Page 115 of Cinderella Is Faking It

“You’re writing the book?” He asked, voice lowered, when the first fight ended.

“I’m not talking to you,” I hissed through my teeth. “I’m here for research.”

“You should talk to me about that missing oomph. I have had notable success as your research assistant before.”

“Are you seriously trying to flirt with me?” How could he even bring that up? How could he offer something like that?

“Maybe, but I’m serious. I’m Brody’s coach. I can help if you want to go over a fight scene.”

“I don’t want your help.” I tightened my grip around myself, my fingernails finding the thin skin on the underside of my arm and pinching. It barely helped to keep my thoughts from spiraling into the past.

“I didn’t know he was going to hurt Cordelia.”

No. Nope. I was so not doing that. I wasn’t going to listen to any more lies. “I’m going to go stand over there,” I gritted out before walking to the other side of the ring. I stopped next some blonde guy who was whooping and hollering loud enough to drown out my thoughts.

“That’s my daughter,” the man said, leaning in and pointing at a young girl with a whole lot of energy, jumping up and down beside the ring, ready to go next, “I signed her up after the divorce, so she could work through some of those feelings.”

I blinked. Subtle. Very subtle. “I hope it works.” I tried to offer a genuine smile for the sake of his daughter, but my face was frozen into a frown.

“Do you fight? Are you one of the girls’ coaches?”

“Me? Oh, no. I’m just here as moral support.”

“That’s a shame. I’m sure you would look good in the ring.”

“Here.” A bottle of apple juice popped up in front of me and I instinctively shrank back from the hand holding it. The blonde guy blanched, blinking up at the towering presence throwing its shadow over me.

“Thank you. I’m not thirsty,” I glared at Beck, leaning away from him. “Beck, this is-” I turned to introduce the guy, but he was gone. Great. What a chicken.

“He’s not wrong,” Beck said. “You should get in the ring.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I think it would help.”

“Plenty of writers come up with epic battle scenes without getting themselves punched in the face.”

His lips twitched. “I’m not talking about your skills as a writer. I’m talking about your anxiety. Although I’m glad to hear you finally consider yourself a writer.”

“What are you even- I came over here, so I didn’t have to talk to you.”

“You say stop, I stop.”

The familiar words sent goosebumps racing down my neck. “That doesn’t work on me anymore. You have gone far beyond any line of consent and communication.”

“Think about it. You won’t even have to see me. I’ll set you up with a great beginner’s coach.” He pulled a business card for the Vortex out, sleek and minimalist, including the club’s contact details and opening times, along with his name listed as owner.

“This is your place?” I shot a look past him at the girls that had taken over the entire gym.

“I only own it. Scarlett runs it.”

The squealing, screaming, jumpy energy of all the little girls around me didn’t match the Axent business models at all. Neither did the gym. No luxury amenities, no VIP lounges. I wasn’t about to agree with Beck - but that blonde guy had signed his daughter up to punch her way through her feelings. Maybe that would work on mine, too. “I’m going to pay the membership fee and everything. I don’t want anything from you, Beck.”

“If that’s what you want.”

* * *

“Jesus H.Roosevelt Christ, you have to stop holding back!”