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She gives me a deadpan look. "You mean the one I caught you making out with in the driveway just this afternoon? Yeah, duh. Of course, I remember."
My face turns bright red. "Anyway, things…happened. Today."
Renae leans back, observing me from head to toe, and laughs. I blink, confused at the sudden change in demeanor, struggling to keep up with what exactly is going on.
"Girl, if you had a little fun, that's all you have to say. I'm not going to be on your case. We're young. It happens!" She reaches forward and takes my hands in hers. "All I ask is that you don't let things get serious. I googled this guy, and while he sounds great, he's almost twice your age. Keep things casual so you don't get hurt."
Her words make sense, but my stomach turns anyway. Casual. I'm pretty sure Porter is not going to be okay with casual.
"Of course, Ren." I smile, hoping it looks convincing.
"Good." She nods. Then, her gaze turns wicked. "Now, tell me what happened!"
* * *
The next day, I wake up with butterflies in my stomach. They're back, and they're multiplying fast. It's the day of my next boxing lesson, and last night, Porter and I texted into the wee hours of the morning. I blush as I remember some of the dirty things he said to me, how hot his mouth was, and how talented his fingers were.
Ian never once spoke to me like Porter does. He never once made my heart pound or my skin turn hot. He certainly never made me feel like I'm the most beautiful person in the world, which is how Porter makes me feel.
I roll out of bed and dress quickly, pulling on my workout clothes and agonizing over how they look on me. I want to look perfect for Porter, for it to be impossible for him to take his eyes off me, even if I know deep down that I should really be focusing on learning how to defend myself.
After a quick breakfast, Renae and I load up into her car so she can drop me off at the gym. As I step out and reach the door, my heart is beating like I've been running for miles. The butterflies are getting more and more aggressive, and when I walk into the gym, they're practically swarming.
To my surprise, the gym is relatively empty today. Keith is at the front desk, but he waves me over as soon as I come in.
"Hey, kid. The boss is going to be a little late. He's meeting with the contractor to go over tile choices or something. He said to have you warm up on your own and that he'll be here soon."
"Thanks," I tell him, the anticipation rocketing even higher inside of me now that I have to wait.
Heading over to the bag, I wrap my hands and start my warm-up, trying to remember what Porter taught me. It's embarrassing to think that I didn't pay nearly enough attention to my lessons because I've been so distracted by my trainer, but after a few minutes, I start to find a rhythm.
A shadow passes over me, tall but thinner than Porter. The difference in size is my first giveaway that something is wrong, but at first, I think it's just another person here to work out.
"Need some help?" the shadow asks from behind. I freeze at the unfamiliar voice and slowly turn.
It's the size that throws me off at first. He's built just like Ian, about 6 feet tall but wiry. It's not Ian, but the similarities are enough to give me a shot of adrenaline. That and how freaking close to me he is.
"Um, no thanks," I chirp pleasantly, hoping it will be enough for him to take the hint and leave. I turn back to my punching bag, but the guy doesn't move. He clears his throat, and I turn again, a little more annoyed this time.
"What is it?" I ask.
His eyes rake over my body and send a shiver of disgust crawling up my spine. He's probably in his 20s, full of that cockiness so common in younger guys.
"I'm Jerry."
"Nice to meet you, Jerry. Now, I need to finish warming up, so if you'll excuse me…"
Jerry reaches out and grabs my elbow, pivoting me like he's trying to correct my form, but I'm not stupid. It's just an excuse to get his hands on me. I yelp and try to pull away, but his grip is iron. Panic starts to set in, and suddenly, my boxing lesson doesn't seem all that unnecessary anymore. Will I have to fight this guy off? Can I?
"You're a pretty little thing. Hold your arms like this. Stop tensing up, I'm just trying to help."
"Let go of me," I snap, struggling to get away.
Jerry's eyes narrow and he leans closer, his hand squeezing my elbow even harder, and when he pulls me closer, there’s a thread of roughness in the gesture. My heart pounds and tears prick my eyes. I've never been handled this way, with this kind of roughness and disregard for my body, and it makes my palms sweat and my hands shake.
"Get the FUCK off her."
Porter's voice is a whip cracking, and a flood of relief washes over me. Jerry's grip releases and his gaze jerks over toward the owner of the gym, his expression turning panicked.
