Waiting for Perfect (15 page)

SEBASTIAN

The gym smells like
sweat and moldy cheese.
 
It’s
disgusting.
 
One would think if the
owners had hundreds of members paying these kinds of prices, they’d at least be
able to cut the stink down a little.
 
And the locker rooms!
 
I
don’t know what the ladies’ room looks like, but the men’s is filthy.
 
That’s why I usually get ready for the
gym at home, so I don’t even have to come in here.
 
But this afternoon, Nick was being an asshole again, and I
just wanted to get the hell out of the house.

I don’t know what
his deal is lately.
 
I know he’s
wigging out over the lawsuit.
 
He
still hasn’t told Aunt Maria, even though I keep insisting that he should.
 
Yeah, she’d probably ground him for
life, but I don’t know how he’s going to handle this on his own.
 
He hasn’t taken my suggestion about
speaking to an attorney on a free consultation, so I don’t know what else to
do.
 
I’m sure as hell not going to
go tell Kendra to press charges.
 
I
know he hasn’t told her about the lawsuit, but he wants to.
 
He’s convinced that’s the only way he’s
going to get out of this mess.

The last few days
have been weird.
 
When Aunt Maria
gets home, he avoids her by staying in his room all night, drawing in his
sketchbook.
 
She’s going to know
something’s up.
 
He’s isolating
more than usual.
 
I’ve only given
him a ride home once this week, and I never see him getting on the bus.
 
Maybe he’s been getting rides from his
friends or something.
 
I don’t
think he has been walking every day.
 

Megan hasn’t talked
to me since I ditched her at Corky’s last week.
 
I’ve tried to say hello a couple times, but she blows me
off.
 
So be it.
 
That girl’s whack anyway.
 
Ryan has been back at school this
week.
 
I know it’s making Nick
crazy having to see that guy walking around campus.
 
He feels like Ryan’s getting away with something criminal, and
if Kendra doesn’t press charges, I guess he is.
 
And speak of the devil…or angel.

Exiting the reeking
locker room, I immediately spot her in spandex mini shorts running on the
treadmill by the window.
 
I haven’t
seen her back at the gym since she nearly killed me in our little race.
 
I smile as I come up behind her.
 
Her ass is perfect in those tight
little shorts.
 
Her hair swings
from side to side in a high ponytail as she runs.
 
When I take the treadmill next to her, she doesn’t look
over.
 
She’s totally in her zone,
earphones in, breathing steadily.
 
I almost don’t want to interrupt her.
 
Almost.

“Hello again,” I
yell, so she can hear me over her music.

She sucks in a
breath and grabs her heart.
 
“Sebastian!
 
You scared me
to death!”
 
She pulls the earphones
out of her ears and drapes them around her neck.
 
Between breaths, she pants, “Back for more punishment, huh?”
 
Her feet are pounding the belt, and I
know she’s already way beyond my comfortable pace.

I smile, shaking my
head.
 
“Not today, thank you.
 
You really should go out for
cross-country or track.
 
You’d
slaughter people.”
 
I ramp up my
pace to an easy warm-up jog.

“Nah,” she
says.
 
“I did that in ninth
grade.
 
I like running for
pleasure, not because I have to.”

I can see she means
it.
 
I’m sure she doesn’t like
doing anything she feels she
has
to
do.
 
I respect her for that.
 
I also know that Nick’s quest to have
her press charges will be in vain unless it’s something she really wants to do.

“So, any more panic
attacks?”
 
I ask, remembering the
look on her face in the quad.
 
I
had come out of the lunch line and saw her frozen in the middle of the lunch
tables.
 
I recognized that glazed
look.
 
I’ve had it myself plenty of
times.

“No.
 
Not yet.”
 
She eyes me curiously.
 
“How often should I expect that to happen?”

“I don’t really
know.
 
When I was getting them, I
had like two or three a week.
 
It
was pretty bad.
 
I had to take
medicine for a while.”
 
I push the
treadmill speed up until I’ve almost reached her pace.

“What causes them?”
she asks.

I shrug.
 
“Lots of stuff.
 
Mostly stress, worry.
 
You’ve been under a lot of stress
lately, so it makes sense.”

She doesn’t say
anything for a while.
 
I figure
she’s had enough conversation and wants to get back to her run.
 
I go to slip in my earphones, when she
says, “Why did you get them?
 
Did
something happen in San Antonio?”

I know I told her
she could talk to me about this stuff, but I have a sudden urge to back away
from her and retreat into the smelly locker room.
 
I’d rather eat dirty socks than talk about what happened in
San Antonio.

She must see
something in my face that tells her to drop it, because she immediately follows
up with, “I’m sorry.
 
I didn’t mean
to pry.”

I pound one foot in
front of the other hard and fast, and I don’t say anything at all.
 
After a minute, I slow my pace to a
walk and then turn off the treadmill.
 

Kendra looks over
to me and turns off hers as well.
 
“I didn’t mean to upset you about San Antonio,” she says.
 
“I don’t even know why I asked.
 
I’m sorry.”

She looks so cute
when she’s worried.
 
There’s a tiny
vertical line that appears between her perfectly groomed eyebrows.
 
She’s breathing heavily, and her chest
is heaving in and out.
 
I want to
steal a glance at her perky breasts, but I refrain.
 
Instead, I reach out my hand for hers.
 
