The Stranger at the Gym, Part 1

I pull up outside Dad's gym and lift myself high enough out of the driver's seat to check my reflection in the mirror. Usually, I'm well put together when I go to the gym. This morning, however, I look like death warmed up. My lids are heavy with exhaustion and my skin is an odd shade of pale.

I spent more time trying to pinpoint the exact moment Blade turned into an astronomical douche than I should have last night. Of course, I couldn't. It's as if he woke up one morning and decided I was no longer worth his time, respect, or love. I replayed our relationship over and over and I kept coming back to the same question. If I'm such a terrible girlfriend, why didn't he leave me sooner? I guess I'll never know.

Sighing, I fluff my long, high pony, lean across, and pull my gym bag off the passenger seat. After my workout, I'll need to shower and get dressed for work-which is the last thing I want to do on a day like today. Unfortunately for me, I've already taken too many days off this year. If my boss, Mason, wasn't hellbent on dating me, he'd have fired me a long time ago.

I exit my car, sling my backpack over my shoulder, and pull the waistband of my compression leggings up, until it sits directly below my belly button. Then, I tug down on my pink sports bra, placing it comfortably against my ribs.

When I enter the gym, the sterile smell of citrus bleach fills my nostrils and I breathe it in. It's a welcoming scent, following yesterday's stench of ass and vomit. I wonder how long it took my father to clean up after thirty boot campers ran a train on this place...

I peer around the gym, chewing the inside of my lower lip. Normally, I warm up with the treadmill, but this morning I'm feeling something a little more aggressive. There's a lot of hate and anger in my system and I need to belt it out before I'm forced to be in the same space as my annoying boss for eight hours.

My gaze falls onto the boxing ring where two staunch, topless men spar. They swing and duck, twist, and dodge. The old ring squeaks and the mat slaps, the theme song of my childhood. The man in the black helmet and red gloves lands two powerful jabs to his partner's ribs, forcing his body on an awkward angle. Cringing in pain, I look away. Sparring is too much physical contact for me.

A violent swing of a red boxing bag flies into my peripheral, catching my attention. I flick my head toward the row of punching bags and I see...him.

Whoa.

A shiver shoots down my spine, setting my blood ablaze, igniting something dark and sinister deep in my core. Who the hell is he? I drink in the stranger's features quickly, greedily, obsessing over every detail like I've never seen a man before. I guess I haven't-not like the one in front of me, at least. Whoever he is, he looks wild-animalistic-as if he could peel the meat from my bones without breaking a sweat.

Strands from his short, black hair lie like a second skin over his forehead. I admire it for all of a second before he lifts his hand and haphazardly runs his thick, taped fingers through his dark locks, sending tiny droplets of sweat in every direction. That should gross me out. Normally, it would, but not today. Every cell in my body hums as electrical currents vibrate under my skin. I exhale, but it doesn't stop my skin from prickling or make my chest feel any lighter. Am I having a heart attack? I drop my gaze to the stranger's throat, then to his sweaty, perfectly sculpted torso and my mouth runs dry. His chest rises and falls quickly, and I swear I can hear his raspy breath in my ear. I swear I can feel it blowing against my flesh as if he were right behind me.

Touching me.

Licking me.

I balk at my own thoughts. Christ, Olivia. Get it together. A strange, searing heat flares along the back of my neck and zips to the base of my spine, then pools between my thighs. I gulp. This is inappropriate and ridiculous...still, I can't take my eyes off him. He glances up at the high ceiling and I slide my gaze over his intricate, black tattoo. It swallows one of his thick arms and one half of his chest. Another is scrawled across his hip, right above the waistband of his black drawstring sweatpants that hang off his hips, exposing his impressive Adonis belt.

A pathetic, disbelieving rush of air leaves my lips. I've never seen a man so... so... like him. He's raw, mighty, and thick all over-a God who's fallen from Mount Olympus, complete with a six-pack carved from marble.

He bends low and hooks the punching bag onto the clasp on the floor to prevent it from swinging around. Then, flexing his fingers, he bounces lightly on his toes and balls his semi-covered hands into powerful fists before slamming them into the large red bag. His muscles tighten and twitch, work and relax, causing my entire body to tighten and vibrate with pleasure every time his large fists connect and the bag ripples on impact. I force my stare to his face. His brows are knitted together, his eyes dark, his full lips pursed in anger, as if the bag in front of him is someone he hates, someone he wants to beat to a bloody pulp.

Involuntarily, my attention falls back to the band of his sweatpants and I ponder what he looks like under the thin fabric. Does he have more tattoos there? Is his cock as thick as the rest of him? Hellfire surges up my neck and pools in my cheeks. I've never really felt lust, but I imagine the consuming urge to take this stranger deep in my mouth is exactly that.

Lust.

Hot, tingling, panty-dampening lust.

A few long seconds pass and, as I continue to stare at his pants, I realize the strings aren't swinging with every flick of his hips anymore. My heart thrums in my ears, a deafening pound. I slowly drag my gaze up his slim hips, then his rippling waist. I linger for a second, admiring the way his muscles sit, then I continue up to a chest doused in a thin layer of clean sweat, his well-formed traps, and lastly, a pair of dark, brown eyes that are looking directly at me.

I suck in a sharp inhale as embarrassment punches me in the gut, shooting my stomach up my throat, dragging my lungs along with it. I think I'm going to be sick. I stammer under my breath, clenching my backpack strap with both hands. I want to turn and run, but I remain frozen, rooted in place by his penetrating gaze. The stranger's tantalizing, full lips quirk on one side, and the weight of his cocky smirk slams into me, heating my cheeks. If I wasn't aroused before, now I'm completely undone.

A puddle.

A mess.

