Page 27 of Come in with the Rain
STELLA
When I get to Berserkr Gym on Saturday night, I’m quivering. Something has changed. A small shift, like a crack in a bone that’s so fine that it’s just the slightest ache. Yesterday, standing under that golden wall and hearing Adam say that he’s almost at the end of what he’s doing on the condo twisted something inside me, and I feel like I’m never coming back from it.
People are filing into Berserkr, and every time the door opens, a heavy bass beat flows out into the air like it’s a night club instead of a boxing gym. Through the glass front doors, I can make out bodies, swaths of hair and skin and clothing, and then there’s Adam and Ford, both of them half a head taller than anyone else. They’re having what looks like a very intense conversation, Adam making motions with his hands and Ford listening with his arms crossed tight.
Ford almost seems like he’s flat-out ignoring Adam, his eyes moving over the street in front of the gym, until they travel all the way to the parking lot on the other side. He spots me, and a grin spreads across his face. He raises a hand to wave me in, and Adam turns. I meet them at the door, just barely inside, where the music is loud enough to be felt under my feet even though this isn’t even the main room. It’s just an entry hall, long and painted burnt yellow. Off to my left, a reception desk stands empty. There are schedules posted to the wall behind it: boxing, kickboxing, self-defense, functional training, private sessions.
“I’ve just been informed,” Adam says by way of greeting once he’s close enough for me to hear him over all of the other noise, “that when I agreed to help out with this fundraiser, I agreed to be auctioned off like a piece of antique furniture.”
A very petite, red-haired woman stops beside Adam and claps a hand on his shoulder. My eyes get caught on the way her fingers curve around him. “Don’t be ridiculous. Antique furniture can’t take its shirt off.”
Adam scowls down at her. “I’m not taking my shirt off.”
She looks up at him with a pair of innocent eyes and runs the tip of one of her fingers down the curve of his arm. “What’s the point of working so hard on those pecs if you’re not going to show them off?”
Adam doesn’t answer, and the woman who still hasn’t been introduced to me says, “You’re Stella, right?” When I nod, she reaches for my hand and gives me a solid yank in the direction of the gym.
“Dani!” I hear Adam shout behind us, but she ignores him and keeps pulling me along.
It’s my first instinct to skitter to a stop when we step into the gym. I’ve never been in a boxing gym. In one corner, punching bags, speed bags, and ropes hang from the ceiling. In another corner, mats cover the floor and walls, clearly anticipating people throwing each other around. Another corner houses free weights, medicine balls, and other conditioning equipment. And in the very center of it all: a boxing ring. I’ve never seen an actual boxing ring before, and we zip by it so fast that I don’t even get a good look at it before we’ve moved on. Dani pulls me to a stop at the bar, pressed into the final corner of the gym, not even waiting for a space to open up for her. She just slides us to the other side with the bartender and the mountains of liquor bottles. Facing the crowd, I see that most of them are already red-faced with too much alcohol.
There doesn’t seem to be a consistent dress code. Some people are dressed in cocktail attire, while some are in chinos or even jeans. Dani is wearing a sweater and a tight pair of jeans, but there are other woman in dresses that drop below their knees. I pulled the nicest thing I had out of my closet that wasn’t meant for an office: my favorite summer dress, white with daises the size of dinner plates.
“Drinks on me,” Dani says, leaning back against the bar and winking at the bartender, who fumbles a half-glass of clear alcohol and just barely catches it before it hits the ground, effectively soaking his shoes and one of his sleeves. “What’s your drink of choice?”
I feel a little like I’ve stepped into a dream, one of those dreams where it almost makes sense and then you’re suddenly swimming through lava with a mermaid that looks like your old boss.
“An Old Fashioned?”
Dani smiles and tilts her chin in the direction of the bartender. “You heard the woman,” she says. And when she turns to me, it finally really settles in how insanely pretty she is, with big, full lips, a shock of red hair settled on her shoulders, and beautifully sculpted cheekbones.
“I’m Danika,” she says, arms crossed as she leans back against the bar. “I own this place with Ford.” When she says this, my accumulated knowledge all snaps into place: Adam on the phone, talking about the fundraiser; the picture of Adam and Ford and a mysterious redhead on his mantle. Danika. Was she flirting with Adam earlier? Are they together? Didn’t she call that day to set Adam up with some other woman?
“You were in the marines with Adam and Ford.” This seems like the safest thing to bring up.
She smirks in an adorable, self-proud way. “Yep.” She’s so small compared to them, even though I can see the shape of her biceps through the sweater she’s wearing. She’s far more muscular than I could ever dream of being. But I can’t quite imagine her doing everything Ford and Adam could.
“Did you like it?”
She shrugs one shapely shoulder. “I fit there, but when I took a piece of metal the size of my hand to the side, I had a hard time shaking it off.” My eyes immediately drop to her torso, as if she’ll still have a blood-stained bandage there. She sees and waves me off. “It didn’t tear through anything important.”
The bartender slides a beer and my drink over to Dani, and she passes the heavy glass over to me. “So, you box?” I ask, taking a long, satisfying gulp of my drink.
She glances over her shoulder. “I do a little bit of everything.” She says it with such confidence, such surety, that I’m amazed. She takes a swig of her beer. “Have Adam bring you by sometime. I’ll give you a free lesson.”
I glance over at the boxing ring. I can’t imagine being in there with Dani. Just the thought has me so intimidated that I feel sick to my stomach. “I don’t think I could.”
Dani’s face doesn’t change. It’s still that expression like she owns the world. But one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows lifts. “Do you want to?”
I imagine the power of connecting a punch so hard that it vibrates through your whole body. What would that even feel like? I feel a sudden pull rise up in my chest. “Yes,” I say simply.
At that, Dani finally smiles. “Good. Then you definitely can.”
I know I shouldn’t ask. There are a million reasons why I definitely should not ask. But while I’m still internally trying to stop myself, the question pops out. “Have you and Adam ever dated?” He’s never really talked about her, but what if she’s the real reason he’s been keeping his distance or the real reason he doesn’t want her to set him up on a date? What if they’re not together, but he has feelings for her?
Dani’s beer stops centimeters from her mouth. “Oh, definitely not. Absolutely no way. Adam’s basically my brother. Plus, he’s kind of a tough nut to crack. I did fuck Ford once, but that’s as close to a relationship as I’ll ever get with either of them.”
I don’t even know why I asked. What would I have done if she had said yes? Or what if she had said they were friends with benefits or something like that? And why would it even matter? It’s not like I have any kind of claim on Adam. Quite the opposite. We’re helping each other out in a very professional manner. There are at least a dozen reasons why even glancing in Adam Lake’s direction is worse than any other bad decision I’ve made over the past month, beginning with the fact that we’re both clearly emotionally and probably psychologically fucked up and ending with the fact that we know virtually nothing about each other. For example, I had no idea thatthiswas the kind of world Adam was a part of, a world of boxing rings and fancy fundraisers and beautiful women. If Adam was out of my league before, now we’re playing two completely different sports.