“Come with me.
 
I want to show you something.”

Her expression is
wary, like I’m some creepy old man in an ice cream truck asking the pretty
girls if they want free candy.
 
I
try to give her a reassuring grin.
 
Finally, she steps off her machine.
 
“Okay.
 
What is
it, Sebastian?”
 

I like hearing my
name coming off her lips.
 
“Follow
me.”
 

I lead her into the
weight room where several guys that look like they ate steroids for breakfast
are lifting weights.
 
The stench is
pretty awful in here.
 
I’m used to
it, but I wonder if Kendra’s going to bolt when she takes a whiff.
 
A few seconds later, she’s still beside
me, so I guess she’s okay.

We walk past the
free-weight rack.
 
A woman who
might as well be a man is flexing her biceps in front of the mirror.
 
I see Kendra’s eyes widen as she looks
at the she-man, and I try not to laugh.

When we reach the
back room, I’m happy to see it’s empty.

Kendra runs a
finger along the leather heavy bags hanging from the ceiling rack.
 
“Punching bags?
 
That’s what you wanted to show me?”

I smile at her, and
she glances at my dimple quickly before returning her eyes to mine.
 
“Yeah.
 
I’m going to show you how to punch.”

She lets out a
small chuckle.
 
“Don’t you just
make a fist and hit?”
 
She closes
her hand into a tight fist and makes contact with the bag, immediately recoiling
and shaking out her hand.
 
“Damn!
 
That hurt!”

I laugh at
her.
 
I know it’s probably not the
most gentleman-like thing to do, but I can’t help it.
 
She just looks so little and dainty trying to hit the big
leather bag.
 
I walk over to her
and enclose her hand with both of mine, rubbing it gently.
 
“Be careful, slick.
 
That one there’s a mean one.
 
He’ll get you every time.”

She starts laughing
too. “Shut up!” she whines between giggles.
 
“Fine then, hot shot.
 
Show me how it’s done.”

“Gladly.”
 
I walk to the middle bag so that she
can hit the one that just attacked her.
 
I laugh again thinking about her face after she hit it.
 
“First off, you need to make a proper fist.”
 
I extend my hands above my head.
 
“Lift your arms up over your
head.”
 
She does what I tell her.

We’re looking at
each other’s reflection in the mirror ahead of us.
 
With her arms above her head, her tight t-shirt rides up on
her stomach.
 
I can’t help it.
 
My eyes instantly drop to where her
shirt is revealing a hint of firm, tanned skin.
 
I dart my eyes back to hers quickly, but she’s already
noticed me checking her out and tries to conceal a smile.

I continue.
 
“Okay, now start rolling down your
fingers from the index finger to the pinkie.
 
That keeps the knuckles in a straight line.”
 
She folds her fingers down one by one
until she’s got two fists above her head.
 
“Perfect.
 
Now bend your
elbows and let your fists hang out about eight inches from your face.”

“How do I see if
I’ve got my hands right in front of my face?” She tries to move her head around
to see past her fists.

“You’ll get used to
it.
 
When you’re fighting, you’ve
got to keep your guard up.
 
People
are less likely to punch you in the face without an opening.
 
Your fists act as a shield.”

“Okay.
 
Now what?”
 
She looks over to me in the mirror to see what I’ll have her
do next.
 
She is sexy as hell with
her fists ready to fly.
 
Like a
genuine badass.

Smiling with pure
enjoyment of this moment, I move beside her at the bag to show her how to
throw.

“Aim to hit with
these two knuckles,” I say, rubbing my thumb over her middle and index
fingers.
 
“Okay, try it.”

She lets one fly
and connects with the bag, making it swing on its hook.
 
She shakes out her hand but doesn’t
complain.

“How was that?”

“That was
good.
 
Try to remember to aim with
your first two knuckles.
 
If you
hit with your weaker knuckles, they’re going to bruise.
 
Try it again.”

She takes my orders
without protest and hits again.
 
This time she doesn’t shake out her hand.
 
She leaves it in a fist and immediately throws another.

“Nice!” I say.
 
“Let me show you a couple of combinations,
so you have more options.”

We practice on the
bags for another forty minutes.
 
She wants me to teach her straight punches, uppercuts, hooks, and even
some kicks.
 
She’s a great student,
and I find myself losing track of time as we beat the shit out of these bags.

When we’re done, we
grab our water bottles and towels and walk out to the parking lot.
 
I’m reluctant to let her go just
yet.
 
I walk slowly beside her as
she heads for her car.

“Thanks for the
lesson,” she says, smiling.
 
“That
was fun.”
 
Her hair is a sweaty
mess, her t-shirt is drenched, and her cheeks are as red as tomatoes.
 
I absolutely love that she doesn’t seem
to care.

“I’m glad I could
teach you a few things.
 
Hitting
the bag really helped me relieve some stress when I was having all those panic
attacks.”

We get to a blue
Mercedes, and she says, “Well, this is me.”
 
She doesn’t get in the car just yet, and it makes me happy
to see her stalling.
 
I like
hanging out with this girl.
 
She’s
not like the other Orange County chicks I’ve met.
 
Most of them would have never spent forty minutes hitting a
punching bag.
 
They’d be too
worried about breaking a nail.
 
Not
Kendra.
 
She was wailing on that thing
and seemed to love every minute of it.