Going Down in Flames (Going Down in Flames #1)(44)

“Shouldn’t they wear helmets?” Bryn asked as she figured out how to turn on the treadmill.

“The jousting sticks are made of foam. You can’t get hurt,” Clint said.

After scanning the different activities going on around her, Bryn pointed at the Slam Man section in the far corner where students wailed on robot-like figures. Females were outnumbered by males, three to one. “I want to go over there. Clint, would you walk over there with me?”

“Bad idea,” Ivy said. “I’ll go with you.”

“Why can’t Clint go?”

“If I walked over there, through the weight lifting area, I’d feel the need to make certain comments,” Clint said. “It wouldn’t be healthy.”

“What kind of comments?”

He pointed at a large man who had to be in his college years. “See the big guy over there? I’d feel compelled to point out he’d misplaced his neck.”

“Why would you do that? He’s huge.”

“I didn’t say it was the smartest thing to do. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself. He’d insult my tattoos or say something equally without imagination. I would point out that making his muscles bigger will only make his personal equipment look smaller. From there, it would go downhill.”

Bryn laughed and missed a step. Her foot landed halfway off the treadmill belt. She scrambled to recover. Her back leg kept moving. She stumbled, flew backward off the treadmill, and slammed into someone.

Masculine arms wrapped around her ribcage. “Have you not yet mastered the process of putting one foot in front of the other?”

Oh. My. God. Was it possible to die of embarrassment? Face burning, she disengaged herself from the unknown male’s arms and turned to face him, cringing at the sight of blond hair and tan skin. Please let him accept her apology and not make the situation worse.

“Sorry about that.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “It’s not like you shot a fireball at my head.”

And now she realized who he was. “You’re Jaxon’s friend.”

“Quentin,” he prompted.

“Right, Quentin. Well, thanks.”

He nodded and walked past her.

Gathering her tattered dignity, she turned to glare at Clint. “No more Mr. Funny when I’m on the treadmill. That was mortifying.”

Ivy snorted. “Mr. Funny, I like that.”

“If I’m Mr. Funny, then Bryn is Ms. Stumble Pants.”

“What’s my name?” Ivy asked.

“You are the axis around which my world rotates,” Clint said with complete sincerity.

Ivy blinked and then smiled. “It’s a mouthful, but I like it.”

Gag. Sometimes being around people engaged in a flirt-fest sucked because it reminded her of what she was missing out on.

“I’m going to hit something. I’ll meet you guys at the joust.”

She tried to be inconspicuous as she walked toward the Slam Man area. Didn’t work. Most of the students she passed stared and whispered. A few muttered insults.

Acting like she couldn’t hear them, Bryn entered the Slam Man area and stood off to the side, trying to figure out if there was a system for taking turns. Random students traded places without talking to one another.

A Red female aimed roundhouse kicks at a Slam Man’s head. When the girl tired, several students turned to Bryn.

“Show us what you can do,” a Red female said in a not-so-friendly tone.

“Okay.” She stepped forward and took a few practice swings until she gauged where to land her blows. Once she fell into a rhythm, the noise of the gym disappeared. She focused her anger and anxiety into jabs, uppercuts, and kicks.

Sweat ran into her eyes. Gritting her teeth, she ignored the pain in her side and aimed one last kick at the Slam Man’s ribs before she stopped and leaned forward to breathe through the stitch in her side.

“Who taught you how to fight?” a familiar voice asked.

She straightened up and saw Keegan. With the back of her hand, she wiped sweat from her forehead. “My dad teaches martial arts. He taught me.”

“You breathe fire, and you like to fight. I think you’re predominantly Red.”

“Don’t forget the temper.” Bryn rubbed a cramp out of her tricep.

“Did you really shoot a fireball at Jaxon’s head?” another Red male asked.

Happy warmth suffused her body at the memory. “Yes, I did.”

“I wish I’d seen that. We normally stick to knocking them around in the joust.”

“I was about to head over there. If one of you knocked Jaxon off the pedestal, I wouldn’t mind.”

“You can knock him off yourself,” Keegan said. “Males and females joust all the time.”

“Mr. Stanton wouldn’t approve.” Not to mention Zavien’s reaction.

“You can’t hurt anyone.” Keegan echoed Clint’s earlier comments. “It’s like hitting someone with a couch cushion. You can push them around, but you won’t inflict damage.”

Bryn moved with him and his friends over to the joust area. “You sound disappointed.”

He gave a wicked grin. “Some of those jerks could use a good smack upside the head.”

His grin, combined with the way his sweat-soaked shirt stuck to his muscular chest, caused a few butterflies to flit around her stomach. Further up in line, Clint and Ivy caught her attention and waved.