The door banged hard against the wall as she walked into the room. I'd been standing with my back to the door, rolling the tape across my hands as I waited to see if she'd show. Every day I endured these rich assholes, and I barely managed to keep my temper under wraps around them. On Tuesday, I'd wanted to punish her, to make her pay for all my and their sins. I knew it was unreasonable, but it didn't stop me from feeling that way.
For some reason, her presence grated on my entire being, and while her sad eyes had pulled me in, it made me want to push her far away from me even more. Kitten was dangerous, and I doubted she even knew the power she wielded over me.
I'd been impressed she'd shown up on Tuesday, and despite her dismal punch, she'd done well with the fitness test part. It grated on me to admit, but she was in good shape. I never knew those ballet classes were good for more than just watching girls in tight pants bend over. I wasn't the only guy on the other side of the glass who'd gotten hypnotized a time or two by the view.
Today would be the real show of her abilities, but I had a feeling it would be harder for me not to snap at her than I wanted to admit. Everything in my being wanted her to be the recipient of all my hatred for the rich, the privileged. She embodied everything I hated and yet had the audacity to call to me. Her sadness was a drug I wanted to drown in, her body a pleasure I wanted to indulge, and her claws a welcome relief to my pain. She was a weakness I couldn't afford to have anymore. I couldn't afford anything.
I remained facing toward the wall even when I heard her steps behind me. Continuing to ignore her, I finished wrapping the tape around my hand even after it was good. She huffed out like the pissed-off kitten she represented. If it wasn't so damn funny, it might be considered cute.
"Yes, kitten?"
"For the last time, it's Loren, Mr.-Mr.-Mr. Surly!" she bellowed.
Okay, someone came to play today. I could use her anger to my advantage. I'd ignore how much hearing her call me a nickname turned me on. It would be so much easier sparring with her when she didn't make me want to fix whatever made her sad.
"Mr. Surly, huh?" I chuckled. She seemed momentarily taken aback by the sound, losing some of her sass.
"Well, yeah. I mean, you never told me your name, and since you're so fond of nicknames, it seemed only fair."
Laughing, I shook my head until I caught myself. I couldn't find her charming, it would only end in disaster. Shoving it down, I finally turned around and took her in. She was wearing a matching sports bra and leggings today that hugged her frame in all the places I wanted to explore. Fuck. Why did she have to torment me with more of her body on display? Growling now, I sneered at her for making me want her.
"What makes you think I want you to know my name, kitten? Enough of this. It's coming out of your training time. Now. Let's start. Laps. Go!"
Her face fell for a minute, and I felt like the biggest jackass, which was how I felt most days anyway. So, I welcomed it, morphing it into fuel to keep the sadness at bay. Kitten steeled her spine and took off running around the gym. Her form was lean and long as she ran, doing nothing to stop my body from reacting.
I might know not to get involved with her, but biologically, my body wanted to fuck her six ways to Sunday and didn't care about my feelings on the matter. Despite my jackass nature, there was a part of me that stopped myself from giving in to the constant temptation. My job might be hell most days, but the buffet of hot women wasn't a hardship to see every day.
I could plow my way through a whole spin class in a month and drop them like the asshole I was the next day, and no one would blink. But I didn't. Maybe it was wanting to stick it to these rich bastards and not be the person they assumed I was. Perhaps it was because, despite my bitterness, I wasn't that much of an asshole. Or maybe, I just didn't feel I deserved any pleasure in my life, even if only fleeting. Whatever the reason, I wasn't going to discover it today. There wouldn't be any giving into the sad eyed temptress.
After about twenty laps, I had her transition into some other warm-ups to get her muscles ready. I didn't know why I was constantly shocked she was in shape. She did attend those classes regularly. And unlike a lot of those spoiled princesses, kitten did seem to participate rather than being here only for show. And she definitely wasn't here just to snag a sugar daddy. No, kitten was actually a member of this overpriced establishment for actual fitness.
It felt like the rest of my clients were the opposite, if the amount of times I got hit on were any indication. It was almost comical at this point. What was even funnier, though, was the instant they got a whiff of who I really was, how quickly their lust shifted. Only the really desperate girl who worked at the counter still tried to ride my dick every day. A sick part of me received a lot of satisfaction from the look on their faces.
I was damaged goods, baby,better run far, far away before my taint rubbed off on you.
"Wrap up. Stances today, kitten."
Her slight scowl every time I called her that was becoming addictive and made me only want to say it more. I needed to watch myself, though, and push her further away. Getting caught up in someone like her would only end in disaster, and there was no guarantee I'd survive. Kitten was the type of woman men wrote sonnets about and went to war for. As much as I wanted to believe I was immune, having already paid my recompense, I wasn't a fool not to see the trap for what it was.
At the end of the day, I would always be trash, and she'd glisten like gold. I'd learned the hard way you could dress any monkey in a suit, but it was still a monkey in a suit. I might look like the real deal on the outside, but at my core, you couldn't turn my fake alloy into pure gold, leaving nothing but a green finger to remind you how wrong you were. I could only offer disappointment. It was the one thing I was good at.
Demonstrating how to wrap her hands with the tape, I showed her the different stances to take as I ignored my thoughts. She followed along, listening to my instruction intently, which only pissed me off more. Why couldn't she be more like those other prima donnas?
"Okay, kitten," I sneered, needing to take back some power. "Let's see if your punch has improved any from the pathetic slap you gave the other day."
Her eyes narrowed at my declaration, and I felt vindicated at her anger. I could deal with this. With her rage. It was the only emotion I was comfortable with, after all. Anger and I were good friends.
Moving her arm, I showed her the follow-through motion with the proper stance, none of that TV bullshit she tried the other day. Once I felt she had the movement correct, I stepped back and held the sparring mitts out front.
"Let's see if you paid attention, kitten," I smirked.
Her eyes thinned, and she braced herself, breathing in and out deeply before pulling her arm back and making contact. It was a solid hit on the glove I was holding, much to her surprise.
"Again, don't stop."
Loren started trading her punches off one by one, and a small part of me was proud of the progress she'd made in such a short time frame. When she'd barged in here wanting to take kickboxing last week, I figured it would be fleeting, a whim, and she would quit after the first session. Having her standing here, keeping up with my drills, and making her hits, seriously made me want to reassess her. But that would only lead to trouble, and trouble had no place in my life.
After thirty minutes, she was panting, and her arms were lagging, which was probably why I didn't expect her fist to slip and nail me right in the stomach. Doubling over, my breath knocked out of me. I wheezed a little and was stuck between feeling angry and impressed. Not even an opponent had gotten the slip on me, and this sad-eyed woman had. The irony, really.