Making Him Sweat & Taking Him Down: Making Him Sweat / Taking Him Down

Mercer was shouting at a beefy young man, who dutifully doled out the punches he was ordered, thwacking the padded targets Mercer held between them. Both were shirtless, Mercer as pale as his student was dark, as lean as the young man was bulky. Jenna got distracted by Mercer’s body. Like his nose, like his knuckles, his bare torso was fascinating, attractive in a way that made her wince. She’d never seen a man’s body quite like his, toned and utterly stripped of fat. Efficient and dangerous. Her own body stirred, but surely that was just a weird chemical reaction, panic about being down here mixed with airborne testosterone or something.

As she approached, she donned her best impression of an unaffected, professional businesswoman.

“Mr. Rowley.”

Once a fresh punch landed, Mercer dropped his guard to turn to her. “Jenna, hey.” He spoke to his trainee. “Ten minutes on the rope, then go through those flexibility drills from yesterday.”

The young man nodded and let the two of them be.

“Glad you came by.” Mercer slipped the pads from his hands and set them aside, recinching the drawstring of his warm-up pants. “Bet you’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Should I be hopeful or terrified about this visit?”

She nearly smiled at that. “Pragmatism’s probably wisest. Could we talk someplace less…”

“Feral?”

She nodded.

“Sure. Can you spare five minutes so you don’t have to smell me?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I’ll meet you upstairs.” He jogged to the locker room. Jenna watched as he went, surprised by how many muscles comprised the human back.

She loitered in the ground-floor entryway, pretending to browse the equipment case until Mercer came trotting up the steps, dressed in a T-shirt and different pants.

He unlocked the office. “Thanks for waiting.”

Jenna followed him inside, noting his wet hair and a clean, manly smell—soap or deodorant. She sat in the guest chair, thinking this would be her future clients’ view as they awaited her guidance with their romantic goals. Maybe her own Mr. Right would make an appointment in the coming months, walk across this very floor, take a seat before her and suck the breath straight out of her lungs. Okay, maybe not months…not given her track record. Sure, it sounded bad, a matchmaker not being lucky in love. She could admit that. But she wasn’t afraid of commitment or anything. Just cautious. People could stand to be a bit more cautious, a bit more logical, when choosing a partner. Her mom sure could’ve been, back when she’d hooked up with Monty Wilinski.

Mercer sat on the desk, clasping his hands between his knees. “So, what’s going on in that brain of yours? Prepared to give us Neanderthals a fair shake?”

“Yes, I am. My father cared about me enough to leave me this place. The least I can do is offer you guys a chance to prove me wrong. And as much funding as I can reasonably spare.”

He sighed his relief. “Thanks.”

“No need to thank me. It’s not like I had much choice.”

In her periphery, she sensed gym members crossing the foyer. She just hoped her future clients wouldn’t be too put off by the curious human traffic marching past the office windows. To say nothing of the franchise standards overseer. She made a mental note to have said windows frosted.

“Well, I’ll take grudging tolerance, if that’s all I’m likely to get.” Mercer leaned forward and they shook once more.

“I ought to warn you,” he added, “the next month or so’s going to be chaotic. You’ll be moving in, plus there’s a big mixed martial arts competition arranged for the first week of October.”

Jenna nodded. She knew her father had switched the gym from straight boxing to include kickboxing and other disciplines in the past decade.

“Your dad sank a bit of money into it when the proposal first came up, to get our name on the event,” Mercer went on. “We’ve been co-planning it for over a year with a few other Massachusetts gyms and a promotions outfit. We’ve got a few guys who’re training their hearts out for it. I’m coaching a kid whose career it could launch.” Pride warmed his voice and brightened his eyes, softening his fight-roughened features. “People are going to be really keyed up, so apologies in advance if my head’s all over the place.”

“Understood. Is it taking place here? Downstairs?”

He laughed. She hadn’t heard him laugh before. It did something odd to her middle, the sound seeming to hum low and hot in her belly. Oh dear.

“No, not here,” he said. “It’ll be at an arena outside the city. Have you never watched any UFC?”

Any what? “No.”

“Well, ours isn’t a UFC event, but it’s the same idea, and still a pretty big deal. Got a couple important names on the card, and scouts coming from the major organizations, looking for the next generation of pros. We’re hoping for five thousand people.”

“Whoa.”

“Not much by Vegas standards, but not shabby, either. I’m hoping it’ll be just the shot in the arm this place needs to finally shrug off its lousy rep, earn some due respect and attract new members. Turn those books around,” he added pointedly.

“I’ll have my fingers crossed for you, then.”

“You should come. See what it is your dad helped start.”

She cooled at that. “Maybe.”

“Jenna?”

She raised her brow.

“Is there any chance I can talk you into extending the gym’s…you know. Trial period? Through next year, or even just through the spring?” The sincerity in his eyes broke her heart a little.

“Unless something amazingly encouraging happens, I can’t, no. Not without risking bankrupting both businesses.”

“I figured you’d probably say that.” After a disappointed huff, he slapped his thighs and met her gaze. “Couldn’t hurt to ask.”

Primary mission tackled, Jenna turned her focus to a more awkward one. “I need to see the apartment.” The apartment where her father had lived since he’d walked out on Jenna and her mom. She’d been dreading this, having to sort through his things and confirm exactly how much of a stranger he was to her. “Do you have keys to it?”

“I do. And I already took care of your dad’s stuff.”

“Did you?” She bit her lip, torn between relief and annoyance.

He nodded. “I wound up moving into the spare room about nine months ago, when he was getting really bad.”

“Oh. So you’re still living there now?”

“I am. But needless to say, my name’s not on any lease, so never fear, I’ll vacate the second you say the word. I’m sure you’re eager to get that place rented out to a paying tenant.”

“And you got rid of all my dad’s things?”

“Not all of them. But he asked me to do that, in the run-up to…you know. So you wouldn’t have to.”

So her father had trusted Mercer with his possessions, as well as his business. To spare Jenna the burden, ostensibly, but she couldn’t help but feel she’d been excluded. She’d been left nothing but property and papers and account numbers, impersonal gifts, nothing imbued with a father’s affection for his daughter.

Though what had she expected, really?

“He’d already started giving stuff away toward the end,” Mercer went on. “To the guys he’s trained over the years. I didn’t touch the really sentimental things, pictures and books and letters. I thought you might want to go through that yourself.”