A week has gone by since the encounter at Muddy’s coffee shop and that manila folder is collecting dust on my dining table. I’ve kept my head down at work, trying to focus on everything else, but that damn folder keeps coaxing me like some hooker in Las Vegas.

Music is blaring throughout the gym with a cloud of humidity following me as I pace in front of a small group of clients. I give them affirmations of how well they’re doing and coerce them to push harder when they’re about to give up. Yet even with my head in the game, my eyes keep wandering across the facility to Mindy. She’s doing squats with kettlebells and fuck me, her spandex looks painted on. It was a mistake encouraging her to sign up at my gym because every time she’s here, I have to fight the monster growing in my pants.

When she sets the kettlebells down, she catches my gaze in the mirror, so I wave because hell no am I ashamed for staring at a beautiful creature like her.

“Alright, everyone.” I clap. “Finish up the set you’re on and then we’ll foam-roll so your muscles aren’t achy later.”

The class gives a collective sigh of relief. I worked them hard today, and I’m ready for them to go just as much as they’re ready to leave. Thankfully, I don’t have any thirst traps lingering for my attention today. There’s always that one who wants to flirt as if it’ll encourage free sessions out of me. Big nope. I’ve got bills to pay.

After they disperse, I walk over to Mindy and she’s beautiful with her thick dark hair in a messy bun and her hazel eyes rimmed in last night’s makeup. Sweat is misting that creamy brown skin of hers and if I was any more of an animal I’d lick it off her. Especially because I still need to get laid. However, she’s a shy woman. Classy. So, I don’t think she’d be into me licking her unless it was betwe—

Ok, I seriously need to stop before I get all worked up.

“Hey.” She smiles, enhancing that dimple on her left cheek.

“Your form is looking great! But if there’s one critique...” I narrow my eyes playfully. “You started rounding your back during your deadlifts. Remember the hoochie stance: back straight, butt perky, chest out.”

Mindy giggles and it’s a sound that wedges my heart with an ache. If I wasn’t such a mess I’d sweep her off her feet. She deserves to be treated like a queen, but I’m no good for her.

“I’m so not a hoochie.” She crinkles her nose.

No, you are definitely not, Mindy Arora. “Try a deadlift again so I can correct your form.”

“I was thinking of signing up for those classes you teach. I feel so lost doing this on my own,” she says, bending for the kettlebells.

“No way.”

“No?” She crooks her brows.

“I’d never charge you for a session. I’m more than happy to do one-on-ones with you.”

“Oh, gosh.” She drops her gaze and her cheeks warm in color. “I’d feel as if I’m taking advantage.”

“Never. I enjoy training people. It’s even better when it’s a friend. So I tell you what, I’ll look at my schedule and move some things around so we can do one-on-ones three times a week. Sound good?” I say as I pull up the calendar on my phone.

“Are you sure? Because I don’t want to burden you.”

“Mins...” I squeeze her shoulder. “It’s fine. I want to.”

“Ok, so how about Monday, Wednesday, and Friday? I’m done with work at three-thirty and I can be here by four. Do you think that’ll work?”

No. It won’t work because I have a one-on-one training session with Mrs. Clemons at that time and she’s rich as hell, so I need to keep her happy. However, I’d do anything for Mindy—even grapple with a grizzly bear if necessary.

“I’ll make it happen!”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Miguel!” She throws her arms around me and she feels perfect in my grasp. Absolutely perfect.

∆∆∆

Tonight, the group session is the same as usual, except for the honey-brown eyes burning into the side of my head. Frankly, I’m shocked Angie is here. At least she looks put together. Unlike last time when my brain had a complete atomic breakdown thinking she looked hot in a roadkill coat. Tonight she’s in black skinny jeans and a silk, wine-colored wrap-blouse-thingie. It serves her well and so does that leopard print trench coat. It’s the kind I imagine a woman wearing before doing a sexy naked reveal to her lover. 

Gwen concludes the session with a clap, snapping me from daydreaming and I flinch. Mindy giggles. 

“Jumpy.”

“Just tired.”

“Alma said something about getting dinner at Baretta after. Want to go?”

“Sure.” I stretch and pull on my jacket but fuck me, Angie is on my heels.

“Have you done any reading lately?” She smirks and damn, she smells good.

“Haven’t had time.”

“You should make time. No point in letting such a good read collect dust on your dining table.”

“Excuse me?”

Either someone has turned the thermostat down or that was ice running through my veins. Maybe I’m paranoid, but has she been spying on me? I turn to face Angie, and despite towering over her petite frame, she stands as if she’s on stilts. She arches one of her perfect brows, raises her chin, and folds her arms. We’re like a bull and a matador staring each other down, except I’m not sure who is who in this scenario?

“Your mustard yellow sectional is cozy,” she says.

Was she inside my apartment? In a low growl, I say, “Back the fuck off.”

“Is everything ok?” Mindy circles me and glances between us.

“Of course, kitten.” Angie smiles. “Just wondering where everyone is heading after this.”

“Oh, to Baretta! Ever been?”

“Nope.”

“Well, then you should come. If you’re hungry,” Mindy replies.

“Starving.” Angie winks my way and damn, I can’t get rid of her.

We exit Gwen’s Victorian home and head down the damp street towards Valencia avenue. It’s dark out, with only the flicker of lamp posts, and shiny storefront signs illuminating the sidewalk. Back in the day, the area used to be alive at all hours, kinda like Vegas, but with gentrification, the hood is quiet. How I wish for the echo of Salsa music in the air to drown the frigid silence as we make our way. I stay a few paces behind with Mindy and try my best to engage in conversation, but I keep glaring at the back of Angie’s head. The woman struts a few feet ahead of us, her arm linked through Alma’s and it’s like they’ve become two peas in a pod during this short trek.

