12
Come for me, baby. Come on my tongue. Let me taste how good I make you feel.
The words he’d said to Jules less than three hours before seared through Nick’s brain, and it didn’t matter how many times he tried to push them away or block them out; they were still there, hot and filthy, wrong in all the best ways. The sight of Jules looking up at him flashed through his mind; her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright, her skirt around her waist, looking so gorgeous in the aftermath of the orgasm he’d given her that he almost couldn’t breathe.
Given their history, maybe it shouldn’t have happened, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. He’d never regret making her feel good, never regret being honest about what he wanted, especially because he knew it was what they both wanted. She’d been the one to kiss him, and he knew that meant something. Those walls were coming down, and damn did he like that idea.
You want this just as much as I do. Admit it. Say yes to us, Jules. I’m not playing games.
Nick’s back slammed into the mat and all the air whooshed out of his lungs. His heart thudding in his chest, he let out a grunt and scooted his hips away before his trainer could climb onto him. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to soothe his screaming lungs, and surged back to his feet. Sweat dripped down his face, and his T-shirt was soaked, clinging to his back.
“Good, Giannakis, but your take down defense is the worst part of your game. Considering you’ll be up against at least one Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu specialist, it’s what we need to work on,” said Omar. “Let’s go again, and work through what you’ve got, starting with single-leg counters.”
Nick nodded and bounced on the balls of his bare feet a couple of times. Shit, he’d completely lost focus, caught up in thoughts of Jules. With one of the biggest fights of his career coming up, he couldn’t afford any lapses. He shook his head, bringing his attention back to the present.
Although it hadn’t been long, he liked working with Omar and the rest of his team at the WFC. The organization operated differently than other fight promotions out there, and Nick was still adjusting to the change. Typically a fighter was responsible for his own training, and could work with whatever set of coaches he wanted as long as he could afford it. Fighters paid anywhere from a few hundred to a couple thousand dollars a month to train depending on where, with whom, and how serious they were. Back in Chicago, Nick had picked up shifts at his family’s restaurant when he needed extra cash to supplement the income from his sponsorships. It was a lean life, and the fact that the WFC was providing a top-notch trainer for him free of charge had been a big part of the league’s appeal.
Paying for training was a financial burden for just about every fighter, and one that Craig Darcy was aware of, which was why ranked and high-profile fighters in the WFC were offered the opportunity to train at the WFC gym with WFC-selected trainers. The idea was to take some of the financial pressure off to allow fighters to really focus on training, and he respected Darcy for recognizing and doing something to address one of the biggest hardships and barriers in the sport. From what Nick had heard, it was also part of Darcy’s plan to gain legitimacy for the sport—no other professional athletes had to pay for their own training, so why should MMA fighters? Despite how he felt about Darcy and how he treated Jules, Nick had to admire the man’s attempt to take the sport he loved to the next level.
Omar ducked down and wrapped his arms around Nick’s left leg, lifting it about a foot off the ground. Nick maintained his balance, hopping on his right foot. He leaned forward and slipped his right arm between Omar’s legs, tossing him off easily.
“Better,” said Omar, circling back around him, nodding at Nick. “Again.”
For once, Nick was actually looking forward to the ice bath that would follow this training session, knowing his aching, exhausted muscles would need all the help they could get repairing themselves before his next training session.
“Great workout, Nick,” Omar said after fifteen more minutes of take down defense, clapping him on the shoulder. “Finish up with five minutes of jump rope and then stretch it out. I’ll see you tomorrow. Get some rest, brother.”
Nick smiled and nodded at Omar, taking a long pull on his bottle of water, and then dumping the last bit over his head. Hopefully that ice bath would do something to kill the half erection he was still sporting. At this point, his balls were so blue they were starting to resemble Smurfs.
He couldn’t help but feel a bit smug at how easily she’d come for him. He’d wanted to bury himself inside her so bad after she came, but he wasn’t going to have casual, meaningless sex with Jules. Not only was that the opposite of what he wanted but he was pretty sure that once—if—he got back inside her, it’d be pretty fucking far from casual and meaningless.
From day one, it had never been just sex between them, and it couldn’t be just sex now. So he’d laid it out, and either she was his in every sense of the word or she wasn’t. It was a risk, but he liked the simple, black-and-whiteness of it all.
With Jules he knew that if she let him in, they could have everything. It was a big if. She was stubborn and scared, not to mention carrying around an airliner’s worth of baggage, but he knew what they could be if she only gave them a chance. She—they—were worth fighting for.
But he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that a part of him was worried she wouldn’t say yes, and it would suck royally if it went down that way. She had the power to hurt him, and he didn’t know if she would or not. It occurred to him then, as he jumped rope in the center of the gym, that although he still cared about her, still wanted her, it would take time to rebuild the trust she’d shattered when she’d walked away.
