Page 19 of Keep Your Guard Up
“Get a drink. Three-minute rounds, running in between.”
While everyone began making their way off to the side of the mat to prepare for sparring, Chance and JJ walked straight towards me. JJ was chewing Chance’s ear off about god knows what, but his stare stayed on me.
“Happy with the class, boss?” Chance asked, interrupting something JJ was saying. JJ pouted and swatted his arm. Chance completely ignored him.
“Absolutely,” I replied, sliding a blank mask over my face, trying desperately to hide the fact that I knew he’d caught me ogling him.
“What did you think of the footsweep? Pretty effective right?” His hint of a smirk widened across his face.
“Looked great. I’m a big fan of footsweeps myself,” I replied as coolly as I could.
Chance laughed,fuckingwinked at me again, and strode off towards the sparring timer.
“You absolute horndog,” JJ scolded.
“What?” I gaped.
“We didn’t learn a fucking footsweep, Lynnie. We’ve been doing major throws thewholetime.”
Some sort of weird telepathic connection between JJ and Chance pricked, and that cocky, sexy, infuriating smirk erupted onto the latter’s face.
“God, you two,” JJ grumbled. “At least try to keep it in your pants.”
Chapter 9
Mari
My foot slammed on the ground to catch my fall.
God, I’m so tired I’m tripping over my own fucking feet.
The sun, only just beginning to rise, warmed my stiff body. That dawn sunshine was something I loved most about walking to the gym each morning. But on a morning like this, where I was unbearably tired, that warm sun felt a little too similar to the comforts of my own bed. Meaning instead of my usual cuppa when I arrived at the gym, I’d need a double … or quadruple.
The rocks crackled underneath my feet as I stopped in front of the gym—all of the doors were open, but none of the lights seemed to be on? I thumbed the hidden blade I keep in my bagstrap, sucked in a breath to hold, and silently crept around the corner.
My knife hit the ground with a clatter. Therewassomeone in the gym.
Not just anyone.
Chance.
“Mornin’ boss!” he chirped, curling the dumbbell up his arm with a slight grunt.
There’s a man in my gym, at the asscrack of dawn, doing bicep curls.
Correction—there’s a very hot, very shirtless, professional UFL fighter in my gym, at the asscrack of dawn, doing bicep curls.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, racking the dumbbells and grabbing his towel from the bench. Sweat greedily dripped down his chest, in between every crevice of hiscarved stomach. “Just wanted to get a workout in before the crowds came.” He smiled, and if that didn’t just make me melt even more.
“Are you alright?” he asked, concern knitting his brows together.
“Perfectly fine,” I replied, unable to stop my eyes from openly wandering over his frame. The built, muscled body of a fighter—a warrior.
Fuck, was it getting hot in here?
“Something on your mind?” Like the moment before the storm hits, the sudden snap in temperature, his gaze turned heated as he watched me drink him in.
“A thing or two.” My fingers reached for him; a warmth spread through me at the feel of his sweaty, blood-filled chest.
