6
“Don’t you think?” Ashlynn Fields blinked at Nick and he flashed her a quick smile, wondering if she’d realized he’d completely zoned out. He’d been too busy thinking about the woman he wished were sitting across from him to pay attention to the woman who actually was.
“Oh, sure.” God, he was such an asshole. He’d been the one to ask her out, needing some kind of distraction, and he couldn’t even listen to what she was saying. Ashlynn was a freelance PR consultant, currently working for one of his sponsors, and he’d happened to run into her not long after he’d left Jules in her office. Honestly, he hadn’t even known he was going to ask her out until the words slipped out of his mouth, and by the time he’d realized what he was doing, she’d already said yes. So he’d tried to psych himself up, tried to convince himself that Ashlynn was exactly the distraction he needed. He forced himself to focus on her now, studying her long blond hair, her pretty green eyes, her cute smile. The way her dress displayed an impressive amount of cleavage that any man in his right mind would’ve been drooling over.
But he wasn’t drooling. He was sitting here thinking about Jules.
“Tell me about your family,” he said, shooting her another smile. He refreshed her sake and poured a little more into his own cup.
“Well, my mom . . .”
But he wasn’t listening, and that wasn’t fair to her. The truth was, sitting here with a woman who wasn’t Jules . . . it just felt wrong. He’d dated over the past year, had his share of fun, had done all kinds of things that hadn’t felt wrong until he’d laid eyes on his Jules again.
Except she wasn’t his Jules anymore.
Ashlynn paused and stared at something over his shoulder. Expecting more fans, he turned, a smile ready. As though he’d somehow conjured her, Jules stood there, and his heart kicked painfully against his ribs. The smile dropped off his face instantly, and all he could do was stare as Jules’ blue eyes held his. Her hair gleamed in the light, cascading over her shoulders in a golden sheet. She wore a simple black T-shirt, jeans, and heels. A red scarf was looped around her neck, and heat flared through him at the sight of it—it was the same one he’d used to tie her hands to his bedpost one lazy Sunday afternoon before going down on her for nearly an hour. She’d come so many times that she’d been limp and half asleep by the time he’d finished.
God, he wanted her so fucking much. She’d turned him inside out and tied him into knots, with sex, with fun, with so much damn sweetness it almost hurt. A year later, he was still untangling himself.
She started to smile, the corner of her mouth hitching up the tiniest bit, and he clamped his teeth together, the muscles in his jaw bunching as he held on to his anger, pushing away the memories. She opened her mouth to speak and he turned his back to her. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing left to say.
He could still feel her at his back, and Ashlynn quirked a perfectly groomed, all-too-knowing brow.
“Hi, Nick. Nice to see you, Nick.”
At hearing his words echoed back to him, he turned and glanced up. Jules’ eyes sparkled, a hint of mischief in their depths. A hint of the old Jules. His Jules. Something tugged right in the center of his chest, and he squashed it down. “What do you want, Julian?”
Her eyes jumped from him to his date and back again. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just wanted to come over and say hi, and maybe talk to you for a minute. I didn’t realize you were with, um . . . or, I mean on a . . . a date.” A flush rose on her cheeks, and a twisted satisfaction worked its way through him at her flustered uncertainty.
“Well, I am. I can’t talk right now.”
“Right. Sorry. Of course.” She started to back away when Ashlynn spoke.
“I don’t mind, Nick. It’s okay.”
Ashlynn was too damn nice for an asshole like him. And he hated himself for how quickly he pushed out of his chair, turned, and planted his hands on his hips, waiting for Jules to say something.
Waiting for Jules. It was what he’d been doing for the past year, wasn’t it? That realization, small as it was, made him so angry that he ground his teeth together. He’d given her everything and she hadn’t wanted it, and yet a part of him had been waiting around for her, fucking pathetic idiot that he was.
Biting her lip, Jules tipped her chin toward the back of the restaurant and then turned and began weaving her way through the tables. She led him outside and sat down on the edge of a waterfall fountain. Soft yellow lights hit the water, turning it to liquid gold. The patter of water echoed off of the fountain’s stone facade, drowning out the noise of the restaurant behind them. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t sit beside her. Instead, he stood facing her, his hands still in his pockets.
Still waiting.
She twisted her fingers together, worrying one thumbnail against the other.
“You wanted to talk?” he said, prompting her after several long seconds.
She nodded and met his eyes briefly before glancing down at her hands, still clenched together. “Apologize, really.”
His heart leapt into his throat and he waited, but she didn’t offer more than that. “For?” The tiniest seed of hope took root in his chest, and he wanted to yank at it and rip it to shreds. He wanted to turn his heart into the goddamn Sahara, so inhospitable that nothing could grow.
“The way I’ve been acting the past couple of days. I’ve been avoiding you, and it’s unprofessional. I’m sorry.”
That’s what she was sorry for? Fuck. He didn’t know what to do with that apology, because it wasn’t the one he wanted.
“All right. Great. Thanks, I guess.” He shrugged and started to turn away.
“Nick.”