What the fuck are they’re giggling about?

When we arrive at the Italian restaurant, my fists ache from clenching them so tightly. At least my brooding is masked under the incandescent lights and dark wood finishes wrapping the interior like a bourbon bow. Evan does his thing by telling the hostess how many people are in our party, and I appreciate that about him. He’s a take-charge kind of man, and anytime we go somewhere as a group, he takes the lead. Too bad his ex is taking him to the cleaners over custody of their kids.

“So, buddy,” he says to me, his blue eyes squinting in the dim restaurant lighting. “How’s work going?”

“Which gig?”

“Both.”

“Well, the day job is going great. I keep getting more clients, but the night job still sucks.”

“I think you’re high. I’d have a blast working at a nightclub. Especially Penthouse. I bet you make good tips.”

“I work the door. I don’t exactly get tips unless someone is trying to jump the line, but even then, I don’t let rich pricks buy me.”

“Yeesh, sorry I asked.” Evan holds up his hands and I sigh.

“Sorry, man. Long day.”

“No worries. I get it. It’s been a long day for me too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep.” He nods. “People keep getting laid off and I’m worried I’m next.”

“Can’t your Union transfer you to another construction site?”

“Yeah, they could, but this gig is perfect. It’s right here in town but if they reassign me, chances are I’d have to commute far. Which means I’d never see my daughters after work, and you already know how strict my ex is about schedules.”

“Sorry, Ev.”

“Nah, it’s alright. I’m sure I’m just worrying about nothing.”

“Well, if you do get laid off, I can probably hook you up with a job at the club,” I offer because damn, of all people, Evan could use a break from shitty deal after shitty deal.

“For real?”

“Of course, man. I’ve got you!”

Our table is called and Evan holds me back as the ladies snake their way around dark maple tables to a booth. “So, what’s the situation with you and Mindy?”

“Nothing.”

“You know she’s crazy about you, right?”

“We’re just friends.”

“Be gentle with her.” He rubs his dark goatee. “Her ex has done a real number on her, and I just want what’s best for everyone. Mindy is still too fragile to date anyone.”

“Listen, I’m not ready to date anyone either. Mindy and I are just friends.”

“Ok. It’s just, she reminds me of my sister, so I feel protective.”

 “Evan!” I snap. “You don’t gotta worry about me. I wouldn’t hurt her. Ever.”

“Alright, alright...” He surrenders. “But what about this Angie chick? She’s kinda hot. Gives me the crazy vibe, but hot.”

“Evan, my dude, I’d steer clear.” I pat his shoulder and we head for the table.

The restaurant is crowded for a Wednesday night, with everyone packed like sardines, elbow to elbow. However, no one minds when the food is good and the signature cocktails run down our throats like water. Angie and Alma are still clucking away as if they’re in their own world, while Evan, Mindy, Chloe, Jackson, and I are having a broader chat about work. For a moment, as the creamy fettuccini fills my belly, I forget the wild night with Angie, and she almost seems normal sitting across the table.

But nothing good lasts, right? And thankfully, the hum of multiple conversations forces us all to lean in a little closer to chat. This means none of the surrounding tables can hear Angie when she asks a question that causes my balls to crawl back inside of me.

“Oh, come on!” she chuckles. “Don’t be coy. I know you’ve all thought about it at least once.” She turns to Alma. “You’ve fantasized about killing your ex, right?”

“All the time!” Alma slaps the table, snorting.

“Eso!” She winks at her. “Anyone else?”

“I have...” Mindy says quietly and I nearly choke on my beer.

“Yes!” Angie leans in, eyes twinkling. “Tell me more.”

“This convo is depressing. Let’s move on,” I say.

“Don’t be a party pooper.” She rolls her eyes. “We’re just having a little hypothetical fun.”

“I’d strangle mine with piano wire.” Chloe presses the martini glass to her thin, red-painted lips.

Chloe is an artist who often shares with the group her divorce-inspired paintings. Currently, she's working on an exhibit that will be featured at the San Francisco Museum of Art, which is a huge fucking deal. We're all proud of her and I hope her ex chokes on her success.

“Yes!” Angie’s eyes widen. “I love it. How about you, Jackson?”

 “Gosh... I dunno.” He rubs his dark, bald head.

“Oh, come on! Share.”

“I dunno. I’m with Miguel. This convo is a little...” He teeters his hand. “It’s the kind of stuff that’ll come back to bite a Black man in the ass. Know what I mean?”

“Exactly!” I snap my fingers because Jackson has every right to worry.

He serves the public as a firefighter and has worked hard to create a good name for himself. I mean, just last week the guy was in the evening news for rushing back into a collapsing home to save a family's dog from burning alive. Talk about heroic.

“Oh, come on! This is San Francisco, not Arkansas,” Angie replies. “Besides, we’re just playing a game, and no one here is a snitch, right?”

The beer in my hand is cold with its moisture leaving a wet ring on the table, yet it’s not as glacial as her eyes landing on me. It’s a fraction of a second, but the question, or better yet, the accusation is there.

Lifting the pint glass, I press it to my lips and stare at her. Angie starts whispering something to Mindy, but her eyes drift to me. She looks like a lion toying with a mouse and it feels like a threat.

She knows I have a soft spot for Mindy and right now Angie’s fangs are deep in my neck with a possessive hold—waiting for me to submit.

But what Angie doesn’t know yet, is that I’ve been through some things in my thirty-four years of life, so I won’t surrender easily. 

I’m a man who’ll go down swinging.

So, bring it on, Angie Mendoza. Bring. It. On.