6
Neily
I stand across the street from the Heavyweights gym asking myself how I got here. Oh, that’s right. I went into a deep stalking mode on Tomas. I’d caved three days ago and went back to his place after the wedding shower. He never came home. At least he hadn't before I’d finally given up and left. Where had he been all night? The stupid question kept bugging me, so I went down an internet spiral of stalking him. That led me to where I’m currently standing. The gym he supposedly works out in, according to my Google research.
I’m not so sure that I have the correct place, but I’ve been restless so I might as well take a chance. This is my second day walking past this place and I still haven't spotted him. My only option is to step up my efforts a notch. I’m going to have to go inside. I’ll casually blend in. No one will even notice I’m there on my secret stalking mission. Easy enough.
I’d done it at the club so surely I can do it at a gym. I haven't been inside a gym since high school, but what do you really need besides workout clothes, sneakers and air pods? I can pull that off. I reach up, tightening my ponytail before stepping off the curb. This is going to be a cake walk. I’ll find out more about him and then lose interest and be on to something new.
A car honks, the sound making me jump right back onto the sidewalk with a scream as it goes speeding by. Okay, maybe I don't have this. I shake my head at myself, pushing my glasses back up my nose before looking both ways this time. I step off the curb and jog across the street. A man opens the door for me as I get closer to the entrance.
“Thanks.” I give the man in sweats a smile, noticing he has two black eyes. “Who gave you the shiners?”
“Fucking Tomas.” He reaches up, touching his eyes. Bingo. I've found the spot. “You think it’s hot?” He winks the swollen eye at me. I shake my head no.
“Isn't the point not to get hit?”
“We all get hit.” He pulls on my ponytail.
“Getting hit doesn't sound appealing to me.” I look at my hand, making it into a fist. “Hitting someone doesn't either.” My fingers are what made me money. If I hit something, I have no doubt I’d break my own hand. That would be my clumsy luck.
“Then why are you here?” He gives me a playful smirk. Is he flirting with me? If he is, he’s doing a terrible job at it. Seems like he sucks at two things: fighting and flirting.
“Just checking the place out.” I look around the gym, trying to be casual. It doesn't look like any of the others I’ve seen before. There aren’t rows and rows of treadmills and bikes. Instead there are mats and punching bags. There is a ton of other equipment that I don’t know the names of.
“We don’t have those boxing workout classes here.” He looks me over. “I mean, I can work you out.” He tries to wink at me but it doesn't work with the black eyes.
“Bruno. Hit the locker room and get on the bike.”
“Stick around. I’ll be done in a few hours.” The man jogs off. I hope he doesn’t think I’m going to wait around for him for hours. He must be crazy. I barely said two words to this guy and here he is, thinking I want him. Figures. First of all, I don't even find him attractive and second, I’m already stalking someone. I’ll be doing this for the next few hours. I’m busy.
“Can I help you?” The same older man who yelled at Bruno comes walking over to me.
“Just checking the place out.” Why is everyone on my case? So much for blending in. I stick out like a sore thumb apparently. “Anyone can come in, right?” The man's eyes roam over me. He’s not in workout gear like everyone else. A few others glance my way. It’s then I realize I’m the only girl in this place. “Wait. Is this place for men only?”
“No, we have a few women.” He folds his arms over his chest. “You don’t look like a groupie.”
“I’m an artist.” I furrow my eyebrows at his strange comment. Aren’t groupies with rock bands? Why the hell is this guy suggesting I’m a groupie? I look down at myself. I’m wearing perfectly suitable gym attire. I don’t know what these gymgoers wear but my yoga pants and hoodie are more than acceptable. I even put on sneakers to seal the deal that I was really here to work out. They may be Converse that I stole from Alyssa’s room, but they’re still sneakers. I don’t think she’ll notice. Sean has basically kidnapped her at this point.