He stopped and met her eyes, letting out a long, slow breath. “Yeah?”
She took a deep breath, her chest heaving. “I really am sorry.” She stood and took a step toward him. “For everything.” Her hand landed on his arm and his entire body roared to life, sparks flaring up his spine at the feel of her hand on his bicep. Her fingers flexed into him, almost imperceptibly, and their eyes locked. Everything in the world dropped away except for Jules.
Her hand on his body.
The faint scent of lavender from her skin.
Her rapid breaths, in sync with his.
Her eyes dropped to his mouth, but she pulled her hand away. A pink flush spread across her cheeks and he knew she’d felt it too, that current of electricity that passed between them anytime they touched.
“I should let you get back to your date,” she said softly, her words almost drowned out by the fountain, but something flashed in her eyes, dark and shadowed.
Jealousy.
More of that twisted satisfaction wound its way through him, and he couldn’t help but feel vindicated that she was jealous he was here with another woman. He tipped his head forward, and his lips brushed against her ear as he spoke. “It could’ve been you sitting across from me, Jules. It could’ve been us.”
She shivered and pulled back, swallowing. “I . . . I know. But it can’t be.” She brushed past him, going back inside before he could make sense of her answer.
Nick rolled, pulling the sheets with him, and threw an arm over his eyes. Light filtered through the slotted blinds covering his bedroom window, and he let out a heavy sigh as he reached for his phone to check the time. Already after seven.
He let out another sigh as he pushed his sleep-tangled hair out of his face and stared at the empty side of the bed. He could’ve brought Ashlynn home with him last night, but after his talk with Jules, he hadn’t been in the mood. No, he’d barely managed to make it back to his table, plaster a smile on his face, and finish the date. After he’d dropped her at home, he’d lain awake for over an hour trying to quiet his mind enough to fall asleep, but every time he’d closed his eyes, the conversation with Jules had replayed, and his frustration with her had only grown, because all she’d done was muddy the waters with her apology.
He didn’t want to think about Jules anymore. So he did the one thing he knew he could do without her invading his brain. He slid a hand back under the covers, into his boxers, and firmly gripped his dick. He stroked once, twice, closing his eyes and sorting through his favorite fantasies, like flipping pages in a catalog.
He stroked himself again, tightening his grip as he flicked his thumb over the underside of his shaft, imagining a pair of lips stretched around his cock, a hot, wet mouth engulfing him. His hips jerked off the bed slightly as the muscles in his ass tightened.
“Mmm, Nick. Your cock feels so good in my mouth,” the fantasy purred, and Nick’s eyes flew open for a second, because that voice had belonged to Jules.
Damn her.
He clamped his teeth together and kept going, pushing that voice aside, focusing on his made-up fantasy girl, her tongue licking up the underside of his shaft, flicking at the head.
Exactly the way Jules used to do.
“No,” he ground out, his hand still moving up and down over his cock, his balls tightening. He didn’t want her here. Didn’t want to get off thinking about her. And yet the fantasy girl had morphed completely into Jules, her beautiful mouth sliding up and down his cock. Eyeliner smudged the skin under her eyes, and he imagined his hand tangled in her soft hair, urging her to take more of him.
Completely naked, she moved closer and took him deep. Her eyes watered slightly, but he didn’t back off, his hand still twisted in her hair. A tiny spark of anger flared up his spine, and he pumped his hips harder, a part of him wanting to punish her for the way she’d ripped him to pieces.
“I’m sorry, Nick. For everything,” she whispered, taking him back into her mouth.
“I know. I know.” He panted the words out, believing them. She was sorry. He’d seen it in her eyes last night. It didn’t fix what had happened between them, but he knew she was at least telling the truth. His hand moved fast and rough over his dick now, sweat beading along his hairline. The images seared through him—his cock in her mouth, his hand in her hair, her wide blue eyes begging him to forgive her. Pressure coiled at the base of his spine, and his balls throbbed. The fantasy dimmed, fading out as release exploded over him.
For several seconds, he lay completely still, his pulse pounding in his temples, his breath coming fast and harsh.
“Fuck.” He ground out the curse as he strode into the bathroom. He turned the shower on, wanting the water hot enough to scald away what he’d just done.
Nick slammed first one fist and then the other into the heavy bag, sending it swaying on its thick metal chain. Sweat trickled down his temple, and he wiped it away before adjusting his stance and launching a hard kick at the bag. He put everything he had into it, as though if he hit the damn bag hard enough, he could shake the anger that had been digging its claws in deeper all morning.
Although he’d gotten himself off only a couple of hours ago, the physical relief had done nothing to dispel his tension; in fact, the more he thought about what he’d done, the angrier he got. He hadn’t wanted her there, hadn’t wanted to get off thinking about her.
Weak. That’s what he was if he was jacking off thinking about the woman who’d ripped his heart out. And he didn’t have room for weakness. Not if he wanted to be champion. Not if he wanted to steel himself against feeling anything for Jules. It didn’t matter that she’d apologized. It didn’t matter that he still felt . . . something.
