Takedown Teague (Caged 1)

“No.” As much as I wanted to get out of this conversation, I knew my delay tactics weren’t going to work on her. Yolanda had a knack for knowing when I was stalling, and she always managed to cut through the bullshit. As I glanced up at her, I saw her arms crossed and her eyebrows raised, so I gave up. “She moved in with me.”

Dead silence for at least twenty crunches.

“She did what?”

Yolanda dropped her chin and looked at me from the top of her eyes as I brought my elbow up to touch the opposite knee, then moved back to the mat, then did the same on the other side.

“Moved in with me,” I repeated without pausing. Yolanda continued to just stare at me until I finally stopped and rested my arms over my knees. “What?”

“You let a chick move in with you?”

“Yeah.”

“You,” she stated as she pointed a finger at me, “Takedown Teague, let a chick move into your apartment.”

I couldn’t help but notice the other guys had gone a little quiet and were listening intently to the conversation. Fucking awesome.

Note sarcasm.

“She needed a place to stay.” I responded with a shrug, hauled myself up, and headed over to the heavy bag—which was also out of earshot of the rest of the gym rats—to throw some punches. Yolanda moved to the opposite side and braced the bag for me.

“And you figured you’d just let her move in with you?”

“Yep.” I slammed a fist into the bag, spun in a circle, then hit it with the other hand.

“So, you are fucking her,” Yolanda stated.

“I am not.” I corrected her through grunts as I punched. “It’s not like that. She’s not like that.”

“You have a one-bedroom apartment,” Yolanda said as if I hadn’t noticed.

Well, I guess I didn’t notice right away.

“Where is she sleeping?”

“In the bed,” I said with another shrug.

“With you.” The smile on her face was starting to piss me off. “So you are sleeping with her.”

“We slept in the same bed,” I growled before slamming my fist hard enough into the bag to knock Yolanda a little off balance. “I’m not sleeping with her. I told you; she’s not like that.”

Turning away from her, I moved over to the weight bench and sat down. Yolanda walked up to me slowly, still smiling.

“I bet your balls are the color of the sky,” she said with another laugh.

“Nice,” I mumbled as I lay down on the bench and braced my hands on the bar.

Yolanda moved behind me and signaled to a big guy with arms about the size of my thighs. She helped me lift the barbells up, but he took her place to spot me. As soon as she let go, I knew why—they were fucking heavy, and I had difficulty with the first press.

“What the fuck did you put on these?” I gasped.

“Three fifty,” she replied. “So when are you going to admit that you’re into her?”

“Fuck you.” I grunted under my breath as I brought the bar to my chest and pressed up again. It was a good twenty-five pounds over my usual max, and it wasn’t easy. I could barely speak. “You…trying…to kill me here?”

“You can handle it,” she said. “You need to move up. You let that little shit get in too many hits Tuesday night. Need to pump you up a bit.”

I lost count of the sets as I closed my eyes and forced myself into that place in my brain that didn’t recognize pain. Before too long, the spotter was taking the bar from me and smiling a nearly toothless grin.