The Fighter Duet: Two Full-Length, Red-Hot New Adult Fighter Romances by Tia Louise Page B

wanted was the man who’d come out of nowhere and saved me to put his arms around me and hold me until my fear subsided.
    My eyes flew to his, but he didn’t seem to realize. Did he not know it was me?
    “I-I’m okay,” I said, and that’s when I saw it flash in his eyes. Now he knew.
    My heart beat unbearably fast, but he didn’t speak, he only clutched his things and headed towards the locker rooms.
    Turning in the direction he’d left, my will to exercise was gone, and now something entirely different tightened my chest. Picking up my bag, I walked slowly toward the front, looking around for him. He was in the supply closet taking out the mop and bucket along with the plastic signs for the floor and door.
    “Are you Slayde?” I asked when he came back out.
    He paused, but I could tell he wasn’t fully committed to speaking to me. “Yes.”
    “I’m Kenny. One of the trainers here.”
    He looked up at me then, and my chest squeezed. Emotion sizzled just under my skin, and I had to blink away. Somehow I’d have to learn to meet those amazing blue eyes without forgetting where I was.
    “Nice to meet you.” His voice was low. “Sorry I interrupted your workout.”
    “No,” I shook my dark-purple ponytail. I didn’t want him to apologize. I didn’t want him to hold me at a distance. We were legions past that point, even if we were only just now exchanging names. “You didn’t interrupt me. I mean, I could still work out. I just… I wanted to speak to you.”
    He waited, and I couldn’t tell if he was impatient or uncomfortable, so I stepped back. “I’ll let you do your job.”
    His lips twitched as if he were about to say something, but instead he started down the hall, through the doors in the direction of the locker rooms. I collapsed against the counter, watching him go, trying to calm the tornado swirling in my chest.

9
    “Pain is inevitable; suffering is optional.”
    Slayde
    S he was here . In the same club where I worked. Boxing for Christ’s sake.
    I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the angel on the beach for two nights. I didn’t want to think about her, but shit , I couldn’t stop myself.
    Chances were great I’d never see her again. Then again, in a town the size of Bayville, she was bound to turn up somewhere. I just never expected it to be here.
    All day Wednesday, I’d focused my thoughts on not looking for her in every face I passed, trying not to remember her fair skin, long dark hair, and large, pale eyes. I didn’t even know her name. It was nuts.
    Last night, I’d spent an extra few minutes in the shower, head pressed against my forearm, remembering the curve of her neck as I relieved the pressure. Then I felt like an asshole. She’d been hurt, almost raped, and here I was jerking off to her memory like it didn’t matter. It did matter. I wanted to kill that guy. Nothing had felt as good as slamming my fist into his skull. Twice. But I’d stopped. I hadn’t lost control. That in itself was a miracle.
    I cranked the hot water all the way up and scrubbed my face and neck hard under the spray. I got out and shaved, focusing on what I was doing and not wondering what she smelled like. When I crawled into bed, I went to sleep, not fantasizing about touching her soft skin, fighting with all I had to ignore the emptiness inside.
    This morning, I didn’t care if I didn’t have permission. I’d been working at this gym almost a week, and nobody came in before eight. At seven, I parked the Ford in the back of the lot and let myself in. I quickly changed out of my jeans into the only other pair of shorts I owned and shoved my hands into the gloves I’d borrowed from behind the front desk.
    Standing a little more than arm’s distance from the bag, I stepped forward and clipped it with a solid left hook. God, that felt good . Stepping back I went at it again.
    Right jab, left jab, right, right, left hook.
    Right jab, left jab, right, right, left hook.
    Everything went