Love Tap(11)

She laughs and readjusts her top. “Yeah I thought about getting a reduction but that’d take a lot of tips from the spa. Plus, they get me out of a lot of shit.” Chloe has always been a daredevil, which has gotten her in trouble a couple times growing up. I doubt it’s any different now.

“I’m sure they do.” I shake my head, and go inside to get ready.

Throwing my hair into a top knot. I dress in a white sleeveless shirt, and some black spandex capri pants. It’s all about being comfortable to me. Maybe that’s why I’m single. I’d rather be in exercise gear and comfortable underwear, than wear high heels, and a maxi dresses with butt floss. I tried it once and was picking my butt all day. I don’t know how girls do it.

So… single I’ll be. Maybe I should take Fiona’s advice and buy a vibrator.

“I’ll be back later!” I holler heading out the front door.

“Good luck!” Fiona shouts from the kitchen. “Knock ‘em dead!”

Getting in my car I punch in the address Fiona gave me into my phone’s GPS. It’s about thirty minutes away.

Heading that way I jam out to some old school Beyoncé. Looking at my phone I notice I’m getting close to the location so I slow down. There are several small businesses on each side of the road, but nothing resembling a gym of any sort.

I look at the paper Fiona gave me. Hoping for a name of a business to help indicate where the hell I might be going. There’s nothing though. Just the address.

“Shit,” I murmur.

Glancing all around for anything gym related I spot an older building across the intersection. The siding is made up of gray metal, and above the windows that line the front of the building there’s sun faded letters reading ‘GYM’.

Exhaling a breath I drive that way.

Pulling into the parking lot I find an older Range Rover parked up front and couple of other nice looking cars next to it. I raise my brows in question. I wonder how much a coach is going to cost me by the looks of these nice cars.

Unbuckling my seatbelt I grab my pink gym bag and get out.

Shit. I’m really doing this. My back sweats and my heart thuds in my chest while I look the old building over.

“I can do this. I can do this.” I reassure myself.

Throwing my duffle bag over my shoulder I pull the front door open to the establishment.

Instantly I’m greeted with the smell of sweat and leather. Grunts sound from all over as various muscled men slam their fists and bodies into each other, or bags.

It’s not a huge gym, but it’s spacious enough. Walking in there’s a desk with nobody behind it. Bottles of vitamins and fighting gear line the shelves behind it. Looking left there is a giant ring taking up most of the space with numerous fighting bags and equipment surrounding it. Swallowing hard, my throat is suddenly dry.

“Look, I said I was sorry!” A squeaky voice catches my attention. Looking over my shoulder I find a short young man with dark unruly hair. He looks to be maybe sixteen.

“Johnny, I’m sorry but it’s the third time you’ve done this. I can’t keep replacing these damn things.” An older man looking to be about fifty stands in front of the kid, displaying a pink jockstrap in one hand and an old gym rag in the other. “You know how superstitious these guys are over their stuff. Go down on 5th Street where the ice cream parlor is, the owner is my brother. He’ll give you a job.”

“FINE!” Johnny turns around, nearly slamming into me before sprinting out.

The older man grumbles under his breath as he looks the pink jock strap over. I clear my throat to catch his attention.

His eyes snap to mine before he does a double take. They’re gray, matching the sweaty shirt he’s wearing. He’s scrawny looking, surely not a coach or trainer.

“Yes?” his gravelly voice cuts me. Adjusting my bag over my shoulder I head toward him.

“Hi, I’m Tate.” I hold my trembling hand out. He looks it over, his curly eyebrows narrowing.

“I’m Thomas. What do you want?” He gets to the point, and doesn’t shake my hand.

Lowering my hand, I tuck it behind me and look anywhere but at him. Maybe, I should leave. No, I can’t cower. This is my dream.

“Right, to the point. Got it. I’m looking for a coach. I wanna—”

“Oh god, not another one. Look, we aren’t open to the public, and even if we were, look around.” He holds his hand out, gesturing toward the gym. Looking around I find a bunch of sweaty men.

“So?” I shrug.

He draws his eyes together.

“So, it’s all men.” He smirks as if I didn’t get what he was referring to.

“Yeah, I got that.” My jaw clenches.

“So, we don’t train women,” he chuckles, looking me up and down as if I’m clearly in the wrong place.

“That’s a little sexist,” my tone sharp.

His face loses his humor.

“It’s not sexist, it’s just we’re not the kind of gym you’re looking for,” he continues, before walking away from me and dismissing me. He’s crazy if he thinks I’m giving up that easy.

“How do you know what I want, you won’t let me talk,” I snap.

He stops, lowers his head back and sighs irritated.

“I do actually. I get at least one of you in a week. You and your girlfriends want to exercise and then go for coffee afterwards. This is a gym for professional fighters, this is their life in here,” he explains hatefully.