Rough and Ready (More Than A Cowboy 2)

After a few seconds, she lifted her chin, rolled her shoulders back. I could see she was taking deep breaths, and her fingers relaxed around the handle of the dolly.

She was tall and dressed in a t-shirt and running shorts. I couldn't miss her slim shape. Her legs were long, well-muscled. Between the shapely calves and the running shoes, I guessed her workout choice. Was she going for a run now, once she ditched those boxes? While it wasn't even six, it was dark out. Cold, too. While this wasn't a dangerous part of town, it wasn't safe for her to run alone at night, anywhere. So I’d stick around and make sure she didn't do something stupid.

Yeah, that was the reason why I leaned against the wall, took stock of my new neighbor.

Her dark hair was sleek and stick straight, grazing her shoulders. It had to be silky soft to touch. When she'd freaked, I hadn't missed her dark eyes, the high cheekbones, full lips. As she stood there and pulled herself together, I took the time to notice her perfect ass and toned thighs.

I was a red-blooded male, and she was hot. I couldn't help but notice, couldn’t help I had to adjust my dick in my workout shorts. While I liked a woman all feminine in dresses and heels, I also liked one who wasn’t high maintenance. Who took care of herself. Saw fitness as healthy.

Pushing the outer door open, she went out into the parking lot. It was well lit—Gray was more of a freak about safety than anyone I knew—and using a key fob, she popped the trunk on a dark colored sedan. If she hadn't been afraid of me, I'd have gone out and helped because I didn’t let a woman lug a bunch of boxes around, but if she lost it at the sight of me at the elevator, I didn't know what she'd do if I joined her in a parking lot at night. Did she have mace on that keychain?

I watched her put the three boxes away, close the trunk. She went into the gym through its main entrance, not through the side door off of the lobby. I went there and peeked in, watched as she set the dolly in the corner by the gym’s coat rack, gave a shaky wave to Jack at the front desk, then made her way to the row of treadmills that looked out onto the street. Good girl.

My neighbor was skittish as fuck yet smart. She wasn’t running outside.

After stepping on and pushing a few buttons, she started walking, tugging an elastic band from her wrist and pulling her hair back into a sloppy tail. Yeah, she wasn’t high maintenance or trying to catch the eyes of the guys. While those shorts showed off a mile of leg, she was dressed fairly modestly. No tight yoga pants or snug top.

After pressing a few more buttons on the treadmill, her pace quickened. By the time I pushed through the door and leaned against the front desk, she was running at a serious pace. No warm up.

Gray's gym had free weights and exercise machines, treadmills and ellipticals, but he specialized in MMA fighting. This meant a large amount of real estate devoted to all aspects of mixed martial arts; an open mat, separate training rooms, and an octagon with a fence around it, just like the ones on TV. His members were those like Harper who needed a place to get a workout in who had no interest in fighting. Yoga and spin classes were on the schedule for them. Then there were the serious competitors like me. MMA, Muay Thai, BJJ and other fighting classes were filled with those who wanted to compete or at least defend themselves. Gray intentionally kept it from being a total meat market and a straight competition gym. The balance worked, and it was considered one of the best gyms in town.

“I thought you went to shower,” Jack said, frowning at me. He was in college, working the desk in exchange for free membership. While he didn't have aspirations of being the next big fighter, he took all the classes Gray offered. His focus was BJJ, and he'd just gotten his blue belt. He had the physique for the sport, and the time on the mat with more experienced people kept his ego in check.

Manning the desk, he couldn't have missed what happened earlier in the ring with the doc's kid. Gray was in his glass enclosed office talking to the dickhead, who was wiping his sweaty head with one of the gym's white towels. While Gray was chill as he leaned back in his desk chair, the other guy was pissed and waving his arms. Probably spouting some shit about being a great fighter. Whatever.

I glanced back at my new neighbor. Her ponytail swung side to side as she ran. The treadmills faced the front windows. During the day, the street was visible and watching traffic helped pass the monotony of running nowhere. I hated running inside, but bad weather this time of year forced me on them sometimes as part of my workout. No way would I risk injury because of ice.

“Your new neighbor, right?” Jack asked. “She's pretty serious.”

“Serious? You mean personality?” I asked. I picked up a pen, fiddled with it, tried not to show the depth of my interest in her. The last thing I needed was for Jack to think I was a seventh-grade girl interested in gossip.

“Nah, she's cool. Introduced herself the other day. She runs.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” I countered, watching her smooth pace, the way the muscles in her legs moved with each step.

“No, I mean she runs.”

I turned to look at him. “What the fuck does that mean?”

He r

olled his eyes. “It means she came in yesterday before the BJJ class. We talked about stupid shit for a few minutes before she went to the treadmills. Asked me about the classes I was taking. Did you know she's a professor at the university? Teaches some obscure art topic.” He thought for a second. “I don't remember which.” He leaned in. “I have to admit, she's really pretty, and I wasn't listening all that closely.”

I grinned when I saw a flush climb up his cheeks. Yeah, she was pretty. And then some. What guy could process words when a girl like her offered a soft smile? I'd gotten horror, and I was still intrigued.

“So, running?” I asked, getting him back on track. I didn't think it was a safe topic for him to talk about how hot one of the gym's members was, especially since he was on the clock. It was fine for me to think it, but I wasn't going to tell him that.

“She was running like she is now when Paul took over the desk, so I could go into class.”

That meant fast. She wasn't jogging, not like Jimmy, one of the gym regulars, two treadmills over. He kept turning his head to watch her, even pushed some buttons on his machine to pick up his pace, clearly not interested in being outdone.

I knew he did three miles as part of his workout routine, and she made him look like he was hobbling along with a walker. With the faster speed, he was failing quickly, and I had to shake my head.

“She was still running at the same pace when I came out.”

Whoa. I gave him a look, knowing Jack liked to stretch the truth. “Class was an hour.”

Jack grabbed a membership card from a guy who came in, scanned it. Tossed him a towel.