With an angry grunt, he unleashed a combo on the bag, and the impact of his fists against leather was satisfying, but not cathartic. He huffed out a breath and doubled his efforts, working the bag like his life depended on it, crashing his fists, his elbows, his knees into it.
“Jesus,” said Gabe from behind him, and Nick turned, his chest heaving with exertion. He dropped his hands to his hips, trying to slow his racing heart. Gabe tugged at a strap on his glove with his teeth and then arched an eyebrow at Nick. “Wanna pick on someone who can fight back?”
Nick took a swig from his water bottle and nodded. “Yeah, let’s do it.” Moving through the gym, he followed Gabe to one of the smaller cages. Once they’d donned their sparring gear—gloves, cups, and shin pads—they stepped inside. Nick inhaled a lungful of warm air, the scent of sweat and leather both heavy and comforting.
Gabe eyed him warily. “So what’s your problem this morning?”
“Who says I have a problem?”
Gabe tipped his head back toward the row of heavy bags. “You just about tore a hole through the bag, for starters.”
Nick opened and closed his mouth, unsure how much he wanted to share. Not only did Jules work here—not that he thought Gabe would gossip—but it felt wrong to complain about his problems to Gabe, who’d lost so much. Who’d lost everything.
Gabe moved forward and shot his hand out, connecting with Nick’s shoulder in a hard jab. “Talk. You’re not you. It’s weird. I don’t like it.”
Nick shook his head and let out a long, slow breath. “There’s a woman.”
Gabe let out a small chuckle. “I figured that much.”
Nick stared unfocused at the black chain link separating them from the rest of the gym, trying to get his head together. Gabe shot his right hand out in a jab, connecting with Nick’s jaw. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to get his attention.
“If she’s got you like this, maybe you need to go fuck someone else.”
Something about that idea made Nick angry, feeding the fire burning low in his gut, and he kicked at Gabe, who blocked him. They traded a flurry of punches, and Nick had to admit that hitting another person was much more cathartic than hitting a bag. He felt some of his tension ebb away, but once it left, he could feel that gaping hole in his chest, as fresh and raw as the day she’d left.
Nick ducked and threw his arms around Gabe’s hips, trying to wrestle him down to the mat. But Gabe sprawled his legs, stuffing the attempt, and shoved Nick back.
“I don’t want to fuck someone else,” said Nick, his hands on his hips as he caught his breath.
“Then maybe you should go fuck her,” said Gabe, as though it were the simplest thing in the world.
Nick glanced around but no one was paying attention to them, and he knew that even if they were, they wouldn’t be able to hear them over the hip-hop music playing through the gym’s speakers. “It’s Jules. Darcy.”
Gabe’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t say anything.
“She was the woman. From Chicago. The one who . . .” Nick gestured helplessly. “Left.”
“Fuck.” Gabe shook his head, not offering anything more.
About a month after Jules had left him, Gabe had come back to town, visiting a few people and appearing on some local media outlets, promoting the WFC. They’d gone out for drinks, and Nick had told him about the breakup. Not the nitty-gritty details, but enough. Now Gabe had the whole picture.
Nick held his hands out at his sides. “She walked out on me, and now she’s here, and we’ve gotta work together on all the publicity shit I’m supposed to do.” He paused, replaying the scene at the restaurant over again. The pain, the pleading in her eyes. “She apologized for what happened.”
“But you’re still pissed.”
“Yeah. I am. I can’t decide if I still want to be, though, you know? I don’t know.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I just don’t fucking know.”
Gabe nodded and punched him in the stomach. They traded a few more punches and fell wordlessly back into sparring.
“Guess it’s up to you if you want to forgive her,” said Gabe, his face flushed as they continued to circle each other.
“I don’t think I can.” It hurt to say the words out loud, but at least they were honest. Hot, sharp emotions sliced through him, one after the other in rapid succession. Anger and disappointment. The desire to make her jealous, make her hurt, make her want him the way he still wanted her. To punish her and forgive her and ignore her and go to her and tell her he still cared.
He landed a hard kick on Gabe’s side, wanting more catharsis.
“Easy, man. Shit,” said Gabe, taking a step back and picking up his water bottle. He took a long swallow and then pointed it at Nick. “You’ve got two choices. You either forgive her or you don’t, and you make peace with your choice. I’m not telling you which one is the right one. I don’t know. But you can’t let this keep eating at you and messing with your fucking head. You’re gonna hurt yourself or someone else in the process, so get your shit together, Giannakis.” Without a backward glance, he opened the octagon’s door and bounded down the steps, leaving Nick sweaty and alone in the cage.
Gabe was right. Jules had him twisted inside out, and fuck if he knew what to do about it. What he did know was that he couldn’t keep going this way, feeling as though he was about to snap, worn thin by the tug-of-war of all the contradictions he lived with—he shouldn’t want Jules, but he did. He should hate her, but he didn’t.
He should keep his distance, at least until he figured his shit out, but he had a feeling that was a losing battle.
And fuck, maybe he wanted to lose.