I climbed off the table. “I will, Dr. Maxwell. Thank you again for everything.”
“Of course. Have a good afternoon, Ivy.” Ivy. My name sounded so sweet as it spilled from his magenta lips.
I left the exam room, sliding the strap of my handbag on top of my shoulder with a smile. The girl behind the desk gave me a farewell after I booked my three-month follow-up and then I left.
When I was inside my car, the air conditioning blowing on my face, I logged onto Instagram and searched for Lola. It was that time of year again. She was taking applications for volunteers for her charity. I would do it right this time.
I drove to my apartment, logged onto my computer, and found the website to apply.
This time, my sob story was even better than the last, albeit a complete lie—but it was a lie I knew Lola would be able to relate to. If she didn’t approve my application this time, I was going to have to rework my plan.
Regardless, I was going to get to know this woman personally, and everything she stood for, no matter what it took to make that happen.
CHAPTER FIVE
I couldn’t believe I was doing this.
For starters, I hated anything that revolved around boxing. What did people find so entertaining about it anyway? Men and women punching each other in the face until they had fat, swollen lips and purple rings around their eyes? Blood all over the floor of the mat? Spitting blood into buckets?
But kickboxing? Kickboxing was a fucking joke—just a way for a person to feel strong because they could punch and kick a defenseless bag.
I had a new, expensive-as-hell membership card on my keychain and it was a bright and early Tuesday morning. Kickboxing it was.
Lola posted often that she loved Tuesdays and Thursdays because that was when she could visit Best Rounds Kickboxing. She went on about how the coach of her class always kicked her butt with a good workout and kept her in tip-top shape.
She was so full of shit.
She had a personal trainer and a nutritionist to keep her in shape as well, I was sure. Kickboxing was just another way she could flash her money and pretend to have a busy schedule.
I didn’t exactly consider myself out of shape. In fact, I worked out four times a week in my apartment. Sit-ups and crunches to keep my abs tight. Squats and lunges to keep my ass perky. Some light lifting with dumbbells to keep my arms slim and toned.
Before knowing who Lola was, I hadn’t worked out. I was soft around the middle, but I wasn’t fat, per se—more so what people would call “skinny fat.” You always told me I was healthy and slim, Marriott. I know you were just being nice. Doesn’t matter. I needed to work on myself for once, and I’m pleased to tell you that I found a reason to do it.
When I found Lola, my desire to get fit came at me full speed. I needed to get in shape so I could fit in with women like her. She hung out with slender women who had snatched waists and great asses that I was sure they all paid high-dollar amounts for. They wore expensive jewelry and packed on their makeup heavily.
Makeup wasn’t a go-to thing for me either, but I learned how to wing my eyeliner and use concealer to cover the dark circles under my eyes from all my sleepless nights, so that was a start, and it was better than nothing.
Xavier had liked me natural—no makeup. I have to give it up to him, Marriott. He wasn’t all that great a man, but he did help me gain a smidge of confidence in myself when he made remarks like that.
A natural beauty, he’d call me. You don’t need all that makeup like some of these other bitches do, L’il I. You’re good the way you are.
Yeah, he seemed nice, like you said when I first told you about him, but being with him was like having constant whiplash. One minute I was the sexiest woman alive and the next I was a dirty, ugly, basic bitch. To this day, I can say that I don’t miss being with him.
Grabbing my gym bag from the passenger seat, I let out a ragged breath and made my way across the parking lot to the kickboxing studio. When I had first walked into the studio to sign up, I’d hated the smell of it. Leather and sweat masked with some kind of perfume-y fragrance.
The walls were black, as well as the large mats on the floor. The punching bags were royal purple, and definitely vomit-inducing on their own. Nothing in this place matched. It was like it was all just thrown together, and I was curious what attracted Lola to it. Perhaps it was a recommendation. Or maybe she knew the owner and got perks. You never knew with that woman, there was always a catch.