Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
There was a reception desk inside the door to the right along with a line of water dispensers, a towel rack, and another of the half a dozen or so gray open-topped, black bag lined garbage pails that were placed sporadically around the room for the people who trained hard enough to vomit.
Along the left side of the room were two large private rooms, one for classes, one for private lessons.
The first one sounded already half-filled with my students for the day, voices lively enough to be heard across the room even over the metal Jstorm was known for blasting when she was in the office, and the sounds of fists hitting leather bags full of sand.
I was still ten minutes early, and wanted to give anyone running a bit later a chance to show up before I greeted everyone, so I moved over toward the desk, jerking my head at Cary, another of Hailstorm's daughters, a short, slight, Asian girl with the shiniest hair I had ever seen, and a glare that could shrink a man's balls from twenty yards away. She didn't want a verbal greeting, and I didn't give her one, looking out across the gym at the various people training.
There was a duo in the ring, what looked like an older and younger brother, the elder trying to teach the younger to distribute weight for an uppercut. There was a group of guys over by the weights, as there always seemed to be. I swear they did more bullshitting than a group of women at a coffee clutch, but who was I to judge? They paid their fifty bucks a week to sit and do their gabbing. That was all that really mattered.
My focus drifted over them, not finding anything the least bit interesting to focus on.
Until my eyes passed over her.
You could call it superficial.
And, sure, I did notice the way her long legs and high ass filled out her deep gray yoga pants and the way her black wifebeater was stretched over her long torso, sans bra because she likely felt like she didn't need one, without more than a small handful up top, but it also meant that you could faintly make out the peaks of her nipples through the fabric.
Facing a heavy bag, I could only see her face in profile, but even so, there was no mistaking the perfect jawline, the straight nose, the generous lips, the heavily lashed dark eyes.
Gorgeous.
But that wasn't what held my gaze.
Gorgeous women were everywhere.
This was something else.
This was in the small details.
Like her medium brown hair with endless reddish and blonde highlights, made darker with sweat, and the way it was cut slightly shorter in the back then longer in the front to graze her clavicles that jutted out of her skin thanks to her slimness. It was how she didn't try to tie it back, just let it hang about her face, getting more and more drenched by the second, dripping salt water all over her clothes and the floor around her.
It was in the way that she didn't look around her, didn't have earbuds stuck in her ears.
Her focus was absolute.
The walls could fall around her without her noticing.
And then there was her dedication.
Every strike was precise.
Every twist of her body was purposeful, perfectly formed.
Even her breathing was on-point.
I had seen a lot of men and women in this gym - and in endless other gyms across several continents over decades.
I had known amateurs and masters.
I had never seen someone with her determination.
That was what it was too.
Determination.
She was on a mission.
She was a knife, sharpening herself for something.
And I found myself wanting to know what that was.
"Cary," I called, smiling at the genuine growl she gave me.
"What?" she snapped, shuffling a stack of papers together with a thump on the surface of the desk it was clear she did not appreciate me sitting on.
"The woman on the heavy," I said, looking over my shoulder at Cary.
"What about her?" she asked, not bothering to look.
"Who is she?"
"Right, because I'm the type of person to hand out the personal information of clients."
My lips twitched up at that. "Alright, I can respect that. Is she new?"
"You're new," she countered. "She comes five days a week, every week for almost six months."
"Classes?" I asked, not willing to believer her form could be so perfect without that.
"Three classes with each of the instructors."
"Cy?"
"Yeah."
"Why not me?" I asked, brows drawing together at Cary's shrug.
"Maybe she missed the memo about Systema since you have yet to do a private lesson. We don't even have a rate for what you would charge for that."
That was fair.
And I planned to go back into the office and clear that up with Jstorm as soon as my class was over.
Speaking of, it seemed like my last stragglers were in.