Page 27

I need to stop staring.
I push my earbuds back into my ears to distract me and hit play on Rihanna’s “Desperado.” I wrap my knuckles with the smaller gloves. Why are there girl sized gloves here? And stretch my neck. Bailey, obviously… I start with single jabs, launching them toward the hard, black sack. Inhale, exhale. I tense my abs with every hit, sweat continuing to pour out of my flesh. When the single jabs start to lose their effect, I start on one, two, three combos. I speed up and then slow down, all while keeping my abs tight and my core strong.
My arms burn the longer I punch, but it feels good. Ridge and I used to do this every weekend in his garage, so it’s easy to pick back up on the combos. Everything that has happened up to this point in my life starts to slowly drift through my head and I find my punches getting hard. My aggression hits a new level and I swing my leg around in a roundhouse kick before going back to the jab and hook combinations. I don’t want to stop. I want to beat this bag until my limbs fall off. My earbuds fall out of my ears and the loud base that Nate is obviously playing takes up every inch of the area. “Na Na” by Trey Songz is playing. I kick my earbuds out of the way so I don’t step on them. One two, three. My punching gets hard, my arms burning and my abs feeling like lava.
You know when you feel eyes on you? My eyes shoot up, distracted by Nate and Brantley both standing there watching me. The bag swings and almost hits me, so I curl my arm around to steady it.
“What!” I snap at them both.
“That’s supposed to make you less angry. You seem madder than before,” Nate teases. “Any reason why?” He grins at me, stretching out his arms. I notice they’re both in work out gear. Both no shirts and both wearing appropriate sweat shorts.
I’m so fucking fucked when it comes to these two.
“Yes, there is a reason actually,” I mutter, bouncing up and swinging toward the bag again. “Pancakes.”
Brantley is on the other side of the bag in a heartbeat. “Wanna spar?”
My eyes fly to his.
“I mean, I get the feeling that you’ve done this whole thing before. Am I right?”
“A little,” I grumble, readjusting the gloves.
“There’s so much we just don’t know about you, little terror…” Brantley torments, picking up the sparring pads. My eyes catch Nate who has started on the skipping rope.
He’s skipping doubles, his eyes slicing through me with every swing. I know that out of all of them, Nate and Brantley are the more athletic guys. Especially Nate. He does all sorts of training to keep his body in check. Including CrossFit and Parkour.
He twists his arms over all while not breaking his skip.
My eyes fly to Brantley. I smile before I start swinging, now hitting each pad.
The boys are all out back of the house, so I start on the pancakes. I’m not showering before because then I might lose my appetite. All of The Kings are here—sans Abel, who has done a complete ghost. I start on mixing another load of batter, pouring it into the one that was in the fridge. Brantley won’t know that half of it wasn’t in the fridge. I heat up the griddle and start pouring two at a time. The sound dock is still on and I hit play on some music. When I first got to Brantley’s house, it was disturbing. But now I love it. I love the history and character that lay within the aging walls.
“It’s a Vibe” from 2 Chainz starts playing and I lose myself in flipping pancakes.
I feel him before I turn around. Nate takes up every area that he occupies.
He comes closer, stealing a pancake. “Have you got something to wear tonight or are you going shopping?”
I glare at him. “They’re not ready!” I gesture to the pancakes. “I’m going to get a dress and other shit I need so I don’t have to keep squeezing my ass into Bailey’s. I’m also taking Madison with me.”
He freezes mid-chew. “Why?”
“What do you mean why?” I ask, narrowing my eyes on him.
“She fucking cheated on Bishop. I can’t even—”
“—You’re a fucking hypocrite if you’re going to be mad at her about cheating when you’ve so happily done it to me.”
He laughs, but it’s not a nice one and I instantly know that I’ve just lit a match and—probably—am about to be burned. “I’ve never fucking cheated on you, Tillie.”
“Yes, you have.”
“How the fuck can I cheat on you when we’ve never really been together? Explain that shit to me because—”
I turn my face away from him before I smack him over the head with this spatula, but his hand grips my chin and he yanks my face up to face his, squeezing roughly. He searches my eyes, and I see by the way his pupils dilate that whatever he’s about to do, it is going to hurt. “How can I fucking cheat on someone who was never mine?”