I stood infront of the gym building, as hesitant thoughts courses through me. It's not too late to turn back and leave. Maybe I should just go home and pretend I never saw Grants text? Or say my phone died and I'm visiting my parents? I mean, I could lie. But then again, I hate that I'm growing so used to that. I shouldn't be resulting to lying to anyone, it's wrong.
My fingers tapped my hot coffee in slight anticipation, chewing the inside of my lip. A part of me wanted to say "Fuck it." And leave, but another part didn't want to anger Grant even more. I rejected him last night, and if I did it again, who knows what he might do. I sure as hell am not willing to find out.
Another small thought blinked in my mind, one that made my skin quiver and my hands start to sweat, what if Niall was there?
I knew at some point I would have to face him again, whether it be ambushed in a parking lot, at my apartment or here at the gym. I hated to think about that helpless feeling invading my body when I was trapped in between his arms and underneath his intense blue eyed gaze.
Even the memories of his touch made me want to cringe, more because a tiny (twisted) part of me actually enjoyed it. But the worst of it all would be having Niall and Grant in the same room at the same time — especially imaging Nialls smug look if he ever opened his mouth about my mistakes with the Irish asshole. That's one thought I dreaded the most. And one I prayed I never had to experience.
I took a deep breath, walking into the gym ready to face the rath of Grant Trevino one way or another.
❖
"You going in?" Abe asked playfully after minutes of complete silence, knocking me out of a small trance.
I realized I was standing infront of the door that lead to where Grant would be, with my hand shakily on the door knob frozen as if I was in the mannequin challenge.
I cleared my throat, directing my eyes to him with a forced smile. "Yeah, just preparing myself for the smell of sweaty men." I teased and he chuckled.
"Thought you would have been used to that by now."
I shrugged half heartedly. "So did I." I mutter, not talking about the men's smell at all, finally prying the door open. My ears filled with grunts of men as they trained. Some men boxed, their fists coming in contact with leather of the punching bags, the chains racking back and forth. Others were working on body building, tugging weights up to their chests, sweat glistening on their skins.
I gulped lightly, slowly looking around before jumping at the sound of the door slamming which caught some mens attention before they went back to their routines.
I gripped the strap of my tote bag, slowly starting to walk towards my regular spot on the piles of mats, my eyes looking around for a sign of Grant to which there was none. I placed my bag on the ground before jumping up to sit on them, my fingers playing with one another nervously.
I furrowed my eyebrows, as I scanned the permitter. Where the hell was he? I usually would find him on the spot, he was hard to miss. He was either in the practice ring beating someone to the ground, or doing hard core work outs that made my body ache for him.
I then come across Paul, talking to another dude who had bulkier arms, and a shaved head, a large tattoo played across his bicep.
Paul was pretending to reenact a fighting stance, seeming like he was making fun of someone. Not surprising.
"Paul!" I called, with my hands cupped around my mouth for him to hear me over the pounding of bags.
He was laughing with him before hearing my voice and turning to look at me. He sent me a friendly smile. "Daphidil!" He cheered invitingly, making me roll my eyes playfully.
He gave the guy a pat on the shoulder as a "See ya later" gesture, jogging over to where I was. He jumped up to sit next to me with no effort like I usually need, hitting my body a little at the momentum of his landing.
I grabbed the mat for support so he wouldn't hip check me clean off. "Hey, watch it!" I protested with a small laugh.
He grinned wolfishly. "Sorry," he apologized, but didn't seem sorry at all.
I grimaced taking a whiff of his sweaty body, scooting a little away. "Take a shower, Desmond. You reak." I scolded, with a scrunched up nose.
He gestured to his damp blue tank top. "What? This?" He inhaled himself deeply, seeming content with his oder. "No, that my friend, is the smell of a masculine sex god."
I gave him a look, "Sex god? Really?" I repeated in disbelief, he winked.
"Yes really, now did you call me over to bury yourself in my addictive aroma, or did you want something?"
I rolled my eyes, shaking my head with a small smile, "I was wondering where Grant was, can't seem to find him."
He nodded in a direction, pointing to the back room where Brads office was. "He's talking to the big guy, wants to get back to training." He chuckled.
I furrowed my eyebrows at him. "Back to training?"
He nodded again, "Yeah, he has the week off, not allowed to participate in any gym activity until he's at his usual 100%. He didn't tell you?" He countered.