He bounced off of the floor, the jump rope whizzing through the air as he flicked his wrists. He jumped with a steady rhythm, everything—the rope, his feet, his heart pounding in his chest—chanting the same three syllables over and over again.
Say yes, Jules.
Say yes, Jules.
Say yes, Jules.
Just about finished with his last torturous bit of cardio, Nick tipped his chin in greeting as Gabe entered the gym. Although he was supposed to be off because he’d just fought, he couldn’t seem to stay away. He wasn’t sparring, but he’d been in here almost every day, hitting the weights and the cardio machines. Gabe returned Nick’s nod, looking awfully grim for a man who’d just won a championship belt.
Nick had hoped that moving to Vegas and starting fresh would’ve helped Gabe cope with some of the pain he carried around, but it looked as though his friend was still dealing with the same demons that had been haunting him for years now.
The music changed, the hip-hop song fading out and giving way to Snap!’s “The Power.” As soon as Gabe looked at Nick again, Nick tossed the jump rope aside, breaking into a flawless running man. The side of Gabe’s mouth twitched, and he nodded. Nick kept dancing, and Gabe chuckled as he stepped onto a treadmill.
A half smile and a chuckle. Not bad.
“The hell do you think you’re doing?”
Nick stopped dancing and spun, sweat dripping into his eye causing him to squint. Craig Darcy stood several feet away, his hands planted on his hips as he stared at Nick. A sneer curled his upper lip.
“Just finishing up my workout,” Nick said, meeting Darcy’s eyes. They were the same shade of blue as Jules’, but lacked her warmth.
Darcy took a step closer to him. “This isn’t a fucking dance class, Giannakis. You’re here to train, to work, and if you don’t want to take it seriously, there are dozens of guys who’d be happy to take your place.”
Whoa. “I do take this seriously.” Darcy had no idea how much Nick had poured into his dream of becoming a professional fighter.
“Between the goofing off, the hair, and the jokes, I have a hard time believing that.”
“I can have fun and take something seriously at the same time. One doesn’t cancel out the other.”
Darcy looked at him as though he’d just told him he believed little green men were running around on Mars.
Nick’s mind flashed back to Jules’ warning at the club that her father didn’t like him. He frowned slightly, unable to stop the next words from coming out of his mouth. “Do you have some kind of problem with me?”
Darcy huffed out a breath. “Doesn’t matter what I think. You’re here because you have fans, and fans equal ticket sales and TV ratings, two things this league needs. So this isn’t playtime, Giannakis. You work your fucking ass off to win. If you’re not winning, you’re useless to me, fans or not.”
“I do work my ass off. There’s some of it over there,” he said, pointing at a nearby puddle of sweat on the mat. Darcy rolled his eyes and Nick couldn’t suppress his anger. “You know, at Imperial the boss didn’t come in and give the fighters shit. At Imperial they were willing to take risks and try new things, all while supporting the fighters. Maybe you wouldn’t have such a hard time with ticket sales and TV ratings if you spent more time focused on those and less time harassing guys in the gym.”
Darcy didn’t react, just studied Nick with a cool, appraising gaze. “We’re very different people, you and me.”
Nick restrained himself from saying no shit. Darcy was always stalking around barking at people, almost never smiling. God, this was the man Jules had grown up with. Everything about her made a hell of a lot more sense now.
Darcy continued. “I don’t give a goddamn fuck how they do things at Imperial. You’re here now, and if someone gave me the kind of opportunity I’m giving you, I’d be a little more grateful and focused.” He gestured toward Gabe. “Like him. No frills, no antics, no fucking around. Just pure dedication.”
Nick quirked an eyebrow but didn’t say anything as he wondered if Darcy had any fucking clue about the pain Gabe Maddox carried around.
“If you miss Imperial so much, you’re welcome to go back there.” He moved toward Nick, dangerously close to getting in his face. “Don’t you ever fucking tell me how to run my league again.”
Nick clenched his jaw, not allowing himself to get pulled into an argument with his boss. Who was also Jules’ father. Shit. He’d never really thought about the potential complications of that. He’d been so focused on first avoiding her, then getting under her skin, and then convincing her to let him in. Jesus, what would Darcy say if he knew where Nick’s face had been just a few hours ago?
Darcy shrugged and turned. “It’s your future, and I’m the one with the crystal ball. Don’t fucking forget it,” he called over his shoulder as he walked out of the gym, the door slamming shut behind him.
“Jules?” Megan cocked her head to the side. “You okay?”
