Chapter 5: Chapter 5

AVERY

My roommate’s voice, loud and echoing, rouses me from sleep early Thursday morning.

“Avery! There’s a tall, dark, and handsome guy at the door claiming he knows you.”

I shuffle down to the kitchen, clutching my robe. Reed is there, leaning against the doorframe, his muscles taut beneath his jacket.

“Tall, dark, and rugged,” he corrects Olive with a confident wink.

“I thought we were starting this weekend,” I question, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, I was bored.” He shrugs, sauntering into the apartment, his eyes appreciatively scanning my robe-clad figure.

“How did you know where I live?” I ask.

“Josh told me in case there was an emergency,” he replies. “Now, go get dressed. Something you don’t mind getting sweaty in.”

“That sounds promising,” Olive says with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle.

“Where are we going?” I ask, ignoring her.

“You’ll find out when we get there. Now, hurry up,” he urges.

***

Fifteen minutes later, we’re walking through the door of a gym. The overhead lights flicker on as Reed hits the switch, illuminating an open room filled with equipment.

Reed grabs two large water bottles from a fridge and leads me over to a bench near the wall.

“Why do you have a key to this place?” I ask, looking around.

“I’m a member, and I did some big marketing campaigns for them a while back.” He shrugs. “Really helped them expand their client list and open a few new locations. This place caters mostly to celebrities and VIPs, offering them privacy while they workout. It’s the only gym where I’m not constantly mobbed by UFC fans.”

“Fans,” I tease, rolling my eyes. “I bet they’re the worst.”

“When all they want to talk about is my last fight, yeah, it gets old,” he grumbles.

I feel a pang of guilt. I can’t imagine the pressure of disappointing so many people.

“I’m sorry, Reed,” I apologize. “I didn’t know you were in marketing.”

He shrugs and walks away, connecting his phone to the speakers. A metal song I don’t recognize comes on. He adjusts the volume so it plays softly in the background.

I remove my sweatshirt and hang it on a hook before opening my water bottle. I catch Reed’s gaze lingering on my sports bra-clad figure. A small smile crosses my face.

~He’s not as subtle as he thinks.~

I decide to take some workout selfies for my Instagram. I make silly faces and flex my nonexistent muscles. As I’m snapping away, Reed wraps his arms around me and snags my phone, holding it out as far as he can.

“Say cheese!” he chuckles.

His laughter is infectious, and I can’t help but join in. We take a few more photos, striking goofy poses. It feels so natural, leaning against him. So easy to pretend we’re a couple. I almost forget about the mystery woman he wants me to help him with.

I quickly upload my solo photos to my account, saving the ones of Reed and me to my album. Almost instantly, my phone starts buzzing with likes and comments.

“Did you post any of us?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

I scoff before I can stop myself. “Of course not. If Josh saw, he’d freak out. You know that.”

He looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t. I walk over to a punching bag hanging from the ceiling and take a swing at it.

He chuckles when the bag barely moves. “I can see those videos have helped a lot. You’ve never done this before, have you?”

I shoot him a warning look as he tries to suppress another laugh.

“What gave you that idea?”

“Let me show you how it’s done,” he offers, pulling off his shirt.

My breath catches as he tosses it aside. His muscles ripple with the movement, his perfectly defined abs carved to perfection. His shorts hang low on his hips, revealing a perfect V that disappears beneath the waistband.

Suddenly, I’m parched. I want to gulp down my water, but I don’t want to give myself away.

“I know. I’m a sight to behold,” he teases, catching me staring. “Go ahead. Take it all in.”

He flexes his muscles, putting on a show. I want to trace every contour with my fingers.

“Yeah, yeah.” I roll my eyes, my cheeks heating. “Enough already. Show me how it’s done, Mr. Fighter.”

He laughs again, a deep, more sensual sound that only fuels the fire in my belly.

“Before we start, we need to protect our hands.”

He sits on the bench, wrapping his hands with a fabric-like material that stretches like tape. He loops it around his thumb, circles his wrist three times before weaving it between each finger. Once both hands are wrapped, he clenches and relaxes his fists.

“Your turn,” he says, holding out another roll of fabric.

I nod, biting my lip nervously before extending my hands. The moment his rough fingers touch my wrist, my cheeks flush a deeper shade of red. He wraps my hands just like he did his, handling me with such care that it sends a shiver down my spine.

“How does it feel?” he asks when he’s finished. “Can you move your fingers?”

I test it out, clenching and unclenching my fists like he did. “What am I supposed to be looking for?”

He smiles, standing up and taking my hands in his.

“How does it feel when you flex?”

He gently bends my fingers so that my fingertips touch the center of my palms. Heat spreads up my legs like a firecracker, but I focus on his question, fighting how right it feels to be this close to him.

