Page 14 of Vicious Behaviors

“Oh?” he cocks an eyebrow.

“I’m working toward my master’s degree, so whatever job I take needs to be flexible when it comes to my schedule.”

“I have no problem with that,” he states in amusement, sounding impressed with my grit.

“Does that mean I got the job?”

Carmine folds his arms across his broad chest, mouth pulling into something that’s not quite a smile but awfully close to one. “Not yet. First, I have to know if you can handle it.”

“I can assure you that I can handle anything you throw my way.”

“You sure are cocky for a girl. Reminds me of my Stella.” He laughs. “Maybe that’s why I’m considering taking you on. However, I still have to do my due diligence, Izzie. Hope you understand.”

Without further word, he stands up from his desk and urges me to follow him back into the gym.

“Rico!” he shouts and then nods toward the ring.

Rico excitedly sprints from behind the counter and almost flies to the ring, wrapping his hands in cloth as if prepping for war.

“Who am I fighting, boss?” he asks enthusiastically.

“Her.” DeLuca nods at me.

Say what now?

“If you want to work here, Izzie, you must prove to me that you can hold your own. If you’re going to be working with guys like Rico over there, they have to respect you, so you have to earn their respect. Otherwise, this won’t work. Take him down, and the job’s yours.”

I glance at Rico, who immediately catches my eye. He starts to crack his knuckles, smirking at me like this is going to be fun. Like this is going to be easy for him. Poor guy is going to get a wake-up call he isn’t ready for.

There’s only one problem—my clothes. Aside from my hoodie and the tank top underneath, I’m wearing skin-tight, zero-stretch jeans and my favorite Doc Martens, neither of which were made for bouncing around a boxing ring.

Great.

Then, as if on cue, a lanky guy steps out of the locker room, looking ready to start his session. He’s younger than most of the men here, maybe eighteen or so, but about my height, dressed in mesh gym shorts with a towel draped over his shoulders.

“Hey, kid!” I call, stepping toward him.

“Yeah?” he blinks, confused as to why I’ve singled him out.

“You wearing boxers under those?”

He freezes. “Uh… yeah?”

“Mind lending me your shorts for a few minutes?”

He glares at me as if I just asked him to hand over his Social Security and credit card numbers.

“I just need them for five minutes. Ten tops,” I insist.

“Oh, just give the girl your shorts, Jimmy. And be quick about it,” DeLuca orders impatiently beside me.

Realizing there is no way he can get out of this, Jimmy slowly shimmies the shorts off, coaxing a chorus of whistles and hoots erupting from the guys around us.

“Yo, Jimmy! That’s the fastest you’ve ever dropped your trow!”

“Buy her dinner first, bro!”

Jimmy—bless him—chucks the shorts to me while doing his best to cover his reddened cheeks. With the shorts in my hands, I kick off my boots and start peeling off my jeans, prompting the gym’s volume to really crank up a notch. I ignore all the catcalls and laughter, especially that one guy who thought it would be funny to clap once the pants were fully off.