roar down the street.
This officially counts as the craziest day of my life.
Chapter 6
When my alarm goes off the next morning, I can feel the pain.
The shower helps, hot and scalding. Washing my hair takes some effort, but when I wrap my hand around my upper arm, I can feel how much tighter the muscle is. It’s the craziest thing, like I’ve already started to change into someone else, somebody stronger than I was before.
I jerk the too-tight shirt over my head and cover it with a hoodie. No matter how hot I get, it’s staying on.
I eat a peanut butter sandwich for breakfast. My stomach is a hollow pit of hunger, but I don’t have much else. The energy for this job is going to require more food than I can afford at first. Hopefully I’ll get paid soon. I have to nurse that little bit left over from the pawn shop.
The gym is nuts when I walk in. A dozen lifters grunt in the main room. Buster talks to a guy in sweats, signing him up, it looks like. He was right. It’s going to get busy.
He spots me. “Sign in and grab the box on my desk. It’s a banner we need to put up.” He frowns. “I guess out front. There’s a ladder in the addition. Figure out a way to hang it.”
That sounds loads better than hauling weights. I push my way into the office and scrawl the time next to my name. A tall skinny box rests on a pile of receipts. I glance at them. Weights. Mats. Chairs. Tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of stuff. Big change for the gym. And all Colt’s doing, it seems.
I tear open the box and peer in. It’s a rolled-up banner. I’ll need some twine or rope. And something to attach it to.
I can’t pull the banner out, so I upend the box and let it tumble to the floor. It unfurls a bit, and I see a glove, smaller than a boxing glove, slender and black. The arm it’s attached to is thick and corded with muscle. I already recognize the tattoo encircling the bicep. I pick the banner up and head to the hall, where I can see how long it is.
As it unrolls, I have to suppress a giggle. No wonder Colt was annoyed.
The banner is him, all him. Arms in the air, shouting to a crowd. Crouched over, eyeing an unseen opponent. Punching air. I can’t help myself but run a finger over his bare chest. I remember crashing into it. Heat blossoms through me just thinking about it.
So I’m attracted to him. I shrug. Who wouldn’t be? It’s not like anything would happen between a big-shot fighter and a minimum-wage gym grunt. I’m safe enough.
In the center of the banner, giant letters proclaim “The Gunner trains here.” A laugh escapes before I clamp it down. This doesn’t seem like Colt’s style. Nor Buster’s. This was probably what they were arguing about yesterday.
I roll the banner back up and lean it in a corner. Buster’s still talking to the man at the counter. I go outside and assess the front facade. There’s an unused flagpole sticking out to one side of the door. I could tie it to that. I pace off the approximate length of the banner. The brick wall is unbroken here. No place to tie the other end.
We probably want it lower anyway. I’m examining some metal hooks attached to the top of the window when I hear a motorcycle slow to a stop behind me. My heart accelerates.
The engine cuts off, but I keep looking up. Yes, there are quite a few places I could loop rope through. I just have to locate some. I can sense Colt behind me, but I don’t turn around.
“You always stare at painted windows?” His voice cuts straight through to my gut. Stupid crush. I have to ignore it, make it go away.
I look at him, but I can’t think of anything witty to say. “You’re not going to like my next task.”
He raises his eyebrows. No jeans and leather today. Just a pair of gray sweats and a hoodie. He fits in now. I like that he’s adapted.
“And why’s that?” His grin is wicked.
The ache shifts into a burn. “The dorkiest banner I ever saw is about to go up.”
“Featuring Gunner McClure, I
This officially counts as the craziest day of my life.
Chapter 6
When my alarm goes off the next morning, I can feel the pain.
The shower helps, hot and scalding. Washing my hair takes some effort, but when I wrap my hand around my upper arm, I can feel how much tighter the muscle is. It’s the craziest thing, like I’ve already started to change into someone else, somebody stronger than I was before.
I jerk the too-tight shirt over my head and cover it with a hoodie. No matter how hot I get, it’s staying on.
I eat a peanut butter sandwich for breakfast. My stomach is a hollow pit of hunger, but I don’t have much else. The energy for this job is going to require more food than I can afford at first. Hopefully I’ll get paid soon. I have to nurse that little bit left over from the pawn shop.
The gym is nuts when I walk in. A dozen lifters grunt in the main room. Buster talks to a guy in sweats, signing him up, it looks like. He was right. It’s going to get busy.
He spots me. “Sign in and grab the box on my desk. It’s a banner we need to put up.” He frowns. “I guess out front. There’s a ladder in the addition. Figure out a way to hang it.”
That sounds loads better than hauling weights. I push my way into the office and scrawl the time next to my name. A tall skinny box rests on a pile of receipts. I glance at them. Weights. Mats. Chairs. Tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of stuff. Big change for the gym. And all Colt’s doing, it seems.
I tear open the box and peer in. It’s a rolled-up banner. I’ll need some twine or rope. And something to attach it to.
I can’t pull the banner out, so I upend the box and let it tumble to the floor. It unfurls a bit, and I see a glove, smaller than a boxing glove, slender and black. The arm it’s attached to is thick and corded with muscle. I already recognize the tattoo encircling the bicep. I pick the banner up and head to the hall, where I can see how long it is.
As it unrolls, I have to suppress a giggle. No wonder Colt was annoyed.
The banner is him, all him. Arms in the air, shouting to a crowd. Crouched over, eyeing an unseen opponent. Punching air. I can’t help myself but run a finger over his bare chest. I remember crashing into it. Heat blossoms through me just thinking about it.
So I’m attracted to him. I shrug. Who wouldn’t be? It’s not like anything would happen between a big-shot fighter and a minimum-wage gym grunt. I’m safe enough.
In the center of the banner, giant letters proclaim “The Gunner trains here.” A laugh escapes before I clamp it down. This doesn’t seem like Colt’s style. Nor Buster’s. This was probably what they were arguing about yesterday.
I roll the banner back up and lean it in a corner. Buster’s still talking to the man at the counter. I go outside and assess the front facade. There’s an unused flagpole sticking out to one side of the door. I could tie it to that. I pace off the approximate length of the banner. The brick wall is unbroken here. No place to tie the other end.
We probably want it lower anyway. I’m examining some metal hooks attached to the top of the window when I hear a motorcycle slow to a stop behind me. My heart accelerates.
The engine cuts off, but I keep looking up. Yes, there are quite a few places I could loop rope through. I just have to locate some. I can sense Colt behind me, but I don’t turn around.
“You always stare at painted windows?” His voice cuts straight through to my gut. Stupid crush. I have to ignore it, make it go away.
I look at him, but I can’t think of anything witty to say. “You’re not going to like my next task.”
He raises his eyebrows. No jeans and leather today. Just a pair of gray sweats and a hoodie. He fits in now. I like that he’s adapted.
“And why’s that?” His grin is wicked.
The ache shifts into a burn. “The dorkiest banner I ever saw is about to go up.”
“Featuring Gunner McClure, I
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