“They don’t have much, see? If they don’t come here, they would get into trouble on the streets. And I don’t want that. It’s our job to keep them on the straight and narrow. To do that, you’ve got to be there, too. Capisce?”
I nod quickly. “Joe, seriously, this is the first time I’ve ever been in trouble. That pot wasn’t even mine…” But Joe holds up his hand.
“That’s not my business,” he tells me. “My business is just making sure that you don’t get into trouble again. You hear?”
He’s stern again, and I know I’m back at an arm’s length with him. He’s going to be a tough nut to crack, and I’m going to have to earn his respect, but I just get the feeling that deep down he’s a good guy. A nice guy. I saw a glimpse of warmth in those eyes a minute ago. Plus, he dedicates his life to helping troubled teens. That’s got to mean something.
“I’m sorry I’m late.”
The voice comes from behind me, freezing me in my chair.
Dominic.
I would know that voice anywhere now. Husky and low. Arrogant and dark. I don’t know why I think a voice can be dark, all I know is his just is. His voice hints at dark things.
I turn in my chair to find him lingering in the door, looking like he just stepped from the big screen into this tiny office. He’s bigger than life, even here. He doesn’t look at me; instead his gaze is fixed on Joe.
He’s got an arrogant, sexy attitude that completely fills up whatever room he’s in. And even though he’s saying he’s sorry, he doesn’t look one bit apologetic. He doesn’t offer even one tiny explanation for his tardiness, either.
Joe stares at him.
“The next time you’re late, don’t bother coming in at all,” Joes tells him gruffly. “Have as much respect for me and my boys here as you do for yourself and we’ll all get along nicely. If you can’t do that, get the hell out the same way you came in.”
Dominic looks at him calmly. “Noted.”
Joe stares at him, his blue eyes meeting Dominic’s green. Neither looks away for a minute, until Joe breaks the gaze and looks at me.
“This one’s got balls,” he tells me, nodding. “Just wait til I break ’em.”
I giggle and Dominic stares at me in disdain.
His gaze doesn’t stray to my cheek where I have a bruise, and it doesn’t meet my eyes. He also doesn’t bother himself to comment. That’s one thing that’s clear about Dominic Kinkaide. He isn’t going to go out of his way for much.
“Listen up,” Joe tells us, snapping me out of thinking about Dominic. “I don’t have much to say, other than what happens here with the kids stays here. These kids have rough home lives, and they don’t need you spreading talk about them outside of this gym. You’re here to help them in any way you can. Be a mentor. Show them that there is life outside of trouble. Think you can do that?”
I nod.
“It’s pretty simple here. Don’t be late. Don’t mess up. Don’t make their lives harder than they already are. Do some good. What you put out into the world, it comes back to you. Got it?”
I nod again, but Dominic sits silent and still.
Joe turns to him. “All right, since you were late, your job today will be to empty all the spit cans from around the boxing rings. Take them into the locker room, dump them out, rinse the cans, and put them back.”
Dominic stares at him. “You can’t be serious.”
Oh, but he’s serious. There’s not a hint of a smile on Joe’s face now.
“Yeah, I’m fucking serious. Don’t be late again, or—”
“Or don’t bother showing up,” Dominic interrupts, as he heads for the door. “Yeah, I got it.” He walks out without another word and Joe looks at me.
“Your friend might not last long here.”
I stare after Dominic, at his wide shoulders striding away from us. He’s tall and lean, drop-dead gorgeous and proud as hell. “He’s not my friend,” I finally answer softly. “I barely know him.”
But I have the feeling that’s about to change. What I don’t know… is how I feel about that.
Chapter Seven
Dominic
After I dump the disgusting cans of old spit down the even more disgusting bathroom sinks, I take them back out to the gym, pausing for a minute as I stare at Jacey. As much as I hate to give her attention, it’s hard not to notice her here, especially when she’s thrust herself in the middle of a group of at-risk kids and her face is pressed into a punching bag as one of the boys punches at it.
Especially when I walk past her and she smells like apples, crisp and clean.
She’s as out of place in this dirty sweatbox as anyone I’ve ever seen.
She’s got that girl-next-door quality that is so underrated among women. They all want to be glamorous bombshells, overly made-up and too sexed out. But even though Jacey is wearing makeup and short workout shorts, she’s the classic girl next door, even if that’s not her goal.
I bend and replace a spit can next to one of her toned legs, and she glances down at me, her eyes warm and sparkling.
For a minute, there’s something in her expression, something mischievous, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she just braces for another punch from the gigantic kid pummeling the bag she’s holding. It’s taking all of her weight to hold it still, but she’s doing it. I can’t help but be impressed.
Mainly because not only is she holding it, but she’s not intimidated by him, either. She’s half his size, but she just marched right out here and jumped in, just like she jumped in between Cris and me. Completely unafraid.
The kid she’s with looks like he could eat her for breakfast, and every time he punches, it practically knocks her into the wall. But she still holds on.