When that day came, Rose had vowed to be there, to make sure her stepsister left for good. And if Mike tried to stop her, he’d have to contend with someone who trained every night at an MMA gym.
“Sure, come over tomorrow. We’ll combine forces. Afternoon? Yeah, that’s okay. Sometime around two. Works for me. Okay, see ya then. Later.”
Luca hung up the phone but didn’t let go right away; he appeared uncertain about something, pensive, as though Tyler Culver’s story didn’t quite scan and Luca had only just realized it.
“We’re on for tomorrow,” he told Rose. “Culver’s a real piece of work, but we’re in the same boat on this. He’s suggesting we hire a P.I. to find out who’s behind it. Not a bad idea, I guess.”
“It kinda makes you wonder how many other fighters are losing on purpose,” she said, “only they haven’t been found out. They’re just better at faking it.”
“Best to not even think like that. It crushes the life right out of the sport.”
Rose thought about asking for tomorrow off. Culver recognizing her was a possibility she didn’t want to risk. He might even bring one or both of the Twitches with him. However, if she asked and Luca said no, she couldn’t very well call in sick in the morning; it would be too obvious. So she decided to just wait till the morning and take the coward’s way out. Today had been rough, tomorrow could potentially be much worse.
“Right, I’m out of here,” he said, zipping up his gym bag. “Don’t stay too late. It’ll be another long day tomorrow.”
“I won’t.”
“Later.”
“Later,” she replied, adrenaline already coursing through her at the thought of another thrilling workout. She collected all the wrestling mats, rolled them up and stacked them, then gathered the various pads and helmets. All the while she looked ahead to the VIP training time in her own private gym. Tonight, she’d rock the weights, work on her all-round strength. Being wiry was great for running and keeping fit, but she’d never get the better of anyone until she had a little brute strength behind her moves.
And speaking of brute strength, the fully-clothed world champ punched one of the heavy bags on his way past her. “Have a good one,” he said, perhaps the nicest remark he’d aimed in her direction so far. “Hit the showers after if you want. No offense. That’s what they’re there for.”
“Thanks. I might just do that.”
But after he’d gone, she spent the next half hour trying to work out why he’d said that. Politeness, or is he trying to tell me something? Am I sweating too much during the day and soaking through my shirt? Scary thought.
When fabric got wet, it clung, revealing what was underneath.
Like a sports bra , for instance!
She dashed to the bathroom, checked herself out in the mirror. No sweat patches that she could see—well, not now.
But earlier...when everyone had been feeling the heat…?
No, my secret is safe.
The shirt she wore was dark, baggy, and too thick to see through, even when damp.
And if he was hinting that I smelled, well, sorry Mr. Asshat, but I am the one person in this stinkpot who doesn’t. End of story.
She went back to work. And when she’d finished, she got to work.
***
Half as any people turned up to work out the following morning, and it worried Luca a little. He and Avery had done the best they could, but the news of Gunny Maxwell’s disgrace had sent bigger shockwaves through the clientele than they’d anticipated. If things continued on like this, Wright Hook’s would probably go under. It didn’t help matters that Avery hadn’t had a fight in over four months; he was obligated to defend his title, but there just weren’t enough qualified challengers around at the moment, and those that could feasibly take him on seemed to be scared of him. He’d already defeated the very best,
“Sure, come over tomorrow. We’ll combine forces. Afternoon? Yeah, that’s okay. Sometime around two. Works for me. Okay, see ya then. Later.”
Luca hung up the phone but didn’t let go right away; he appeared uncertain about something, pensive, as though Tyler Culver’s story didn’t quite scan and Luca had only just realized it.
“We’re on for tomorrow,” he told Rose. “Culver’s a real piece of work, but we’re in the same boat on this. He’s suggesting we hire a P.I. to find out who’s behind it. Not a bad idea, I guess.”
“It kinda makes you wonder how many other fighters are losing on purpose,” she said, “only they haven’t been found out. They’re just better at faking it.”
“Best to not even think like that. It crushes the life right out of the sport.”
Rose thought about asking for tomorrow off. Culver recognizing her was a possibility she didn’t want to risk. He might even bring one or both of the Twitches with him. However, if she asked and Luca said no, she couldn’t very well call in sick in the morning; it would be too obvious. So she decided to just wait till the morning and take the coward’s way out. Today had been rough, tomorrow could potentially be much worse.
“Right, I’m out of here,” he said, zipping up his gym bag. “Don’t stay too late. It’ll be another long day tomorrow.”
“I won’t.”
“Later.”
“Later,” she replied, adrenaline already coursing through her at the thought of another thrilling workout. She collected all the wrestling mats, rolled them up and stacked them, then gathered the various pads and helmets. All the while she looked ahead to the VIP training time in her own private gym. Tonight, she’d rock the weights, work on her all-round strength. Being wiry was great for running and keeping fit, but she’d never get the better of anyone until she had a little brute strength behind her moves.
And speaking of brute strength, the fully-clothed world champ punched one of the heavy bags on his way past her. “Have a good one,” he said, perhaps the nicest remark he’d aimed in her direction so far. “Hit the showers after if you want. No offense. That’s what they’re there for.”
“Thanks. I might just do that.”
But after he’d gone, she spent the next half hour trying to work out why he’d said that. Politeness, or is he trying to tell me something? Am I sweating too much during the day and soaking through my shirt? Scary thought.
When fabric got wet, it clung, revealing what was underneath.
Like a sports bra , for instance!
She dashed to the bathroom, checked herself out in the mirror. No sweat patches that she could see—well, not now.
But earlier...when everyone had been feeling the heat…?
No, my secret is safe.
The shirt she wore was dark, baggy, and too thick to see through, even when damp.
And if he was hinting that I smelled, well, sorry Mr. Asshat, but I am the one person in this stinkpot who doesn’t. End of story.
She went back to work. And when she’d finished, she got to work.
***
Half as any people turned up to work out the following morning, and it worried Luca a little. He and Avery had done the best they could, but the news of Gunny Maxwell’s disgrace had sent bigger shockwaves through the clientele than they’d anticipated. If things continued on like this, Wright Hook’s would probably go under. It didn’t help matters that Avery hadn’t had a fight in over four months; he was obligated to defend his title, but there just weren’t enough qualified challengers around at the moment, and those that could feasibly take him on seemed to be scared of him. He’d already defeated the very best,
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