The gym smelled like iron and desperation, a heady mix of sweat and ambition that hit Timmy like a slap to the face the moment he shuffled through the glass doors. The place was alive with motion—weights clanking, treadmills humming, grunts and sharp exhales punctuating the air like a primal soundtrack. At seventeen, Timmy was all gangly limbs and zero coordination, a walking disaster in ill-fitting gym shorts and a faded band tee that screamed “I don’t belong here.” He wasn’t even sure why he’d come. Something vague about “bulking up,” impressing someone—anyone—though the specifics of that fantasy dissolved under the harsh fluorescent lights.
He hovered near the weight room, clutching a crumpled printout of a beginner’s workout plan he’d found online, his sneakers squeaking on the rubber floor as he dodged beefy guys who looked like they could bench press a small car. His eyes darted to the dumbbell rack, figuring he’d start small—real small. But as he reached for a measly five-pounder, his foot caught on a stray dumbbell some meathead had left lying around. Gravity took over, and Timmy flailed, arms windmilling, before crashing directly into something—or rather, someone.
That someone was Roxy.
Roxy was a force of nature, a towering tomboy in her late twenties with muscles that looked carved from granite. Her tank top clung to her sweat-slicked shoulders, and her short, spiky hair was damp from exertion. She was mid-squat, a barbell loaded with more weight than Timmy could fathom balanced across her broad back, when his scrawny frame slammed into her backside. The impact was less a bump and more a full-on collision, and for a horrifying split second, Timmy felt the sheer power of her body beneath his clumsy hands before he recoiled, stumbling backward.
The barbell clattered as Roxy straightened up with a speed that defied physics, whipping around to face him. Her piercing green eyes locked onto him like a predator sizing up prey, and Timmy froze, his face flaming redder than the gym’s emergency exit signs. She was all sharp edges—high cheekbones, a jawline that could cut glass, and a glare that could melt steel.
“What. The. Hell,” she growled, her voice low and dangerous, cutting through the gym’s cacophony like a knife. She took a step forward, towering over him by at least half a foot, her presence suffocating. “You got a death wish, kid, or are you just that stupid?”
“I-I’m so sorry!” Timmy stammered, his voice cracking as he threw his hands up in surrender, nearly dropping his crumpled workout plan. “I didn’t mean to— I tripped, I swear, I wasn’t— I mean, I wouldn’t— oh God, I’m so sorry!”
Roxy’s eyes narrowed, her gaze raking over him with a mix of irritation and something darker, more amused, like a cat toying with a particularly pathetic mouse. She crossed her arms, the muscles in her forearms flexing in a way that made Timmy’s already shaky knees threaten to give out entirely.
“Tripped, huh?” she said, her tone dripping with skepticism. One corner of her mouth twitched, but it wasn’t a smile—more like the prelude to a snarl. “You expect me to believe you just happened to trip right into my ass while I’m squatting a hundred and eighty pounds? You’ve got some nerve, string bean.”
“No, no, no, I swear, I’m just a klutz!” Timmy squeaked, his hands flailing again as if they could somehow mime his innocence. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here, I just thought— I mean, I wanted to— not that, obviously, not anything weird, I just— please don’t kill me!”
Roxy tilted her head, studying him like he was a puzzle she wasn’t sure was worth solving. Then, without warning, she stepped closer, so close he could smell the faint tang of her sweat and the mint gum she’d been chewing. Her hand shot out, grabbing the collar of his ratty tee with a grip that felt like iron. Timmy yelped, his feet scrambling uselessly against the floor as she started dragging him across the weight room, past gawking gym bros who didn’t dare intervene.
“Where are we going?” he squeaked, his voice climbing an octave as he tried—and failed—to pry her fingers off his shirt. “I said I’m sorry! I’ll leave, I’ll never come back, I—”
“Shut it, twig,” Roxy snapped, her voice cutting through his babbling like a whip. She didn’t even look at him, her stride purposeful as she hauled him toward the hallway leading to the bathrooms. “You and I are gonna have a little chat. Private-like. Since you seem so eager to get up close and personal.”
“Chat? What kind of chat?” Timmy’s voice was a panicked whisper now, his sneakers dragging as he flailed weakly in her grip. “I don’t even know you! I’m not— I didn’t mean— can we just forget this ever happened?”
Roxy barked out a laugh, short and sharp, as she shoved open the door to the unisex bathroom with her shoulder. “Forget it? Oh, sweetheart, I don’t forget a damn thing. And trust me, you’re gonna remember this little lesson for a long time.”
The door slammed shut behind them with a resounding bang, the sound echoing in the tiled space as Timmy’s heart pounded so hard he thought it might burst. Roxy released his collar with a flick of her wrist, sending him stumbling against the sink. She leaned against the door, arms crossed again, blocking the only exit. Her eyes glinted with something unreadable—irritation, amusement, or maybe something else entirely—as she stared him down.
Timmy swallowed hard, his back pressed against the cold porcelain, his mind racing with a thousand terrible possibilities. Whatever was coming next, he was pretty damn sure it wasn’t going to be a friendly handshake. Roxy’s commanding presence filled the small room, and all he could do was wait, trapped under her gaze, as the tension crackled like a live wire between them.
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