One Hundred and Thirty-Six Scars(65)
I nod my head and smile. “Yeah. I made all the boys stop too. Had to call in and pick up some things from a friend to help out anyway, so it was nothing.” It wasn’t nothing. The boys all gave me shit for stopping at the local sports shop because I wanted to run in and grab some workout gear for my girl. They stopped laughing when I pointed out that they’re the ones sitting bitch waiting for me.
She peeks into the bag and rolls her eyes. “Really?”
I laugh. “I said I picked. Of course, I was going to pick that.”
She walks to the little room and closes the door behind her. I drop the bag and unzip it, pulling out the Hoyt Buffalo Bow and Easton X7 Eclipse arrows from the bag before zipping it back up and placing them on the table that sits at the head of the octagon. Meadow walks back out to the gym, shoving her clothes and shoes into the bag.
“I love the jacket. Thank you!” Her face beams.
“Yeah? Good,” I wink. I had to buy her, her own leather jacket too if she’s going to be riding with me from now on. My skin heats and a wide grin comes on display across my lips. Licking my lips, I scan her up and down, letting out a wolf whistle. “Damn, baby.” I walk up to her, pulling her in for a kiss and she waves me away.
“Yeah, yeah.” She laughs, pulling the tight black spandex shorts down lower. I bring my eyes down to her thighs and a splash of guilt washes over me.
“Fuck!” I yell, fisting my hand into my hair. “I didn’t even think. I’m sorry, baby.”
She shrugs. “Don’t worry. They hide them… just. And all my scars are faded to a pearly white now, so you can’t really see them.” Her eyes scan the table that the bow and arrows sit on. Her face lights up like the fourth of July. “Can I touch it?”
I laugh, running my hands over the top of my head. “Yeah, for sure.”
She walks to the table and lightly runs the top of her fingertips over the black slate. “Hoyt Buffalo. Where’d you get this?” she asks, turning her head to me with shock in her tone.
“A friend. He knows shit about archery.”
She turns to the arrows and her face changes. “I love it. All of it. But… if I was to even use one for self-defense, I wouldn’t want to actually kill the person, Beast. No matter how bad the person is.”
I push my hands into my pockets. “I didn’t think of that. We can train with these. I’ll sort out some sort of alternative for after. Deal?”
She nods her head, the same smile coming onto her face. “Deal.”
“Good. I’ll get changed then we’ll warm up,” I say, taking my duffel bag in my hand.
“Warm up?” she asks, turning herself toward me.
“Yeah. What? Did you think I was only training you on a bow? I need you well-rounded.”
“Like The First Commander Nines?” she asks, tilting her head.
My body stiffens when I turn to her. “Yeah. Like that.”
“Okay,” she answers, wrapping her long hair into a ponytail, her abdominals tensing at the movement and I fight the urge to growl out loud.
“Be two secs,” I wink at her.
Walking back out, I pull on the drawstring knee sweat shorts I threw on and pick up the skipping ropes. She turns her body to me with a water bottle sticking out of her mouth. When she sees me, she coughs, wiping the water from her mouth.
I laugh. “You all right?”
She nods her head silently. “Yep, yep… um. Okay, let’s go.”
Handing her the skipping rope, we start jumping until we’ve worked up enough sweat, then move to push-ups, suicide jumps, and star jumps.
“Okay, I’m warm enough,” she moans, wiping the sweat from her forehead. My dick is already straining in my pants. I can’t believe this was my idea. This is fucking torture, that’s what this is.
“I’m not. Get on top of my back,” I say, getting into plank position.
“Are you kidding? I’m one hundred and thirty-five pounds, Beast. I’m not exactly a twig.”
“Baby, I bench four hundred pounds. You’re a twig. Get on.”
“Okay.” She climbs her body onto my back before I drop to do four sets of thirty.
Her hand glides down my arms every time I bring us up. “Meadow? You need to stop that shit right now.”
“Sorry.” She laughs before getting off.
“Now, I’m warm.”
I throw her a set of gloves and point to the octagon. “First things first, I need you to be able to throw a decent punch. Come on.”
She follows me in, slipping the gloves on her hands. “You have two weeks with me. You think you’ll get enough information stored in my brain for that?”