The Bad Girl's Good Side

Chapter 33: "Goodluck then."

Chapter 33:
"Goodluck then."

"Are you training to kill someone?" I briefly lay my eyes on an unfamiliar guy standing and watching me, with his arms crossed, through my peripheral view, before focusing my eyes on the object in front of me once more.

I ignore his attempt of conversation and continue throwing hits on the punching bag. I've been training since the morning and so far I have only taken one break—20 minutes only. I had been restless the previous night, tossing and turning so much that I actually grew tired of trying to sleep. The idea of the proximity of tomorrow night's event caused my restlessness and the only way I can not think about it is through fighting this inanimate object.

How ironic; training is making me forget about the exact thing I'm training for.

"Never seen a girl train like this before from around here. Must be your first time in this gym," the unknown guy continues with his attempt at creating casual talk.

I am tempted to make him my next punching bag.

I continue to disregard his presence and increase the force of my punches and kicks to the best of my ability. I've been hitting this thing so hard that I can almost feel my knuckles bruising and my shins are throbbing.

"Drive your elbow into your punches, not your fists. It'll help you transfer maximum power."

Is this guy not leaving?

"I know what I'm doing," I grunt and stop for a few seconds to draw in a deep breath.

"Sure," the mysterious male human being sneers at me. "And I'm the president," he adds with heavy sarcasm.

"Look, dude," I turn to face him and my breath hitches when I actually get a full view of him. "I-uh–" I stutter, feeling suddenly nervous. I'm not going to say his face is that attractive or good looking—he's cute and handsome for someone else—but his body is the definition of toned, muscular, lean, broad shouldered — all mixed into one person. "I have no idea why you decided to randomly act like my personal trainer, but can you just leave me be?"

He stretches out a whistle. "Cold," he says. "I was just helping," he holds up his arms in defense. "Just giving you pointers on how to effectively murder the punching bag." He turns on his heel and starts walking away.

"Wait!" I stop him from leaving and he turns to face me again with a triumphant smirk. I've been out of practice and I admit that I am slacking, so if I want to come out with minimal bruises tomorrow night, then I'm going to need all the skills, tips and strategies I can accumulate in this short span of time. "Fine," I sigh. "You can help me. I guess I do need it."

"What's that?" He cups his ear, pretending to not have heard me. "I didn't hear you correctly. Could you please repeat?"

Seriously?

"Ugh, forget it," I roll my eyes.

"Okay," he shrugs casually and turns on his heels again. "Goodluck then."

"I need your help!" My tongue betrays me and the words come out of my mouth before I can process them. "And I'm not going to say that again."

"It's okay," the guy shrugs and laughs. "The name's Kyle by the way," he grins proudly and holds out his hand for me to shake.