My eyes widen as I look up at him. He's looking at me with his usual gaze of stoicism, and I realize suddenly that at some point I had braced my hands on his chest. I pull away as if electrocuted. He holds onto me for a second longer, then lets go and allows me to take a step back.
"You should probably watch where you're going," he says dryly, expression unchanging.
I snap back to reality and aim a glare at him. "Hey,youstepped in front ofme. It wasn't my fault."
He only raises an eyebrow in response.
I huff and roll my eyes. "Whatever, I don't have time for this." I turn to lean down and pick up my clothes that dropped out of my hands during the collision. When I straighten back up, I catch Tristan's gaze quickly snapping back to my face.
My eyes narrow suspiciously. "Are you kidding me?! What is wrong with people today? It's just a goddamn skirt. You'd think I was walking around in lingerie or something."
Tristan’s eyebrow quirks again, but he still doesn't say anything. At my insistent glaring he finally shrugs, not at all looking embarrassed by the fact that he just got caught staring at my ass. "An ass is an ass. Even yours." A smirk lifts one corner of his lips. "You should be thankful for the occasional attention. God knows you don't get it when you're not dressed like that."
My glare intensifies. "That's not even a little bit true," I huff, planting my hands on my hips. "I get plenty of male attention. And even if I didn't, I'm not going to sit here and be ‘thankful' that some guy is staring at my ass, or that his body is naturally reacting to my body being good breeding stock. Get your caveman head out of your ass."
By now his smirk has grown into a wide grin. I haven't even heard what he's thinking yet, but I can already tell it's going to be condescending. "I don't think I would classify you as good breeding stock, though I'm interested to hear that's howyouthink of women. Wouldn't you need to have big tits and the ability to cook to be valuable to the classic male?"
I ignore the dig—I can't do anything about my cooking but I'm damn happy with my perky B cups.
Ladies, don't ever let a man tell you that size is more important than shape.
"And tell me, what exactly makes you think you're the ideal male?" I ask instead.
"Classic male," he corrects. "But good to know you think I'm the ideal." He cuts off my squeak of protest by continuing, "For one, I'm skilled at combat and could easily protect a partner. I can also hunt for food. But mainly I happen to be exceptionally talented at procreating."
I stare, unblinking, at the grinning man in front of me. Finally, I shake my head and pinch the bridge of my nose. "I've definitely had too much of the male population today," I murmur. "I think I need to go punch things now." I push past Tristan, making sure not to touch him again.
"Try not to think of me when you do it," he calls after me.
"Not a single ounce of me can make that promise," I respond without turning back.
The hour-long Muay Thai class is exactly what I need. I'm so focused on learning the striking combinations that I forget all about my shitty day and the shitty men and women that filled it. Plus, as a bonus, it’s an exhausting workout—by the time I'm done, I know I'm going to pass out the second I get home. I pack up quickly after the class is over, wanting to give my body what it's screaming for.
"Remy, are you going to the fights on Saturday?" Lucy asks me as I pull my sweatshirt on.
I nod. "Yeah. Hailey will be there, too."
Lucy perks up at that news and nods her approval. I once again think about how grateful I am that my friends love my sister enough to be happy when I bring her along.
"Nice. Let me know if you guys want to pregame before you head over. I'm probably going to have people at my house early and then we'll walk to the arena together so text me if you want to come."
"Will do," I respond as I swing my bag over my shoulder. I'm officially itching to be home in my own bed, so I wave at Lucy and start walking toward the exit.
"Have a good night, Remy," Tristan drawls from behind the front desk. "I would tell you not to tempt any other men on your way home, but I think that outfit is doing a decent job of that on its own."
I scowl, looking down at my raggedy college sweats. "Like you don't have old ass Temple University gear still in your closet," I snap.
He grins. "I don't, actually. Because I'm an adult now who actually cares how I look in public. You should try it sometime."
I hear Lucy snicker behind me. Throwing a glare in her direction, I turn my back on the exhausting, meaningless interaction that is every conversation with Tristan and continue towards the exit. In the process I make eye contact with Jax walking out of the heavy bag room on the far side of the gym.
"Remy, you heading out?" he calls to me. "I can give you a ride, I'm leaving now, too."
I nod gratefully. Jax grabs my bag and throws his arm around my shoulders as we walk through the front door. "Let's get out of here. Also, why are you wearing your Temple sweats? That set should've been burned a long time ago."
Tristan's raucous laughter follows us long after the door slams closed behind us.
3