Rough and Ready (More Than A Cowboy #2) - Vanessa Vale Page 0,5

had to adjust my dick in my workout shorts. While I liked a woman all feminine in dresses and heels, I also liked one who wasn’t high maintenance. Who took care of herself. Saw fitness as healthy.

Pushing the outer door open, she went out into the parking lot. It was well lit—Gray was more of a freak about safety than anyone I knew—and using a key fob, she popped the trunk on a dark colored sedan. If she hadn't been afraid of me, I'd have gone out and helped because I didn’t let a woman lug a bunch of boxes around, but if she lost it at the sight of me at the elevator, I didn't know what she'd do if I joined her in a parking lot at night. Did she have mace on that keychain?

I watched her put the three boxes away, close the trunk. She went into the gym through its main entrance, not through the side door off of the lobby. I went there and peeked in, watched as she set the dolly in the corner by the gym’s coat rack, gave a shaky wave to Jack at the front desk, then made her way to the row of treadmills that looked out onto the street. Good girl.

My neighbor was skittish as fuck yet smart. She wasn’t running outside.

After stepping on and pushing a few buttons, she started walking, tugging an elastic band from her wrist and pulling her hair back into a sloppy tail. Yeah, she wasn’t high maintenance or trying to catch the eyes of the guys. While those shorts showed off a mile of leg, she was dressed fairly modestly. No tight yoga pants or snug top.

After pressing a few more buttons on the treadmill, her pace quickened. By the time I pushed through the door and leaned against the front desk, she was running at a serious pace. No warm up.

Gray's gym had free weights and exercise machines, treadmills and ellipticals, but he specialized in MMA fighting. This meant a large amount of real estate devoted to all aspects of mixed martial arts; an open mat, separate training rooms, and an octagon with a fence around it, just like the ones on TV. His members were those like Harper who needed a place to get a workout in who had no interest in fighting. Yoga and spin classes were on the schedule for them. Then there were the serious competitors like me. MMA, Muay Thai, BJJ and other fighting classes were filled with those who wanted to compete or at least defend themselves. Gray intentionally kept it from being a total meat market and a straight competition gym. The balance worked, and it was considered one of the best gyms in town.

“I thought you went to shower,” Jack said, frowning at me. He was in college, working the desk in exchange for free membership. While he didn't have aspirations of being the next big fighter, he took all the classes Gray offered. His focus was BJJ, and he'd just gotten his blue belt. He had the physique for the sport, and the time on the mat with more experienced people kept his ego in check.

Manning the desk, he couldn't have missed what happened earlier in the ring with the doc's kid. Gray was in his glass enclosed office talking to the dickhead, who was wiping his sweaty head with one of the gym's white towels. While Gray was chill as he leaned back in his desk chair, the other guy was pissed and waving his arms. Probably spouting some shit about being a great fighter. Whatever.

I glanced back at my new neighbor. Her ponytail swung side to side as she ran. The treadmills faced the front windows. During the day, the street was visible and watching traffic helped pass the monotony of running nowhere. I hated running inside, but bad weather this time of year forced me on them sometimes as part of my workout. No way would I risk injury because of ice.

“Your new neighbor, right?” Jack asked. “She's pretty serious.”

“Serious? You mean personality?” I asked. I picked up a pen, fiddled with it, tried not to show the depth of my interest in her. The last thing I needed was for Jack to think I was a seventh-grade girl interested in gossip.

“Nah, she's cool. Introduced herself the other day. She runs.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” I countered, watching her smooth pace, the way the muscles in her legs moved with