Pas de Deux: Part One (A Cross and Pointe Novel Book 1) (9 page)

“That’s a shame. With some training, you could really do some damage in the women’s MMA leagues.”

She shook her head, looking amused. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m just in it for the fitness.”

“I can tell you’ve had some training before. Right?” Cillian leaned against the door and folded his arms.

“I had training when I lived in New York, but none since I moved here with my family last year.”

“I’ll spar with you,” Cillian offered with a shrug. “If you want. I’m thinkin’ about puttin’ on a women’s self-defense course. I need to put some techniques together—you could be my guinea pig. Maybe even my assistant.”

“That sounds like a cool idea. But, um…no, thanks.”

He didn’t press the issue, but he noticed the way she couldn’t look him in the eye and how she was almost mumbling. Something was definitely up with her, but now was certainly not the time or place to try to figure it out.

He pushed open the door, following her out. Despite the fact that it was mid-April, winter had not quite let Boston go yet, and he shivered as he locked the door before sliding the security gate across. When he glanced over his shoulder, he was surprised to see she was still standing there, like she was waiting for him.

“How you gettin’ home?”

It was definitely a long shot, but if she didn’t have a way to get home, he’d offer her a ride. Even though she probably wouldn’t take it, his mother would never let him hear the end of it if she knew he’d let a young lady walk home all by herself late at night.

She pointed over her shoulder to a car across the street with the headlights on. “That’s Jazz. She’ll take me home.”

Cillian lifted a hand in the direction of the car. It was too dark to really see anything, but a moment later the window rolled down and a hand emerged, waving back to him. He nodded at Sammi.

“Goodnight. See you next time.” He started to turn away, but something in her face stopped him, and he looked at her, raising his brows. She chewed her lip for a moment, her eyes on her shoes.

“I wanted to say…thank you. For—for sticking up for me when those guys cornered me. For trying to help me out. I’m sorry I brushed you off like that. It was really nice of you to go out of your way to come to the café and talk to me. And I just wanna say thanks.”

He was as surprised as he would have been had she started cussing him out. “No problem. I just don’t like shit like that, is all.” He glanced at her, and for the first time, her lips pulled into a tight smile.

“Well…I appreciate it.”

He nodded. “Anytime. Look, get home safe, a’right? Your friend’s waitin’ on you. I’ll see you around.”

“Goodnight.” She lifted her hand in a little wave and left.

As he headed off, he glanced back to see she’d made it across the street all right and was safely in her friend’s car.

His mind spun as he got in his truck.
She thanked me. Thought I was just annoying her.

She was a complete mystery. The last thing in the world he expected was to have a conversation with her—the same girl who felt it was necessary to disguise herself as a guy to come to the gym. She’d barely looked him in the eye, but she’d thanked him.

Then there was the reaction she’d had when he tapped her on the shoulder, and her unwillingness to spar with him. Maybe she was jumpy from the night when the three assholes had cornered her.

And maybe there’s something bigger going on.

Either way, he thought he might want the opportunity to find out.

The next night, Cillian tallied the kettlebell inventory, crouching near the floor and making notes on a clipboard. Carl was there, just “checking things over”, as he did occasionally during the week. It took every ounce of willpower, self-control, and maturity Cillian possessed to act like nothing was wrong. He tried to keep his distance from the man, but all Carl wanted to do was follow him around and talk at him.

“Doin’ a good job here, Killy.” He tossed an apple up in the air and caught it before crunching a loud bite.

Cillian bobbed his head, penciling on the clipboard. He glanced at Carl. “These kettlebells are worn out. The paint’s chipping off. We need to order new ones. Better ones.”

Carl barely glanced at them. “Look okay to me.”

Cillian narrowed his eyes at the clipboard. “What about the equipment for the space next door? I ordered it last month. Shouldn’t it be here by now?”

Carl shrugged, inspecting his apple closely. “Yeah, I guess so. I’ll follow up on it.”

“I’m happy to do it.”

“No, no. That’s a management task. I’ll take care of it.”

And what the fuck am I?
“Aren’t I the manager, or whatever? I thought you wanted me to handle this kinda shit.”

“I said, I’ll take care of this. You just worry about trainin’. Make Baz do this shit.” He gestured to the clipboard.

Cillian lifted a brow. “Baz is my trainer.”

“Oh. Well, whatever. Don’t worry about anything but the tournament.”

Fucking slick bastard.

He heard footsteps and glanced over as Sammi walked up to her favorite bag, then checked his watch, noting that it was just after seven-thirty. S
he’s early tonight.
She gave him a little wave before dropping her bag on the ground to stretch her arms, adjusting the buds in her ears.

“That the infamous Sammi I keep hearin’ about?” Carl asked in a low voice.

Cillian frowned at him, then glared when Carl’s eyes lowered from her back to check out her ass. He cleared his throat. “Yeah. And I’ve personally guaranteed no one bothers her anymore.”

“Mm-hmm.” Carl’s eyes remained glued to Sammi. “What kinda owner would I be if I didn’t go introduce myself? Here, hold this.” He pushed his partially eaten apple into Cillian’s hand and walked over to Sammi.

Cillian stared down at the piece of fruit, resisting the overwhelming urge to throw it at the back of Carl’s head. Asshole. His fist balled at his side as he watched Carl tap her on the shoulder. Sammi turned quickly, and he saw that same startled look on her face he’d seen numerous times by now.

