The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism novel Chapter 52

Chapter 52: 52 | The Wrong Fitzgerald on His Mind

My back slammed against the training mat with enough force to make my teeth rattle. I stared up at the gym ceiling, my vision swimming with stars that definitely weren’t part of the decor.

"What happened to all that big talk from yesterday?" Sloane stood over me, pink hair pulled back in a high ponytail, not a drop of sweat on her forehead. Her blue eyes sparkled with amusement. "Something about how you were gonna show me what you learned?"

I groaned, trying to make my lungs work again. What a fucking whiplash. Last night I’d gone six rounds with Diane—six!—and felt like a god among men by the end of it. My stats had jumped through the roof. Strength, endurance, agility—everything had skyrocketed after the Sexercise trait kicked in.

Yet here I was, flat on my back after one punch from Sloane.

"Maybe I just wanted a better view of the ceiling," I muttered. "Really nice... whatever those things are. Rafters? Beams?"

"Trusses," Sloane corrected, extending her hand. "And they’re exactly the same as they were yesterday when I put you on your ass. Need help getting up, or should I wait while you admire the architecture some more?"

Without my Boundless Stamina, I’d be absolutely cooked right now. Completely done for. As it was, I could already feel my body recovering, the shock of impact fading, my breath returning.

I ignored her hand and pushed myself up to my feet. A man has his pride, after all.

"Lucky shot," I said, settling back into a fighting stance.

Sloane snorted. "Luck had nothing to do with it. You telegraphed that punch so hard I could’ve read it from across the street."

She circled me, her movements fluid and controlled. The black sports bra and compression shorts she wore showed off every muscle, every curve. Her skin glistened under the gym lights, still barely affected by our session despite having knocked me down four times already.

"You’re distracted," she said. "Eyes up here, Lukas."

Heat rushed to my face. I’d been staring at her legs. Her thighs. Remembering how they felt wrapped around me when we—

No. That was Diane. Not Sloane.

Fuck.

I was losing my mind. The memories were getting tangled together—Sloane’s hand on my thigh during the movie, Diane’s legs spreading wider under the blanket, Sloane’s breathless moans when I touched her, Diane calling out my name as she—

"Hey!" Sloane’s voice snapped me back to reality. "Where are you right now? Because it’s definitely not here with me."

She had no idea I’d spent the night with her mother. No clue I’d made Diane scream my name six separate times. No inkling that just hours ago, I’d been balls deep in—

"I’m just tired," I lied. "Didn’t sleep well."

That part was true, at least. Four hours of sleep after a marathon sex session wasn’t exactly restful.

"Bullshit." Sloane stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "You’ve been weird since I got here. You’re not focusing, you keep zoning out, and you’re looking at me like..." She trailed off, her cheeks coloring slightly. "What’s going on?"

I couldn’t tell her the truth. Obviously. ’Hey, Sloane, I fucked your mom last night and now I can’t stop thinking about it’ wasn’t exactly the kind of thing you dropped during morning training.

"Nothing’s going on." I raised my fists. "Just focusing on getting my ass kicked less spectacularly this time."

She didn’t believe me. I could see it in her eyes. But she let it slide, stepping back into her own stance.

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