Page 68 of Broken Pieces
“This body doesn’t get like this on its own.”
“I just didn’t know you guys had built a gym up here is all.”
“Well, now you do. Can I get back to my work out?” I know I sound harsher than I should but if this will push her away or push away my own feelings than it’s what I have to do.
She is looking at my hands again. “Are you sure you were working out or taking out your frustrations?”
Now she is pissing me off. “Why do you fucking care?”
She points to my hands and that’s when I notice they are a bloody mess. “Fuck,” I yell.
I walk over to the first aid kit we keep stashed in a corner and grab the gauze out of it.
Soft hands land on top of my forearms. “Let me.”
I am about to tell her to fuck off, but my damn feelings take over. I can see the need in her eyes to help me out.
She grabs the tape from the kit and then a bottle of isopropyl alcohol. She doesn’t warn me before she pours it on my raw skin. “What the fuck?”
“If I warned you, you would have pulled back.”
I let her continue to cleanse the skin. Her gentle hands mending my knuckles. She wraps the gauze around them and seals it with tape.
“That should help. But next time you should tape your hands first.”
“I always do,” I mumble.
“Well next time you need to take your frustrations out on a bag you should be more careful.”
“How do you even know that’s what I was doing?” I ask as I walk away.
She doesn’t follow me, but I can hear her voice in the distance. “I was watching you for fifteen minutes. No one has that much aggression for no reason.”
I turn around, anger lacing my features. “Why do you even care?”
“I don’t,” she says shortly.
I’m not sure if that pisses me off more.
“But I’ve never used a punching bag. If it helps get out your frustrations, maybe it can help get out mine.” She pauses and bites her lip. I nearly groan, this is not how I wanted to get over her. “Can you show me?”
Fuck. I can either tell her no and get away from her or I can tell her, yes, knowing that I will get to touch her. My dick obviously wins over my brain.
“We should probably tape up your knuckles if you want to let it out at the bag,” the only way I can let myself say yes.
Her eyes twinkle and it’s the first sign of life I’ve seen in them since I saw her standing by the stairs.
I walk her over to the table where Brett leaves the gloves and tape. I grab her hand and start wrapping her knuckles. “You should probably wear some gloves too. Just to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.”
She frowns at me. “I’m tougher than I look.”
That gets a laugh out of me, my mood beginning to lighten. Funny how she was the reason I was pissed and now she is the one making me feel better. “The bag is also tougher than it looks.”
She sends me a glare, her emerald eyes smoldering in the light streaming through the window.
“Alright,” I surrender, throwing my hands up. “Go ahead without the gloves then.”
I finish wrapping the other hand and we head to the bag. “I recommend hitting the bag as high as you can it so doesn’t swing back at you. Which will be hard because you aren’t that tall to begin with,” I joke.