Chapter Eleven (The Future)

Serge was a good guy – Jax had interviewed and hired him before Missy met him, but he was a great fit for the Dark Horse Gym. Popular with the clientele, he already had a following and he kept them engaged and motivated. He was funny, at least to Missy and she actually enjoyed working with him. The fact that he never turned down a switch on shifts didn't hurt – he seemed to understand that Jax was Missy's top concern. So she didn't mind going over plans with him, making sure they were on the same page for training and class ideas where another trainer with a bigger ego might have irritated her. She knew that about herself and she made a mental note to thank Jax for his choice at the first opportunity. She had the charts laid out on the counter already when he came up to her, putting his gear bag on the floor and smiling as she handed him a cup of coffee. "Morning Serge... light day today, we've both got our usual class and then I'll be working with a few solo clients. I made a new workout mix if you want to check that out but hey... you know I don't mind if you just want to stick with yours."

He gave her a thumbs up for the coffee and her flexibility, and Missy smirked a little. "Spin Class sign-ups are out of this world though, did you see the numbers? Maybe we should offer an extra one a week?" She turned the printed spreadsheet so he could see it and turned a moment to get her own coffee and take a warming sip. So good. "I figure it's not a bad idea, maybe during today's Spin Classes we can..."

Serge looked up from his study at the Head Trainer, she'd stopped mid-sentence and he blinked at the look on her face. Her attention had been totally taken, and a quick look over his shoulder let him know why. The owner of the gym had come in the front door, seen them going over paperwork and casually strolled past them toward the stairs leading to the next floor. He glanced back to Missy just as she shook herself to continue. "...we can... uhm let them know." He couldn't help himself, even though he really tried. A small little sound, then a chuckle, and another before he was suddenly just rolling with laughter. Her slight wince and 'ack' look didn't help and he had to set his coffee down before he dropped it.

Missy blushed, which surprised him but she held up a finger. "Just a moment, Serge."

Her eyes narrowed she came out from behind the counter and followed after Jax fast, catching him halfway up the stairs. She touched his forearm to get him to stop and gave him that look, starting to say something and the words just wouldn't come out. What was worse was she saw the humor in his eyes.... why that... he did it on purpose! Her lips parted before she almost pouted and mock-smacked his arm. "Dammit Jax! I was trying to talk business and... and..." That look of his though, killed and she stepped on his foot to get a boost up and just kissed him, the heat radiating out from his lips warming her right to her toes. Afterward she was almost breathless, and more than a little flustered. "And dammit. You know I can't... I just, you walked by and I was like damn he's fine."





He tried not to think about it and failed – the title match he'd wanted was going to happen but there'd been collateral damage. Sure, Alex was Alex and she was still talking to him, still poking and prodding because she could feel him pulling back. He couldn't help it because he could almost smell the shit winds stirring off in the wings so he was back to barely sleeping, trying to ignore that the ulcer in his guts was back no matter what he ate. He was hungry. He was nauseous. There was a headache the size of Texas looming in that tension at the back of his neck, radiating from his jaw but the sound of her regular breathing from the bed across the room was enough to keep him from unpacking his father's antique Colt and playing a little early-morning Russian roulette. Letting his head hang, he just focused on getting the breaths to match, slow and steady until his were in sync with hers. His heart rate slowed. His eyes slipped closed for a split second and then he reached for the drawing tablet he'd bought earlier, wondering if she'd even noticed it lying on the table.

Flipping back the cover, he caught the pencil before it rolled away, looking down at the rough lines his hands had wrought. "You can do better," he muttered, gripping it tight despite the ache in his fingers and morning grew closer. The heels of both hands were shiny, silver now, graphite under his nails and a dusting of shavings on the floor. His arm ached, but the pencil knew what it was doing as dawn crept over the horizon. He was in the zone, somewhere beyond exhaustion, between genius and madness, running the pencil gingerly over the page, adding definition to the striations in the eyes – they weren't just boring old brown. There were gold flecks in the right one, like the flakes of 24-karat leaf in the bottles of Goldschläger and he had to get them just right. He looked down at the drawing his hands had wrought, a troubled expression on his face. It still wasn't good enough.

Sighing, he shook his head, overcome with the urge to tear it up before she could catch him in the act, stupidly wasting the entire night on this obsession instead of sleeping but he wanted her to have something special, something more than some idiotic mass-produced trinket that could be bought anywhere. As he looked it over, he almost caught himself feeling guilt. The expressiveness in the sweep of graphite over the paper was uncanny, but there was something else there. Obsessive, perhaps, but there was more to the subtle rendering of the image he'd conjured from his mind's eye even though the real thing was sleeping a few feet away.

He dropped the pencil, hearing the muted sound as it bounced off the hardwood and rolled away. He hadn't even noticed that her breathing had changed. "The hair's not right," he whispered, reaching down and snagging the pencil before it disappeared under the chair, moving to shade the hair cascading over her shoulder with more depth but even with it darker and longer, something was still off.

It was garbage.

The pencil snapped in his fist just as Missy stopped behind the chair, about to lean over and wrap her arms around his neck. He tore it from the book, staring at it for a few seconds in silence and then he heard that soft intake of breath from behind him.

"I..." ashamed, he crumpled it in his fist, letting the pad slide to the floor along with the halves of the pencil. "I couldn't sleep. Was just dickin' around to pass the time. It's...."

Her arms encircled his neck, lips pressing against the skin below his ear as she leaned over his shoulder, her fingers over his as she coaxed them into relaxing. "It's beautiful."

"It's not," he countered, tilting his head back to look up at her. "Doesn't even come close to doing you justice... to capturing what I see when I look at you."

Her smirk was sleepy but still pure Missy. "Yeah? What do you see, Boss?"

"My future."