“…Carl Wilhelm, owner of Murphy’s. Just wanted to introduce myself personally and welcome you to the gym.”

“Oh.” Sammi shook his hand uncertainly. “Thanks.”

“If there’s anything you ever need, please—don’t hesitate to let me know how I can help.” Carl covered her hand with his other one, staring right into her eyes.

She nodded, disentangling her hand and lowering her gaze. “Thanks. I will.”

“I hope so. Have a great night.”

Carl turned and walked back to Cillian, winking, then plucked his apple from Cillian’s hand. “Have a good one, bro.” He waved over his shoulder, sauntering toward the door.

Cillian glared after him for a moment before shaking his head and returning to his task. After a few moments, he glanced over at Sammi. Now that she wasn’t drowning in oversized clothing, he could study her better and critique her form.

Finally, he set his clipboard down and went over to her. He made sure to stay within her peripheral vision and lifted a hand to get her attention. Her eyes shifted toward him and she pulled her earbuds out.

“What’s up?”

“Sorry to interrupt. Just noticed something. When you throw an uppercut, make sure you lower your shoulder a little more and throw from the hip.” He slowly moved around behind her, instincts telling him to keep his hands where she could see. “Can I show you?”

Her eyes instantly turned wary and her shoulders hunched up a little, but she nodded hesitantly, so he angled his body to stay in her line of sight and moved closer.

“When you throw the right,” he began, gently pressing on her right shoulder, “lower this side a little more.” He moved her shoulder for her the way he wanted it to go. “Turn your hips with it and lift your heel off the ground.” He let his hands settle lightly just above her hips, manipulating the action he wanted them to take, then nudged the toe of his shoe against the heel of hers, prodding her to lift it as she rotated her hips. “All the power should come from here.” He patted her right hip lightly, then removed his hands and stepped back.

She flushed, nodding without meeting his gaze. “Thanks, I’ll remember that.”

“No problem. Otherwise, you’re doin’ great.”

He turned to move back toward his clipboard. When he was finished with inventory, he shuffled back to his office, quickly stripping his clean T-shirt off and replacing it with a beat-up, ratty shirt to work out in. He headed back to the punching bags, and as he popped in his own earbuds and stretched his arms, he glanced briefly at Sammi and was pleased to see her applying his advice.

As always, he became instantly consumed in his work, the real world around him receding. Anger flowed through his body, warming his muscles, as he thought about what he was fighting for; sometimes it was a faceless screaming insurgent in Afghanistan. Other times it was Lee’s lifeless body, leaning against a blown-out window in a truck. It was the seatbelt that constricted him to the Humvee seat while the vehicle was aflame, it was the AR-15 that jammed at the absolute wrong moment, it was the bank that wouldn’t grant him enough money to buy the gym in full.

Tonight, it was Carl’s face on the punching bag, and his strikes had never been so sharp and accurate.

It wasn’t until he felt the tap of fingers on his shoulder and turned sharply to see Sammi behind him, her jacket on and bag over her shoulder, that he realized he’d been going at it for the better part of an hour. His shoulders ached, and his biceps and triceps burned.

“You takin’ off for the night?” he asked, slightly winded as he used his towel to mop up his face.

“Yeah. I need to go home and get ready for work.”

He cocked his head and glanced at his watch; it was nine on a Friday night. “The…café?”

She shook her head, her ponytail swaying. “I bartend over at Cliff’s Lounge a couple nights a week.”

Cliff’s Lounge was just north of Southie, on Exeter Street. Cillian had never been there, but some of his friends had, and swore up and down they made the best drinks in Beantown. 

“Two jobs, huh? Must keep you pretty busy.”

“I have three, actually.” She smiled, and with a jolt, Cillian realized he’d never really seen her smile before. Her dimples sprang to life in her cheeks, and he couldn’t help staring at them. “I also teach dance at the Southie Community Rec Center couple times a week.”

“No shit? Place a few blocks from here, right?”

“Yep.”

“What kinda dance?”

“Ballet.”

“No wonder your posture’s so good.” It made sense; there was a grace about her movements, everything from the way she walked to the way she threw her punches. “How long you been a dancer?”

Her smile vanished and she averted her gaze. “Twenty-three years.”

Was that a bad question? Now she looks like she wants the floor to open up and swallow her whole. Time to change the subject.
“So, you got a busy day tomorrow.”

“Yeah. I’ll be workin’ all three.”

Cillian let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Sounds exhausting.” He paused, wondering if he should just bid her goodnight because she still wouldn’t look him in the eye, but she surprised him again when she kept talking.

“It is. That’s why I look forward to Sunday so much. The one day where I have absolutely nothing to do. Unless you count Sunday dinner with the family.”

“If we’re talkin’
my
family, then I definitely count that as a strenuous activity.” He smiled when she chuckled quietly, flashing her dimples again. She met his gaze briefly, then glanced down at the toes of her sneakers.

“Well. I better be on my way. I just wanted to say goodnight.”

Cillian nodded. “Have a good one.”

She waved over her shoulder, then turned and headed for the door. He watched her go, until he realized that she’d been gone for a while and he was still staring after her. They hadn’t talked about much, but he’d seen her smile, twice.
Get the feeling she doesn’t give those out easily—and I got two.

He returned to the bag, but it was difficult to hit it as hard as he had before, because he suddenly realized that, for the moment, anyway, he wasn’t angry at all.