Broken Beautiful Hearts(49)

Boxing and chess? Boxing seems more like a test of speed, strength, and stamina than a game of chess in the ring.

“Were you good?” I ask.

Lazarus removes a stopwatch from his pocket and loops it around his neck. He winks at me. “One of the best.”

“The best what?” Owen’s voice catches me off guard.

I steal a look in his direction and the butterflies in my stomach do more than flutter. They nose-dive like fighter planes in a dogfight.

Owen is barefoot—and for some reason it’s sexy. Black gym shorts hang low on his hips, and the fabric of the faded gray T-shirt he’s wearing is thinner in some places, revealing the outline of the muscles underneath. It feels like the temperature in the gym just rose by thirty degrees.

Lazarus shakes his head at Owen. “I was telling Peyton that I’m the best padman and cutman on the East Coast. Start stretching. Then get your tail in the ring and I’ll prove it.”

Owen looks over at the man old enough to be his grandfather and grins. “Somebody is fired up today. And you’re the best padman and cutman on both coasts.”

Lazarus moves a knight on the chessboard and captures a queen. “You’ve never seen me fired up. But when I was young, I would’ve given you a run for your money.”

The affection between them is reassuring. Lazarus seems like a man with character—someone who wouldn’t waste time training a jerk.

“Ready to work out with Cutter?” Owen asks. He reaches for one of the higher ropes, takes hold of it, and leans back, using his body weight to stretch his hamstrings. Owen’s T-shirt rides up, offering me a clear view of his carved abs.

High school guys aren’t supposed to be this hot. Reed was solid as a rock, but he didn’t have as much muscle definition.

Owen has a body that looks as if it’s meant to be touched. I imagine dragging my fingers down his stomach.

Owen catches me staring.

Kill me now.

I never answered his question.

What did he ask me? Something about Cutter and PT?

“I was ready to start the day I got here,” I blurt out, referring to PT.

Cutter steps through the doorway as I’m walking to her office. She’s dressed in a plain T-shirt and a pair of black martial arts pants. The pant legs billow out when she moves.

“They’re a present from my boyfriend,” she explains when she notices me looking at them.

“The Olympian?” I ask. Last time I was here, Cutter was showing Lazarus a photo on her phone of an Olympic medal-winner. I shouldn’t be nosy, but the Olympics are almost as cool as professional soccer.

Cutter stops and thinks about it for a moment.

“Sorry, it’s none of my business.”

“Peyton is talking about your new boyfriend.” Lazarus snaps his fingers. “You know, what’s-his-name.”

“You mean Dale!” she says. “These aren’t from him.”

“He’s another one of her boyfriends,” Lazarus explains.

I have to ask. “How many boyfriends do you have?”

“Too many,” Lazarus mumbles.

Cutter smooths her blond pixie cut. “They’re not really my boyfriends. They’re men I’m dating.” She turns to Lazarus. “And nobody judges a man if he dates more than one woman at a time. Why should I comply with ridiculous gender norms? Besides, the whole online-dating thing was your idea, Lazarus.”

“Whoa.” Lazarus holds up his hands. “Don’t pin that on me. It was my wife Davina’s idea,” he explains. “She thought Cutter should go on an online-dating site and meet a nice man.”

“That’s exactly what I did.” Cutter pats him on the shoulder. “I just met more than one nice man. What can I say? I feel like I’m on The Bachelorette. I’m living the dream.”

Lazarus moves a pawn across the board. “Even I know that show is scripted.”

I try not to laugh. I’d love to invite Cutter over to Hawk’s for dinner so she can help me teach the Twins a lesson or two.

“He’s just grouchy because he has to give Davina updates,” Cutter says. “She’s like a second mother to me. And just like my mom, she wants me to settle down. We don’t have a lot of time today. UT’s quarterback pulled a muscle in his shoulder, and I need to take a look at it.”

I’m only scheduled to meet with Cutter twice a week. If she bails on our sessions, will it hurt my chances of recovering by March? I change into black leggings, a T-shirt with PROPERTY OF ADAMS SOCCER printed on the front, and cross-trainers.

Owen is already in the ring, hands wrapped and protective gear in place, talking to Cutter.

Lazarus leans against the ropes, listening.

As I get closer, I hear Cutter say, “You’re not blocking on your left. Get that left arm up. Anyone you compete against will see that opening.”

“I block when I need to. I’ve got it covered.” Owen sounds irritated.

“Prove it.” Cutter moves to the center of the ring and wags her fingers, urging him to come closer.

Owen circles her, his hands cupped loosely in front of his face.

She laughs. “Now you’ve got your guard up?”

He maintains his fight stance, keeping his guard up and the weight on the balls of his feet. He moves closer to Cutter, who hasn’t taken a step or bothered to raise her guard. He throws an elbow, and she blocks it without exerting any effort.