The Genetic Code

Chapter 6

"What is this place?"

"A gym."

"This is not a gym."

"Look, there's a treadmill, there's some weights, and some other machines that I don't know the names of but I know they're meant for exercising. This is a gym."

"It's four levels high! There's a lounge, and a bar, and a private carpark. It's... It's bigger than my entire house! Who owns this place?"

There's a short silence, which makes me turn to look at him curiously.

"Me," he says softly. He must have noticed my dazed expression, because he quickly explains, almost abashedly, "Crawford Foundation has a fitness sector and this was their prototype VIP gym. They didn't want to have to move the equipment after it was built, so the manager in charge of the project, who I'm familiar with, gave me the keys as a birthday gift. It's pretty near our neighborhood, so it's convenient for me..."

Right, duh. Another bitter dose of reality for me: He gets multi-story gyms as a birthday present from 'someone he's familiar with' while I get expired lip gloss from my grand-aunt. We're from two completely different worlds. It doesn't matter that we're supposedly both in the same 'strata' of society now, not like I care about that anyway. All I am is a... distraction... in his beautifully blessed life that's probably flawlessly planned from start to finish, including an equally well-off gorgeous 5"7 graduate from Harvard (or Oxford or some other branded university) with a Perfect ancestry and impeccable family background as an arranged match for him.

Well, I guess I'd better learn quick then, so he doesn't feel the need to keep barging back into my life as my guardian angel, saving me from all the sticky situations I seem to be getting myself into on a regular basis. If I learn to fight on my own, I don't need him to protect me out of pity anymore. Then he can stay out of my life for good.

That's what I want... right?

Why does the thought of that make my chest ache, then?

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing."

"You're playing with your eyebrows, and frowning, so you must be thinking hard about something."

I immediately drop my hand and relax my facial features. I hadn't even realized I was doing it. I purse my lips together.

"Let's just start, alright? Where can I change?"

"You can just change out here."

I'm pretty sure my eyes almost bulge out of my eye sockets as I shoot him my most lethal death glare.

"You wanna die, Crawford?"

He breaks out into a cheeky grin, "Only if you're holding the gun, and your face is the last I see." He winks.

I scoff. "I wouldn't give you that honor. I'd just push you into a pit of rabid Kera Rosamunds and let you get eaten alive."

He pulls a face of mock horror. "No! Anything but that torture! I'd rather be electrocuted in acid."

"You must have mistaken me for a nice girl. I'm not that merciful."

He cocks his head to the side and looks at me with a satisfied smile.

"That's the most reaction I've gotten out of you all week. I guess it takes threats to your modesty and thoughts on how to best kill me in order to get that feisty side out of you. Well, if that's what it takes to hold a conversation with you, I guess I'll have to do it more often, even if my safety is at risk." He beams at me, eyes reduced to two crescents.