Jules nodded and tried to remember what the hell they’d been talking about before she’d started thinking about Nick. Again. Because apparently Nick was all she could think about now. Not her job, or the ad campaign, or even her damn grocery list while standing in the cereal aisle—she’d turned into a total space cadet. Even sitting on Megan’s couch next to her, all Jules could think about was how he’d looked just before he’d walked out of her office yesterday: angry and sad and a little smug . . . but hopeful. She’d seen the hope shining in his eyes, and she wasn’t any closer to figuring out what to do with it. She couldn’t live without him, but she couldn’t make the leap. Not when it could end with her a broken mess.
“Okay, you’ve gotta tell me what’s going on. Is it Nick? It’s Nick, right?” Megan looked vaguely amused as she shifted and brought her legs up under her.
They’d kicked their shoes off a couple of hours ago and popped the cork on a bottle of Moscato, though Jules was still on her first glass. She’d had a glass with dinner last night and realized wine relaxed her just enough to fine tune the ache in her body. It wouldn’t dull that tender spot he’d left on her heart, and it only emphasized the ache between her legs. She’d lain in bed last night reliving what had happened in her office, and her mind had taken her back to every single time he’d ever touched her. Like it was mocking her. And though he’d made her come so hard on that desk, she’d come again with her fingers on her clit, imagining it was him. Afterward she’d curled up in a ball and cried because she’d wanted to curl up with him. So she wasn’t enjoying the wine tonight.
Dammit. He’d ruined wine.
“No, it’s not . . .” But she let the denial trail off because she couldn’t lie to Megan. “Maybe.” When her friend raised a knowing eyebrow and brought her wineglass to her lips, Jules sighed. “Yeah, okay, it’s Nick.”
Maybe it was the misery in her voice, but something made Megan reach over and take her hand. “Oh, honey, did he say something else? Something mean?”
Jules exhaled a laugh. “He’s said a lot, but no, nothing mean, exactly.” Jules let her gaze wander over to the large window in Megan’s living room, staring out at the mountain range in the distance. They’d sat down to watch the sunset as they talked, but it was dark now and the mountains were giant shadows in the distance. She hadn’t planned to talk about Nick, and especially not about what happened the day before, but when Megan squeezed her hand, something broke inside her and it all came out. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been talking, but it felt good to share it. “I didn’t mean to let it happen, but . . . there he was looking so sweet and . . . God, I don’t know, looking at me like only Nick looks at me.” She turned back toward the window because she didn’t want to see the disappointment on Megan’s face. “Before I knew it, there I was, laid out on my desk, and he went down on me like a starving man at a buffet.” She forced a laugh, trying to make a joke of it. She knew that one day very far in the future—probably when she was in a nursing home—she’d look back on what had happened and laugh. But not yet, not when everything was so raw and miserable.
Megan wasn’t laughing either. “That’s so hot.” She didn’t say anything else, and gave Jules’ hand another gentle squeeze. That sympathetic gesture made an ache well up in her throat. Why hadn’t she called Megan immediately and told her what had happened? Why had she tried to keep it all to herself, not letting anyone in?
Because she was Craig Darcy’s daughter, that’s why. He’d never told her about Allison because they didn’t talk about things, so why would she talk about Nick?
But she’d realized at dinner with her dad that she didn’t want to be like him, so she faced Megan, because normal people confided in those close to them and didn’t push them away. “He said he wants to give us a chance. He asked me to say yes to us,” Jules said.
“Oh my God.” Megan’s eyes were wide. Give her a bowl of popcorn and she’d look like she was watching a movie and couldn’t wait to see what happened next. “Are you going to say yes?”
Jules automatically shook her head, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out. She couldn’t say yes, because that would lead to even more pain down the road, but she couldn’t say no. She was stuck in this purgatory where nothing was good and everything just hurt, each breath prodding the jagged edges of the gash in her heart.
“I’m afraid,” she said looking down at the deep blue swirls in the rug. It was the most honest thing she could think to say. She was afraid of saying yes and watching this thing they had disintegrate, and she was afraid of saying no and living the rest of her life with this hollow ache in her chest. Either way, she’d end up in pain, but maybe if she stayed away, Nick could be happy.
Megan set her glass down and covered Jules’ hand with hers. “Jules, honey. Look at me.” Megan waited patiently, and Jules bit her lip at the sincere warmth shining back at her from Megan’s hazel eyes. “What if everything you’ve ever wanted, ever needed, is waiting for you on the other side of your fear?”
“Shit, Megs.” Leave it to Megan to cut through the bullshit and make Jules dig into that open wound. “It’s not that easy for me. I can’t just make a wish and have everything work out. That fairy-tale stuff isn’t real. My parents taught me that.”
“But you’re not them. You’re not a borderline alcoholic who likes to chase Valium with vodka.” Jules shook her head, but Megan continued. “And you’re sure as hell not your dad, throwing tantrums and burying yourself in work to avoid your emotions. You’re kind and warm and funny.”
She smiled sadly. “Maybe, but I’m still a product of them. I see both of them in myself.”
