Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 33401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
It's one huge, open floor plan, with roped-off rings all over, and punching bags and weights everywhere. The walls are lined with mirrors, and there's a row of ellipticals and treadmills, too. There are a few people milling about, and everyone seems to be in shape, even the guy at the desk who's probably nearing retirement age. It's all concrete and metal, but at the same time immaculately clean.
"Ready?"
I whirl around, and Porter is watching me with a small smile on his lips. He looks amused, and I'm embarrassed, thinking that maybe he noticed me checking him out. "Yeah, sorry. I was just … taking it all in."
"It's a lot, huh? Let me show you around, and then we'll get started. First, I need to know why you're here."
"For training, right?" I ask, and he laughs.
"Well, yes. But why are you here? What are you looking to accomplish? A lot of people come here, and they aren't all training for the same thing."
"Well," I say slowly, not sure how to explain without coming across as totally weird. "I have a reason, but it might sound a little crazy."
"Nothing sounds crazy to me. Just tell me, sweetheart."
The endearment catches me off guard. "Um. Okay. Well, my ex-boyfriend … he's not the greatest. In fact, he's really, really horrible." I twist the fabric of my white sundress between my fingers, feeling a flush of shame coming over my face. "He's stalking me. I just know it. Everywhere I go I feel like I see him out of the corner of my eye, and when I left my friend's place the other night, we found handprints on her window. I ended it with him, and he refuses to take no for an answer."
"You think he's been spying on you?"
"Yes."
"Have you gone to the cops?"
"Yeah." I nod. "But it's not illegal to walk down the street or sit outside of someone's house. There's no evidence, and the cops won't do anything unless he tries to hurt me or break into my house. They basically said, 'Good luck, lady.'"
Porter scoffs, his jaw working. When he speaks again, there’s an edge of danger in his voice, and his eyes hold fire. "Bailey, I need you to answer me with full honesty right now. Has he ever hit you? Hurt you?"
I suck in a shuddering breath. "N-no. Thankfully, no. He's more creepy than he is violent."
Porter nods and lets out a low growl. "You're not going to have to worry about him anymore, sweetheart. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you."
His words are so sure, so filled with power and determination, that I almost believe him.
"Let's go," he says, reaching out and grabbing my hand. "We're going to start your training now. You're not going to worry about a thing. Not a thing."
I let him pull me away, and it doesn't escape my notice that his hands are covered in scars.
What is this man, and what does he want with me?
Porter keeps the tour short, introducing me to his three trainers and a few of the regular gym-goers who are either in the ring or on one of the machines. I feel uncomfortable at first, but I quickly realize that Porter has fostered an environment of discipline and respect. Not a single man leers at me, and everyone is so polite. In the back of the gym, there’s a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that look into another large room that’s empty besides the huge hole in the bare dirt floor. For the pool he mentioned earlier, he tells me.
Once he's done showing me around, he steers me back towards the women's locker room so I can change. I shimmy into a pair of workout leggings from my bag, pulling the dress over my head to reveal a sports bra. It's an outfit I've exercised in plenty of times before, but now, for some reason, I feel exposed. Maybe it's because I know the man waiting for me outside the locker room is going to see so much of me in these tight clothes. Trying to put it out of my mind, I tie my running shoes and head back out.
I find Porter standing at the punching bag, his arms crossed and an impatient look on his face. When he sees me, the tension leaves his body and he relaxes. "There you are," he says, his gaze moving up and down. I have the distinct impression that he's checking me out, and it makes me blush.
"Sorry, it took me a minute." I feel ridiculous, not sure how to act around this man. He makes me nervous.
"It's okay. Now, the first thing I'm going to teach you is how to throw a punch."
I nod. I've never been in any sort of fight before, so all of this is brand new to me.