I mentally shake myself out of my stupor. "Yeah, I—I just thought I left the curling iron in my room for a second."
She frowns. "No, I just saw it in the bathroom."
"Oh. Okay." Hailey starts down the stairs again as I turn toward the bathroom.
I spare one last glance at Tristan's room, banishing all thoughts of sex with him from my brain.
8
Tristan
I'm still breathing heavily as I roll away from Remy. Coach waves me over to do a round with him, and I mentally thank my strength and conditioning coach for driving me through his cardio workouts from hell to ensure my stamina is always next level. Fourteen minutes straight with Remy was no joke.
I had no idea she was so good. Even though I practically live at the gym, somehow our schedules never really align, so we rarely ever train at the same time. It's probably been close to a year since I've done jiu-jitsu with her, and back then she was still a white belt. Clearly, she's made big strides with her skills during that time.
I could feel that she knew what she was doing when we had the play match at the house before Jax left. Not only was she technical, but she actually implemented her techniques with aggression. Most of the time people are one or the other: either technical but too nice, or aggressive with no sense of grace or skill. It's always impressive when an athlete is able to combine both.
Or maybe she just hates you and wants to maim you.
I chuckle at the thought. Remy has always had violent tendencies toward me—ever since we met and started off on the wrong foot. I've always thought her threats were amusing. It also seems she's never been able to master the ability to be in my presence andnotthreaten some kind of bodily harm.
In all honesty I didn't think she'd have enough energy to actually threaten me. I’m surprised she even stepped on the mat. I always make it a point to put students through the wringer when I teach the cardio bagwork class, and this morning was definitely one of the harder workouts. I had fully expected everyone to be crawling out of the bag room.
But somehow, Remy not only stayed standing when everyone else collapsed around her, but she volunteered for another workout with students that were fresh and energized. That's the kind of fighter spirit that I rarely even see in, well, fighters. I know grown men who fight professionally that half-ass their workouts and talk more on social media than they put in real work. With what she showed today, Remy would put most grown men to shame on the work ethic scale.
I shake my awed thoughts of Remy and try to concentrate on the black belt that's currently working to rip my arm off. Even though I don't have a fight coming up, I still need to put 110% effort into my training in order to stay ready. Not falling into the mythical trap of "off season" is one of the reasons my name is launching through the ranks right now. Hopefully my next matchup is one that, when I win, will finally get me that call from the UFC.
I do a few more rounds before people start to call it quits. I roll until there are no partners left for me, and then I head to the treadmills in the corner to run three miles as fast as I can, burning every last ounce of energy in me. End of workout burnouts are undoubtedly some of the hardest workouts—they’re specifically designed to force you past every mental barrier that screams bloody murder at you to 'stop, please, for the love of God juststop.'
But I don't. I push harder every time my brain says I can't. With every step past where I want to stop, I further condition my mind and body to accept a newly calibrated limit. Humans can go so much further than their brains think they can.
My lungs are on fire and I'm starting to get tunnel vision by the time I reach mile three. I sprint an additional quarter mile for good measure before slowing to a walk, desperately gulping deep breaths of air and trying to slow my heartrate back down.
Other than my legs still trembling from the brutal workout, my body's almost completely recovered by the time my phone rings.Momlights up on my screen.
With my headphones already in my ears, I swipe the answer button. "Hey, Mom."
"Hi, honey. What are you up to?" she asks cheerfully.
"I just finished my workout. I'm about to head home."
"Oh, perfect. Why don't you come to the house? Your brother just stopped by so I thought it'd be nice if we could have everyone over, even for a little bit. What do you say?"
I wince and rub my temples. Spending time with my brother—and my dad—is not my idea of weekend relaxation.
But underneath everything I'm still a mama's boy at heart, and I can't ever refuse a request from my mother. Especially one to spend time with her.
"Yeah, okay, I'll come," I respond with a sigh. "Let me just shower and then I'll head over. I should be there in about half an hour."
"Great!" she chirps happily. "It makes me so happy when I have both you and your brother here together. He's going to be so excited to see you."
I roll my eyes. I can never tell if she recognizes her own lie, or if she's just oblivious to the tension between my brother and I. Either way, I'm sure my brother doesn’t give two shits about whether or not I come over.
"I'll see you soon, Mom."
"See you soon, honey. Drive safe."
I hang up the phone with a frustrated growl. Spending time with my family, even for only an hour, is not what I had planned for today. It's rare that I don't have private sessions scheduled into the afternoon on Saturdays, so I had been excited to nap and watch some fight footage today. So much for a relaxing Saturday.