Megan tilted her head, winding a strand of hair around her index finger as she thought. “That’s true, but you can make different choices.”
God, she made it sound so easy, so simple, to just be different. “But what if I can’t?” Something pinched in her chest, her skin both too hot and too cold at the same time. “What if I take a chance on Nick and we go down in flames, just like my parents did? I . . .” She shook her head, her stomach churning slightly. “I couldn’t handle that. I couldn’t deal with Nick looking at me the way my dad looked at my mom, with contempt, and resentment, and so much ugliness. I don’t want that for us.” She just wanted to remember the way Nick had looked at her in Chicago.
Megan frowned, her eyebrows knitting together. “You don’t know that that would happen.”
“My parents must’ve loved each other at one point, and I watched that love turn into misery,” Jules said. “Don’t you think there was a time when they looked at each other and saw something amazing? Before it all went to hell?”
“I don’t know, but I do know that when shit went bad, they didn’t try to work through it. They were too caught up in their own problems to fight for their marriage. I’m sorry you had such a terrible example, but not all relationships work out that way. Lots have happy endings.” Megan reached forward and pushed Jules’ hair back from her shoulder like an older sister. They were the same age, but Megan had always been more mature, more stable. The sane, sensible, logical one. She sighed heavily before she spoke. “You know you have the right to be happy, don’t you? You can’t keep holding yourself hostage to their mistakes.”
“I’m not.” Denial welled up within her, pressing against that dam she’d built up over the years to contain everything she didn’t want to feel. On some level she’d recognized the denial as an attempt at self-defense, but she’d held on to it because it was all she had. What would be left of her if she let it go? “I’m being smart. I’m learning from their mistakes so I don’t make the same ones.” But even as she spoke, the words felt hollow.
“But you’re only making different mistakes. Come on, Jules. You have feelings for him. You were happy with him, and he clearly feels the same. He wants you. Don’t lose what you could have in the present because of what happened in the past.”
Nick did want her. He wanted her with everything he had. While she’d been too afraid to even think about him, he’d been living every day with the pain she’d caused. And now he was fighting for her, for them. She swallowed around the lump in her throat, but she couldn’t hold back the tears that welled in her eyes. All she had to do was let go of her fear, stop letting her parents’ toxic marriage ruin her life, and say yes.
She sucked in a shuddering breath, fear mingling with hope. No more denial. No more lies. “I’ve never felt happier or more whole than I do when I’m with him. When we’re together I feel more like myself than I ever have.” The truth of her words washed over her as she spoke them, chasing away a bit more of her fear.
“Okay,” Megan said like she was trying to explain particle physics to a five-year-old. “After everything I’ve been through, I’ve learned that you can’t allow yourself to be so paralyzed with fear that you’re not living your life. We don’t know what tomorrow will bring. You owe it to yourself to be happy now. Today.”
“But what if it doesn’t work?” What if she and Nick grew to hate each other the way her parents had?
“I love you, Jules, I do, but come on.” Megan threw her hands in the air. “No one ever knows if it’ll work. You just try. You’re happy with him. He’s crazy about you.” Megan picked up her wine and took a sip, brandishing it at Jules as she spoke. “Harsh truth: you’ll always regret it if you don’t say yes. If you don’t at least try.”
It was as though Megan had taken a crowbar and cracked Jules’ chest open. A wave of pain rocked into her, and she felt hot tears slip down her cheeks as she blinked, trying not to drown in that pain. It was guilt over hurting Nick, and fear, and a hundred other things she couldn’t even name. She wiped at her cheeks with the tips of her fingers, but more tears fell. She forced herself to take a deep breath, and then another, and that pain filled her up, not leaving room for the denial she’d clung to like a life preserver. “I want him, Megan.” She whispered it, because maybe nothing would break if she didn’t say it too loudly.
“Then why are you still sitting here?” Megan smiled.
Jules shook her head, but she couldn’t come up with an answer. She’d been miserable this past year. The only time she’d been happy was when Nick had been in her life. When she’d been allowed to laugh with him, touch him, make him happy.
“Jules?” Megan’s amused voice broke Jules out of her stupor. “If you don’t get up off this couch in the next ten seconds, I’m gonna drag you over to Nick’s by your hair.”
She could have him right now. Tonight. His address was in her work phone. She could go to him and he’d take her back because he’d practically begged her to say yes to them. She wouldn’t have to spend another night alone and missing him, crying alone in the dark. Excitement buzzed through her veins, pulling her to her feet. “I need to see him.”
Megan stood up and wrapped her in a quick hug before turning her toward the door. She shoved Jules’ purse into her hands.
“Call me tomorrow!” Megan called as Jules hurried to the elevator.
Holy shit, she was doing it. She was going to say yes to Nick.