Page 63 of Fighting Mr. Knight

The lift doors open to the basement. I pass the entrance to the bike shed on the right and a cleaner supply room on the left, then arrive at the only door he can be talking about.

It’s a door right beside the main gym.

I knock.

“Come in,” a man shouts.

Inside is a boxing ring they didn’t show us during the office tour.

And in the middle of the ring is a bare-chested bare-footed sweaty Jack throwing savage punches at another bloke.

Holy. Fucking. Hell.

The muscles of his arms and chest flex with every punch he delivers to the other guy, who can clearly give as good as he can take.

The intensity on Jack’s face could swallow me whole.

Damn.

Speechless. My head involuntarily tips to the side as I examine him, like a beautiful sculpture.

Loud primitive grunts come out of him, acting as my sexual alarm clock. His muscles contract every time he jabs.

Same as my vagina. My version of morning wood.

Jesus, woman. He’s just a man.

Also a hulking, hot-as-fuck man, glistening in sweat.

Thwack.

Thwack.

Thwack.

The other guy lands a decent punch on Jack’s chest. That must hurt. The muscles ripple but Jack ducks and comes back for more.

“Bonnie,” a gruff breathless voice jerks me out of my daze. Why does it sound like a command every time he says my name? “Are you here to say something to me or stand there gawking?”

“I can come back later if now’s not a good time.”

He stops moving for a second and his dark eyes burn into mine. “No. We do it now.”

“Uh, sure. I’d like to ask that you don’t get me taken off the project.”

Thwack. He resumes his punching.

“I know it didn’t appear so, yesterday,” I continue louder, “but I’m extremely dedicated to this project. Yesterday I wasn’t myself!”

I shout that last bit over the thumps and grunts.

“But I can guarantee that will never happen again. Being late is completely out of character for me. And I’m upset with myself for being late to something so important. It was extremely unprofessional.”

I stop for air as he continues dancing and shadowboxing. Is the motherfucker even listening to me?

The nipple ring glistens with sweat. I hope the other guy gets him right on the ring.

“Can I start afresh and prove myself? Will you give me another chance?”

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