Fearless Like Us (Like Us 9) - Page 39
He can’t lose Studio 9. He’s been trying to preserve the gym like someone preserving a ghost and a legacy, and it’s too priceless to let go.
The bad news kicks my ass back onto dry land. I climb out of the pool, leaving those two to tread in the deep end. While I pry off my boots and pour water out of them, Akara calls after me, “Your dad told me he wants to talk to you.”
I go still. “Does he really?”
“Wolf Scouts’ honor.”
Sulli splashes him. “Kits, you were never a Wolf Scout.”
“But I could’ve been,” he smiles, one that vanishes too fast.
I pour water out of my other boot. “You need me to talk to him?”
“You don’t have to,” Akara says strongly, knowing me and my dad didn’t even speak at my brother’s wedding. “I’m not telling you to.”
But it’d help him.
If I decline, then he has to go back and tell my dad, sorry, sir, your son isn’t available. And then he’ll have to field the why questions and how come.
Akara is going through enough. Here’s my chance to do something for him, but goddamn, I can’t believe it’s going to be this.
“I’ll reach out to him,” I suddenly say.
By text? By carrier pigeon? By a fuck you pizza, I wish. But I’m not that big of a Bitter Betty.
“Thanks, Banks.” Akara looks relieved.
Sulli looks a little shocked, but after our talk, I think she understands why I’d do the thing I said I wouldn’t. We both want to help Akara, and this is my shot.
14
AKARA KITSUWON
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart blares in my eardrums. Sweat drips down my temples. Pulse pounding, I slam my fists hard into a red bag.
Jab, cross, hook. Jab, cross, hook.
Over and over, I repeat the simple combo. Pent up energy expels from me in short, quick bursts. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Sulli run laps around Studio 9.
The Studio 9 that I sunk my dad’s life insurance money in.
The Studio 9 that embodies my mom’s Muay Thai career
The Studio 9 that is supposed to honor their legacy, their lives.
The Studio 9 that has no manager.
I slam another fist, the crescendo of the classical song building more emotion out of me. Perhaps I should feel good that Alexis is moving to Chicago to be with her new girlfriend. Selfishly, I can’t help but wish singledom on her.
Then I wouldn’t have lost my manager—the best manager I’ve ever had over the years, by the way. Without Alexis, no one is running the gym while I’m busy with security.
I don’t have time to hire someone else.
Don’t have time to second guess any of my decisions. It’s been three days since I closed the gym, and I’m no closer to finding a new manager than the day Alexis left.
Uppercut.
Right hook, right hook, right hook. I hit harder, gritting my teeth as I slam my gloved fist into the red bag. I expel a single breath and catch movement as Sulli rounds the boxing ring. Her narrowed focus draws me in, and my next uppercut is lighter.
I find myself catching my breath as I apply less force and study my girlfriend.
Girlfriend.
My lips begin to upturn.
Sullivan Meadows jogs with purpose. Like she’s training for a championship race. Like this isn’t just an afternoon workout at my closed gym. Her drive and concentration never shift, not even as she runs past the wooden lockers, about to circle the area of hanging bags where I am.
Tension unwinds across my shoulders, and my next easy combo is done with an actual smile. I needed this today.
Time with her, even if we’re just sharing the same air.
As Sulli jogs through the neighboring row of boxing bags, I slip through them and swiftly step out in front of her.
She collides into my chest in hard impact. I grab the small of her waist, stabilizing Sulli so she doesn’t go down. “Easy there, string bean.”
She rips out one of her earbuds and speaks. I can’t hear her over Mozart blasting on high-volume through my AirPods. I’m about to pry one out, but she beats me to the punch and tears an AirPod from my ear.
“What the fuck, Kits?” Spice Girls blares from her speakers, the cord hanging loosely at her gym shorts. “I could’ve plowed you over.”
Plowed me over. She’s way too cute. “Impossible, Sul.” I lead her backwards towards the nearest boxing bag. “I’m the one who caught you.”
With each breath, she smiles more and more. Her ass bumps into the boxing bag. Sulli’s green eyes travel down my six-two build. “You hear that?”
I hear my pulse and her pulse hiking up another notch.
I also hear music.
“Hear what?” I ask.
“Our songs. They’re fighting each other.” She uncurls her fist, one of my AirPods blaring the rage-y classical tune.
“Mozart vs. Spice Girls.” I give her a long once-over, moving slowly over her gorgeous legs. “What a match.”
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