I frowned, moving my eyes down to my lap, my fingers playing with the ends of my hair. "Guess he forgot to mention it." I mumble, irritated he never let me know this. Though I wasn't exactly surprised.
"Grant forgets a lot of things." Paul chuckles, and I could hear a little bitterness in his tone reminding me of the altercation between himself and Grant.
"What happened between you and him yesterday by the way?" I ask suddenly with curiousness and slight worry in my eyes.
Paul had to be Grants only friend I actually liked. He was a good guy, and he didn't treat me like Grants trophy. Paul was a real friend, not some asshole who thinks they can treat whoever they want like shit because their entitled to it when they're not. Paul cared about Grant, and was a true friend who was there for him unlike his other skummy "friends" that I refused to be around or associated with. If he lost him, then Grant wouldn't have a good influence on him. Paul was Grants voice of reason in certain situations, and honestly he's the only one who could ever make Grant see how much of a jerk he is being to me at times.
Paul leaned back on his elbows. His eyes watching the scenes infront of him. He looked at me from the side of his eye, hesitant present in his eyes before waving me off, "Ah, it was nothing. Just you know — guy stuff." He explained vaguely.
I raised my eyebrow at him, "Him having you in a choke hold is 'guy stuff'?" I retort, giving him a disbelieving look.
He laughed. "I'm over that, I crossed the line a bit — probably deserved it. You know me," he looked at me, amused. "I can never keep my mouth shut." He smirked and the corner of my lips titled up slightly, still a little concerned before he patted my back gently. "Nothing for you to worry about, Daphidil. Grants just being a little diva because he's not getting his beauty sleep." He teased.
I shot him an amused look trying not to laugh, before hitting his arm. He laughed quietly and I shook my head sliding my cell phone out of my jean jacket pocket.
After a minute or two of scrolling through twitter something or someone caught Paul's attention.
He sat up quickly, "Oh, this should be good." Paul says deviously.
I peer up follow his eyes to see the ring being prepared for a practice fight. Usually I would be watching Grant be going in, but it was the same guy that Paul was talking to earlier and some other openant I can't see just yet from the people standing infront of him while his back was to me.
"I have been waiting all morning for this." Paul conveyed in excitement.
I tried to see what this fuss was about, seeing most fighters stop what they're doing to watch this. "All morning for what?" I glanced at Paul, and he smirked.
"Him." He nodded and I followed his gaze before my words got caught in my throat at the sight infront of me.
The second openant walked into the ring, his white tank top hanging loosely on his pale complexion. His black gym shorts swayed on his legs matching the black gloves clung to his fists. His messy blonde hair was lit up from the lights — able to see the natural darkening routes, ones I before ran my fingers through making me itch to touch it again.
His blue eyes were concentrated on adjusting his black gloves, his confident smirk not faltering as he nodded to a friend on the sideline. The same friend I recognized from the fight with the buzz cut and ivory skin, a few tattoos up his arm.
Niall.
He was here. Fuck — he was here.
Don't panic Daph, don't panic. "Niall.." I mumbled, a little louder then I thought.
Paul chuckled. "Yup, the same Niall that beat our princess Grant up. It's the first day he's here, we're about to see what else he's made of with one of our best, Denzel." He explained, smugly.
I felt myself shiver as Niall prepared for the fight. He hadn't noticed me just yet and I debated on booking it out of here telling Grant I got sick, and decided to stay at my parents for the week until Nialls touch was wiped from my memory.
"Wanna know the best part?" Paul added, and I shook my head. Nope, no I did not. He leaned closer to me, continuing to my silent protests. "Grant has no idea he's here yet." He murmured quietly in case anyone else would of heard not that he cared. He was just trying to intensify the situation.
I already felt like throwing up my breakfast everywhere. I wanted to army crawl all the way to the door until I was safe out of sight and live in my apartment forever.
Paul leaned back on his elbows again, "You picked the right day to come see Grant, Daphidil. We might see two fights instead of one." He chuckled with his brown eyes peeled to the ring.
I sighed shutting my eyes, rubbing the temple on my head already getting a headache from the anxiety and stress rising.
Yeah, picked the perfect day, didn't I? Lucky me.
_____
[EDITED: 3/8/18]
A/n: I was going to continue onto the good parts but I felt like it should end here sorry heheh but I'm sorry for the late updates, my computer decided to break down on me and typing on my phones a pain in my behind. I hope you all like this! Sorry if it was boring, more exciting things to come! Thank you! X