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One
There was only one good reason to sweat at six thirty a.m.—and it sure wasn’t attacking a heavy bag.
I spun and jabbed the bag, attacking it from all sides. I brought my leg in close to my torso and kicked outward, then sprinted away and came at the bag in a series of flying leaps. Each one was designed to add another weapon to my arsenal. Punching was easy. Landing the perfect well-placed kick that would not only disarm but disable was harder.
Perspiration dripped into my eyes and my muscles sang with exertion. My white T-shirt had already nearly soaked through, so I’d be losing it soon. My breaths rattled loudly inside my head. My heartbeat was even louder.
Friday night I had a fight, and I intended to win.
For the first time in my life, I was a winner, and I’d be damned if I backed off on my training for even a second. I had too much riding on the outcome of my next fight. But that didn’t mean I’d stand around running my mouth. In my world, cockiness got you hurt—or dead.
I’d forgotten my earbuds this morning, and some of the other guys were being noisy as hell. Posturing, calling out insults, daring each other to bump it up to the next level. I didn’t compete with anyone other than myself until it was time to step into the octagon.
“Hey asshole, you going to keep making love to that bag all day or let one of the real men take over and get the job done?”
I didn’t stop kicking and jabbing, ignoring the taunt as if it had never been vocalized. I’d grown up on the toughest streets of the Bronx, and I’d learned not to show fear. I’d been smaller than the other boys. Scrawny, shy, and meek. Every day on the way to P.S. 116, I’d gotten my ass handed to me and my lunch money stolen.
Every. Damn. Day.
Then my father was shot dead in a drug deal gone bad in front of me, and one of the cops who arrived on the scene took me under his wing. With his help, I started fighting back.
A loud squeal sliced through my training haze.
In a flash, I turned away from the bag. I ripped the tape from my hands as I stalked out of the workout room. I knew only one woman who’d be there that early, not counting other members.
If she was the one who’d made that noise, heads were going to fucking roll.
I rounded the circular desk in the reception area and tossed my wraps onto it. I’d gladly take on any fool bare-handed who dared to try anything with my girl.
“Lily?” I peered over the counter to where a very shapely ass in a tight skirt pointed skyward. My groin tightened painfully, and I pressed my errant dick into the counter to quiet it the fuck down.
It was about as smart as its owner. Which was to say not at all.
“Yes? Sorry, just a second.” She shifted and stood, staring down in dismay at her white skirt. Her formerly white skirt. A giant navy splotch now marred the front. “Unfortunate pen accident.” She blotted her finger over the drop of blue ink also along her full lower lip.
My grin surprised even me. With anyone else, I’d be annoyed at being interrupted during my session for a nonsense reason. When it came to Lily Matthews, I’d happily be interrupted every hour of the day.
That surly cop who took a liking to me all those years ago? His name was Lance Matthews, and he doted on his only child Lily with a ferocity only matched by my longing for her.
A longing I would never, ever sate.
“You and your quill pens.” I picked up the one in question. A poufy pink feather bobbed from the top and ink spilled from the tip. “You know better than to chew on these. It never ends well.”
“I wasn’t chewing. I was thoughtfully sucking.” She turned away to reach for a tissue.
If she kept up talk like that, I’d need one too for a whole different reason.
“Pens are for writing, not for putting in your mouth.” God, I hoped she couldn’t hear how strangled I sounded. Air was in short supply right now, and most of the blood in my body had detoured below the belt.
“So I have an oral fixation.” She picked up a bag of gummy bears, the same candy she’d been toting around since childhood, and popped a handful in her mouth. “So sue me.”
Yeah, I was dying a slow, torturous death. Death by purity was a real thing. I knew it was, because she’d been hammering the nails deeper and deeper since I’d known her.
Not that I’d been perving on her that whole time. Hell no. For one, I’d
met her when I was eleven and she was eight. Twelve long years ago that sometimes felt like twelve minutes.
I hadn’t started noticing her as, well, a girl, until years later. We’d hung out together a lot as kids caught between childhood and our teen years, and I’d viewed her mostly as one might look at a younger sister. Guessing, because I’d never had one. Never had any siblings except Lily, who wasn’t my relation at all.
No one would ever mistake us for family, that was for sure. She had green eyes to my blue, light brown hair to my black. She was petite and curvy and I’d grown up to be tall and…well, broad. I worked hard to stay in shape, but I’d been granted a few gifts from Mother Nature that hadn’t been apparent back when I’d been getting whaled on every day by assholes in the neighborhood.
Assholes like that bastard who’d taunted me about the heavy bag. Assholes I delighted in mopping up the ring with.
Assholes I would never let touch my Lily as long as I lived.
“I’d rather eat some of your bears.” I grabbed her bag of candy, hoping she didn’t realize how long I’d just resided in the gutter thanks to her innocent comment.
The problem with innocent comments when you have the hots for a girl? They get you harder even faster than dirty talk would from someone else.
“They’re yours, Hands. I’ve already had enough for today.” She yawned and reached for her to-go coffee cup. “I’m wasting the rest of my extra calories on my double-foam mocha latte.”
The nickname made me smile as I tossed some of the gummy bears in my mouth. She’d started calling me “Hands” back when I’d had that crazy growth spurt at thirteen, and I’d shot up a foot in a matter of months. Around that same time, her dad dragged me down to his gym.
You’re a man now, and it’s time to learn to defend yourself.