Scowling, I avert my gaze to my white sneakers and turn away in a hurry. Forget an aggressive warm-up. I need to stay far away from the hot stranger. I force myself, one foot in front of the other, over to the treadmills that sit side by side along the white wall and toss my backpack to the floor. Once I'm on the treadmill, I start walking at a brisk pace, giving my body time to warm up.

"Hey, Olly."

I startle as my dad steps onto the treadmill beside me and starts it up, matching my pace. I smile widely at him, my heart swelling. I love my dad to no end. Despite all the changes throughout my life, he has been my one constant, the only man I can count on.

"You're back?" I ask. "We've missed you around here."

He's been absent from the gym for well over a week. In his place, his assistant, Derrick, has handled things.

"I visited your Aunt Kate," he informs me, lifting his bowlers' hat off his head with one hand to scratch at his flat, gray hair with the other. "Your cousin gave birth to a baby boy yesterday. He has my nose."

"That poor kid."

"Right?" Dad laughs. "Anyway, what's been happening with you, Olivia? You haven't visited home in a while."

Blade's twisted, angry face floods my mind, leaving a bitter taste on my tongue. I groan and flick my long ponytail over my shoulder.

"Blade and I broke up."

"Again?" Dad rolls his bright eyes, shaking his head.

"It's forever this time," I say. "I'm done with him."

He ponders it for a moment, scanning my face for any sign of dishonesty. He doesn't find it. I'm done being weak. Blade and I aren't getting back together.

"I told you he was bad news, didn't I?"

I nod. "Yes."

"That kid...I knew he was an ungrateful prick the moment I laid eyes on him." Turning off his machine, he walks it to a stop and reaches out, placing his large, soft hand over mine. "It's his loss, honey. You were always too good for him. If I knew anyone worthy of you, I'd put in a good word. Unfortunately, the world is full of grubs."

I tilt my head with a chuckle. "It's the thought that counts. Thanks, Dad."

Unintentionally, I flick my gaze across the room to the stranger. He slams into the bag, his hard pecs contracting, and rippling, each time he makes contact. I sigh.

"What're you looking at?" Dad asks, yanking me from my thoughts.

"What?" I pull my hand out from underneath his and swipe at a flyaway grazing my nose. "Nothing."

He twists his torso, searching for the object of my distraction, and pauses on the man punching the bag. "The guy with the muscles?"

"Lots of guys in here with muscles, Dad," I point out, heat flooding my face.

"The one with the tattoos?" Dad turns back to me with a wicked grin. "You know who he is, don't you?"

I shrug, trying my damn hardest to appear indifferent. "Am I supposed to?"

"Seth Marc."

Oh. My knees wobble. Even his name makes my insides melt. I smack the stop button on my treadmill before I fall over. "Good to know."

"He recently moved to Maine from Seattle. He's a great MMA fighter-or was."

I arch an eyebrow and peer sideways at my father, curiosity getting the best of me. "Was?"

"Mm." Dad leans against the treadmill's grips, his eyes dancing with excitement. "He was close to going pro at twenty-one. He competed in an amateur comp but dropped out seconds before the championship bout. Something to do with family drama. His comeback has been all over the internet."

I sigh. "I don't go online much."

Obviously, I'm going to have to start.

"Yeah, well, don't distract the guy. He's got tough competition in the upcoming tournament that he needs to smash it if he wants to get into the pros."

I simper. "Distract him? Please. No mortal female can distract a man like that."

"You know you're the prettiest girl in the world to me, Olly." He squeezes my shoulder. "I gotta go, kid. I'll talk to ya later."

"Okay. I love you."

"Love you too." He takes a step, then grunts and turns abruptly. "Before I forget, come over for dinner next Sunday. Your mama is killing me. She wants to see you more often."

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I avoid my mother where I can. Whenever we speak, she spends most of the time guilt-tripping me into moving back home. It's not fair. Chase, my older brother, can run around the world unbothered by our parents because he's serving our country-which I respect-but God forbid I do something for myself.

I offer Dad a small, fake smile. "I'll see what I can do."

He nods and saunters off. Unsurprisingly, my gaze finds Seth Marc, the man who's the embodiment of sex in hand wraps. The way he smirked at me, like he knew everything I was thinking about him, is burned into my brain.

I glance down at the treadmill panel and exhale. I'm not in the mood for exercise now. I need coffee...and maybe a toasted bagel smeared in a thick layer of creamy peanut butter.

I step off the machine and grab my backpack. I head toward the showers, my thoughts drifting to what Dad said about distracting Seth. I scoff and shake my head. As if I could get close enough to a man like that. He's intimidating and nothing like the men I'm used to. Seth Marc reeks of alpha male and oozes authority and aggression. He could swallow me whole without breaking a sweat-and not in a good way.

I close in on the female shower room as a bouncy brunette enters the gym, garnering my attention with her obnoxious oohs and aahs. In her tight, purple tube dress and tall, tall heels, she passes me by without a glance in my direction. I stop and peer over my shoulder, watching, as she prances over to Seth. Of course he's with her. Why wouldn't he be? She's a ten. Her body is slim, her boobs big and fake. I shake my head. Good for him.

Good for her.

The woman wraps her long, skinny arms around his neck and pulls him into her, forcing him to rest his head on the crook of her shoulder. A pang of jealousy and longing slams into me, hollowing me out. I don't know why...

From under his brow, Seth flicks his dark, coal stare to me, and my breath hitches. Oh, no. I'm staring again, aren't I? I try to look away, to turn my head and keep heading in the direction I was going, but his dark, mesmerizing gaze has me trapped. I swallow hard as Seth pulls away from the brunette. When he looks at her, his stare finally releasing me, I straighten my head and rush to the shower.