Wrecked (Forever 4) - Page 33/89

His eyes lit up. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Awesome.”

I giggled.

“But really, Lorrie. I think you should enter that competition. Submit your portfolio. Worst that can happen is you don’t win. But you’ll kick yourself if you didn’t at least try.”

Feeling a little excited by Hunter’s encouragement, I looked at the sketch again and found myself having a greater appreciation for it. “Alright, fine. I’ll have to do some more pieces but I’ll enter the competition.”

He grinned. “Sweet. You going to give me a portion of your winnings? Don’t forget I was the one who convinced you and brought you the flyer. Consider it the manager’s cut.”

“How about if I win, I’ll cheer for you at one of your fights?”

His grin became wider. “My very own cheerleader? Even better. I could use the support during my fights.”

“I think you get plenty already.”

“You can never have enough support from ‘friends’.”

“True that.”

He offered his coffee cup out for a toast. “To Snorrie and Gunther. May their friendship be filled with miscommunication and drama.”

“—Or not.” I smirked and met his latte with my black coffee.

Hunter stayed with me in the cafe until we finished our drinks. Then we parted ways to go to our classes.

Chapter Eleven

CURIOSITY

I went out Saturday and picked up some art supplies at the school bookstore. Watercolors, pastels, and some charcoal to go along with the pencils I already had. I was thinking about mixing media by coloring in some of my pencil or charcoal drawings with the paints or pastels. It would take some experimentation, but maybe the results would be portfolio-worthy.

I spent the next few days messing around with coloring in sketches. Thursday came, and I went dutifully to Econ in the morning, then killed some time before my drawing class at one. By the time I got back to my dorm, it was about three. I sprawled out in my bed and started coloring in some sketches I had done between classes in the coffee shop. I was considering whether to use pastels or watercolors on a sketch of a steaming mug of tea when my phone started vibrating on my nightstand. Startled, I got up and picked up my phone.

“Hey Hunter,” I said brightly.

“Hey Lorrie, are you busy?” There was a combination of loud music and men’s voices yelling in the background, so I could barely hear him. I put my hand over my other ear to concentrate on what he was saying.

“I was just working on my portfolio,” I said. “Why? What’s up?”

“Oh cool, you’ll have to show me what you have when it’s ready. Anyway, I was wondering if you could come down to the gym to help me out with something.”

He was being vague and I couldn’t tell why. “What is it?” I asked.

Someone yelled in the background wherever Hunter was, which I was guessing was his gym. “It’s a surprise. Can you come?”

“A surprise? What kind of surprise?”

“A good one, I promise. If you’re too busy it’s okay, but I’d really appreciate it if you came by.”

I thought about it. Tomorrow was Friday and that was pretty much the start of the weekend since I didn’t have any classes other than swimming, and it wasn’t like I was in some super groove on my art. I could spare an hour or two to find out what Hunter’s surprise was.

“Okay, I’ll come by.”

“Great! The gym’s called Bigg’s. I think it’s like a ten or fifteen minute walk from your dorm.”

“I’ll figure it out. Should I just walk in?”

“Yeah there’s a woman at the front desk. Just ask for me and I’ll be right there.”

“Okay, see you in a few.”

“Thanks so much. See you soon.”

He hung up. I opened the maps app on my phone and typed in Bigg’s Gym. Hunter was right: my phone said it would take twelve minutes to walk there. I put on my coat and headed out, curious what he had in store for me.

I had to look at my phone to make sure I was at the right address. The place had darkened windows and no sign I could see. The address above the door matched the one I’d punched into my phone, but this building seemed deserted and the sidewalk was strangely empty.

What is this sketchy place? Should I call him? It would be embarrassing if this was the right address and I didn’t just walk through the door. I cupped my hands above my eyes to block out any other light and pressed my face against the glass of the door. The glass wasn’t just tinted black: it was actually covered. Very sketch.

I stepped back and was considering trying the door when it popped open and caught me flush in the face. My hands shot up to my nose and over my eyes as I stepped back, praying I wasn’t bleeding.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” a woman’s voice said.

My nose was throbbing, but I didn’t feel any blood, so I lowered my hands. “It’s okay,” I said. “Not your fault.” She looked to be in her mid forties and had brightly dyed bottle-blonde hair.

“I heard you outside,” she said, eyeing my face. “Are you here to meet someone?”

I rubbed my nose gingerly, but the pain was already going away. “Is this Bigg’s Gym?”

Her eyes brightened. “It is. Are you here to see Hunter?”

How had she guessed? “Yes, actually.”

She smiled wide. “Oh, good! Come in, I’ll go and get him.”

I stepped inside after her and took a seat in what seemed like a waiting area. There was a desk and a computer where I presumed the receptionist—the women who had hit me in the face with the door—did her work. On the wall behind the desk was a sign that read “Bigg’s Gym: Get Bigggg!!!” in red block letters in front of a cartoonishly muscled guy that would make even Popeye the Sailor Man say “Damn, that’s ridiculous!” To the right of the sign was a large black curtain, behind which I heard the sounds of loud music and leather hitting leather. Old black and white pictures of fighters littered the beige walls around the waiting room. Every picture had the same pose: a shirtless guy with big muscles stood with his right hand in a fist just under his chin and a scowl on his face. I looked for a picture of Hunter, but didn’t see one.

Hunter came through the curtain a moment later, followed by the receptionist. They both wore big smiles. He was shirtless and breathing hard, wearing the same small gloves he had worn when I saw him fight at The Bearded Squirrel. When he exhaled, the hard lines of his six pack popped. The way he was sweating made the muscles in his shoulders and chest even more defined as they glistened under the harsh gym light.