“I think it’s fine.”

Satisfied with my answer, he leads me over to the bag. I follow him across the black floor, hesitating as we come to a stop. He grabs my hips to position me in front of it, his touch searing my skin like a brand. I can’t think about anything but the feel of his hands on me.

“Okay. Here’s how you make a fist.” He shows me before helping me slip on a pair of gloves. “Try again.”

When he steps away, it’s easier to focus. I pull back my fist and hit the bag again. There’s barely a sound when my punch lands, and the bag doesn’t move. I huff, feeling frustrated.

“Again,” he commands, his voice stern as he crosses his arms over his chest.

I keep swinging, but each hit lacks power. I’m grunting like a madwoman and my heart is racing as sweat forms on my face, but I keep going. I want to prove to Reed and myself that I can do this. I can make the bag move.

Finally, I step back, chest heaving as Reed steps in, bouncing on the balls of his feet with his hands raised. His face hardens, determination burning in his eyes.

“You don’t want to hit and then stop.” He pulls back his right arm, preparing to strike. “You want to punch through the bag.”

His fist shoots forward, landing with such force that the bag flies back, the chains above rattling as it swings. My mouth falls open and goosebumps cover my arms.

~Just when I thought Reed Everett couldn’t get any hotter, he proves me wrong.~

He waits for the bag to settle before striking again, moving with speed and precision. His punches are calculated, his face focused as he alternates between his right and left.

I watch him in awe, taking mental pictures of the godlike figure in front of me.

“Your core is where the power comes from.” He flexes, his breath coming out in long puffs as he bobs and weaves.

Soon, his body is glistening with sweat, his muscles tightening as he surprises me with a high kick that connects with the side of the bag in a brutal crack.

I could watch him all day. He moves with such ease, like he was born to do this.

“See,” he says, turning to me with a cocky grin. “Piece of cake.”

“Oh yeah,” I giggle. “I could totally do that in my sleep.”

He runs a hand through his hair and steps back, insisting I take his place. I expect him to just tell me what to do, but jump when his hands wrap around me, adjusting my posture.

He steps closer, the line of his body pressing against mine as he raises my hands in front of my face, his breath brushing the back of my neck as he forces me to bend my elbows.

“Punch through and don’t stop, even when your fist lands.”

I nod, taking a deep breath as he moves back. The moment my gloved hand meets the leather, I feel the impact through my whole arm. But the pain disappears when I realize that the bag is swinging.

“There you go!” Reed cheers.

I miss my next strike but follow up with a powerful punch that rattles the chains, just like Reed’s kick did. I’m panting heavily, my body not used to this kind of workout, but I push through. The adrenaline coursing through my veins feels so good, it’s addicting.

I feel sure of myself in front of the bag, like I’m capable of anything. I land one last strike and step back, standing a bit straighter. I slip off the gloves and toss them to the side.

Reed resumes his position in front of it as I head over to the bench for a sip of water as I watch him. The chains of the punching bag clatter so loudly, I fear it might tumble down at any moment.

I’m captivated by the sight of him as I pat my face dry with a towel, staring as his muscles flex and contract as he lands punch after punch. My heart pounds harder, and I take another big gulp of water.

I trail the cloth down to the valley between my breasts, mopping up the sweat that has pooled there. Suddenly, the punching stops, and I look up to find Reed standing before me, eyes following the path of the towel.

“Come on, Avery,” he says with a grin, not even trying to deny that he got caught. “We’re not done.”

“No, thanks,” I sigh, shaking my head. “I’ve had enough for today.”

“You’ve barely broken a sweat.”

I snap the towel at him, and he laughs, catching the end in his hand. The cloth stretches between us as we both pull, a tiny game of tug-o-war. But then Reed wraps it around his wrist and yanks it back, dragging me forward.

He catches me by the wrists. He’s so close that I can smell the sweat and cologne on his skin. It’s a heady mix that makes my mind spin. His broad chest rises and falls with each ragged breath.

I look up, meeting his dark, heavy gaze. I know he can feel my heart pounding. I know he can see the hardening of my nipples through my sports bra. Hell, he can probably feel them pressed against his body.

“This would be a bad idea, right?” he whispers, pressing his sweaty forehead to mine.

My stomach churns as the butterflies return, fluttering with such intensity that it makes me feel both nauseous and exhilarated at the same time.

~Is Reed Everett going to kiss me? That can’t be what he’s asking, right?~

“Tell me I shouldn’t,” he breathes, his gaze dropping to my lips.

I can’t think, let alone form the words to speak. My eyes flick down to his mouth.

He takes that as my consent, leaning in slowly.