Boot Camp by Gina Musa

Author:Gina Musa
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wattpad WEBTOON Book Group

Chapter Fifteen

As I trek from my dorm to the Central Building with my hood tugged over my head, I’m dreading my workout session with Axel, for multiple reasons. One, it started raining, so he’s forced to hold it in the gym, which means more equipment for me to mix up. Two, now that most of the rageful feelings from my fight with Willow have faded to some reluctant acceptance, I’m almost embarrassed that he had to witness such a low point in my life.

“Sorry I’m late.”

A voice from behind startles me, and I turn around, finding Axel ducking into the building in a gray hoodie and shorts to match, his damp hair sticking to his forehead. The lid of his coffee cup is speckled with rain droplets, and he strategically tries to drink around them as he brings the cup to his lips.

“It’s fine,” I say, pulling down my hood and revealing my dry brown locks. “Rain get you?”

He holds open the gym door for me, and I slip inside. “My fault for not checking my weather app this morning. How was dining hall duty, by the way?”

“Fine,” I grumble. “Not as bad as I thought.” He smirks, as if knowing I’d find it that way. As I make eye contact with him, I can’t miss the slight puffiness to his normally angled face and the dull sheen around his eyes, like he only got a few hours of sleep.

“How was your night?”

“Why do you ask . . . ?”

“No reason,” I say and shrug, forcing that nonchalance again. “You look tired, that’s all.”

“Maybe I was up all night coming up with your workout today. It’s tough work being a trainer after all.”

“It’s way tougher on this side. At least you know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t always,” he grumbles before changing the subject.

“Let’s warm up. A hundred jumping jacks, and actually count this time.”

He drinks coffee and messes around on his phone as I start moving, and my jealousy compounds as my sneakers pound the gym floor and my heavy breaths cut into the air. From my angle, I can’t make out what he’s typing, only the contact name at the top of his screen—Isla S. My curiosity piques, and with a second glance, I confirm there are no emojis or embellishments or even a nickname. She might as well be some contact he added for a group project and forgot to remove from his phone, but then he grins, deep satisfaction etched into the lines of his face, and I give up playing detective.

At the ninety-eighth jumping jack, I fall into a heap on the floor on my face and can barely lift my head up when I hear his footsteps again.

“Today, Whitney,” he says, holding out a pair of boxing gloves, “we’re going to try my favorite sport: boxing. We’ll begin by learning to throw a jab.”

Slightly unnerved, I slide on the gloves and ignore those thoughts telling me how out of place I look when I catch sight of myself in the mirror.

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