs lining his tanned biceps so there has to be a lot of weight on the end of it, right?
Suddenly I avert my attention to the left when a flash of light fills up my peripheral vision. There's another bevy of photographer's crowded around a guy who is jumping rope. He's shirtless, dripping with perspiration, his pecs bouncing as he hops up and down each time the jump rope sweeps against the hardwood floor. The muscles in his biceps are flexed and he's got a half-sleeve of tattoo's on each one of his arms. A breath catches in my throat and I can't help, but stare. He stops jumping rope and hands the rope off to a bald man next to him, and at the same time locks eyes with me.
A look of shock registers on my face and I can feel all of my blood flooding to my cheeks. He slits his eyes and clenches his jaw. I look away nervously and my heart is hammering against my ribcage. I'm having a hard time breathing and I feel like anxiety is running laps throughout my body. I've never received such an intense look from someone I don't even know. I steal a peek at him through my lashes and he's still staring, blue-green eyes blazing with a fierce hatred, and at that point I scamper off to the desk and Lara's already heading toward me.
She looks over my shoulder at the guy and a seductive smile curls on her lips. “I know. He's hot isn't he?” she sighs. “Too bad every girl on campus is trying to get on that.”
I think about looking at him again, but don't. I'm not interested in another death by stare-down moment. “Who is he?”
Lara and I take seats in a row of black folding chairs lining the entrance. “You don't know?” I give her a look that tells her what she just asked and she exhales, “That's Sean Reilly. He’s the Middleweight Boxing Champion of the World.” I lean forward, glancing around Lara. Sean's back is to me, and my eyes sweep across his sweaty, muscled back. He steps into an area that's squared off like a boxing ring and takes a mouth guard from the same man he handed the jump rope to. I watch him, eyes filled with intrigue as he hovers over the side of the ring. His body is like an ice sculpture; carved, chiseled, and molded in all the right places. Part of me wonders what it would be like to glide my fingertips across something so rugged and perfect. Then his head snaps up and he locks eyes with me again. Another hateful glance. This time I make a mental note not to look at him again, but who knows if I'll actually follow through with that.
Lara clears her throat and glances over her shoulder before meeting my gaze. “I guess he's got a title fight or something coming up soon.” She shrugs. “Hence all the photographer's.”
“Has he ever lost a fight?” I ask, my voice filled with curiosity.
“Nope. Undefeated.”
“Wow. That's impressive.”
Lara snorts and giggles. “What's even more impressive is that his rise to fame came really fast. I'm pretty sure he's only been boxing for a couple of years.”
“What are you, his publicist?” I joke and nudge her in the shoulder.
“When you work across from a sporting goods store you get the 411 on the greats I guess. The guys are always raving about him and imitating the right-hook he's famous for. Apparently, it's lethal.”
“That's kind of frightening to think about,” I add. “The fact that a person has a punch so deadly he could kill someone with it.”
“Or,” Lara smirks, “it makes him ten times hotter.”
I shake my head, sighing. “Maybe to you.”
“Or maybe to every girl around.” Lara tilts her head to the left. “Look, he has a fan club.”
Completely disregarding the mental note I made to myself a few minutes ago I glance in his direction again. Several scantily clad women dressed in sports bras and spandex shorts are crowded around the ring whispering and giggling. Sean is aware of them and a cocky grin spreads on his lips. He nods at the tall, tan blonde in the middle of the group and winks at her. I have to admit that when first seeing him I was enthralled and swept up in his essence just like the rest of his adoring fan club, but after witnessing his flirtatious gesture, I decide it would be best that I forget I ever saw him and let him play with his cesspool of plastic blond bimbos.
“He kind of seems like a jerk,” I tell Lara, staring straight ahead.
“I mean I'm sure he's cocky,” Lara admits, “but I guess there's more to him. I mean the guy has millions of dollars. I think he got about six million for his last title fight and I heard from one the guys at the mall he's getting double for this one. And that's minus the manager's and promoter's cut. But, he does do some pretty awesome stuff with that money.”
“Like what?”
“Charity stuff I guess. I mean when Ted was telling me about all the money he wasn't that specific.”
“That probably makes the fan club even more enthralled.”
“You bet,” Lara scoffs. “Hot, rough around the edges, and loaded. One of those bimbo's is dying to be a baby mama.”
I laugh out loud and snort and earn a few stares from some of the women sitting across from us. I clamp a hand over my mouth to hold in the rest of my laughter as a tall woman, arms roped with muscle, walks toward us wearing a pleasant smile. She has a kind face and soft feminine features. “Hello ladies,” she greets us with a warm tone. “I'm Melissa Thorpe the self-defense instructor.” Lara and I stand and the rest of the ladies follow. “Now,” Melissa continues, “who's ready to learn how to kick some ass?”