Chapter 16

Trainer

 

I try not to stare at her.

Not really managing it.

Adjusting my cock, I steal another glance. She's back to dunking a salty fry in her shake.

We're at a diner because Krista says it's her favorite. Since she doesn't seem to ever lie, I took her at her word.

“You not gonna pretend to be on a diet and have a salad or somethinʼ?”

All girls are on diets. The sweet butts are always trading secrets about how to stay skinny.

“Hate green food.”

No salad, I guess.

Krista laughs, dragging a soggy fry out of the shake, then slides it in a mouth that was on my dick an hour ago.

I try to shake the image but can't.

Can't hide my huge boner that well underneath the cheap cafe table, either.

“I'm not into exercise, really,” Krista says.

Can't hold back my smile.

Krista's face turns red, and I know she's thinking about what we just did.

What we've been doing for a solid day.

She puts down the shake, and flipping both hands over, palms facing the ceiling, she leans forward and slides her hands toward me. My big hands engulf hers.

I lean forward too, until our faces are an inch apart.

“I love the exercise we do together,” she admits in a hushed voice.

Me too. But I'm not sure I should say shit like that. Saying how I feel got me beat. Yelled at.

Told I was dumb.

The shit I been through hardened my feelings; the memories tough to shake.

Krista's hand leaves my hold, and she cups my jaw. The tight spot deep inside my chest starts to burn.

“You can say what you want to me, Trainer.”

I want to say so much more than Krista knows. Probably things she doesn't wanna hear.

Bad shit.

Like some of the bad shit I already told her.

Haven't told her about Arnie yet.

I take a deep breath. “I like you a lot,” I say on the exhale, and realize how bad that sounds.

But Krista's smile is worth it.

“Thank you.”

Thank you for liking me, her face says.

How could I not? She's this hot girl who treats me like I'm the only person in the world who matters. Krista doesn't just fuck me. She loves me when we're together.

And. I might love her. A little.

Nothing is more dangerous than that feeling I'm starting to get for Krista Glass. Makes me want to run.

Makes me want to never let go.

 

*

 

Our hands are laced together as we stand in the movie theater line.

Don't have to read good to watch a movie.

I open my mouth and catch a piece of popcorn Krista tosses at me.

I crunch it, asking through a buttery mouthful, “Do you always eat like this?” I'm impressed by a girl that can keep up with my large eating habits.

“Only when I'm happy,” she says.

Our gazes lock, and I jerk her against me, squishing the popcorn bag. Kernels ooze out the top and scatter to the ground like buttered snow.

My chest swells. The burning there begins to melt my guts. I know what the feeling is. Not had it much, but I recognize it.

Happy.

This girl I'm starting to trust is the reason.

But the feeling might not stay. And I can't say how I feel. Words don't come easy.

“I know.” Krista rises on her tiptoes, pressing her fingers between our lips.

She kisses her own fingers, and I swear I feel the heat of it through our flesh, lips tingling.

Krista rocks back on her heels, grinning up at me. “I see you.” Her hand goes to her heart, and that's when I realize that my muddled words aren't necessary.

Krista Glass doesn't need them.

She gets me.

 

*

Krista

 

This is so wrong.

Then why does it feel so right?

My eyes follow Trainer until he's a black rumbling dot disappearing out of sight.

Hugging myself, I let myself in my condo then slide the dead bolt behind me. He followed me after I picked up my Fiat from Starbucks all the way home.

Now he's gone, and I feel empty.

Silence greets me from the barely lit space. I didn’t turn on the heat, but because June's been so cold, that wasn't the smartest move. With a small shiver, I twist the thermostat knob, kicking it to seventy-two. Grabbing a hoodie off one of the five hooks hanging on the wall, I toss it on.

Without Trainer’s heat to warm me, I feel cool. Cold.

My body remembers Trainer—and his touch.

Heat suffuses my body as tactile memory sinks in for the long term.

I told Trainer I had to get home because I have class the next day. I can't go back to casual with Trainer—we're so much more than that now. But I need to teach him too.

I head to the kitchen in my tiny condo and set the kettle on to boil. I grab a Good Earth teabag from the tin and get a teacup from the cabinet, setting it on the countertop by the stainless sink.

The water won't boil faster if I watch it, so I turn my back on my kitchen and make my way to my dinky bedroom.

When I open the door, a big guy is sitting on my bed.

That alone should have made me pee my pants, but this man? My second-long perusal says he's as big as Trainer, but he wears menace like the leather vest he's got on.

Whirling, I sprint through the house on the way to my front door.

The teapot whistles a shrill tone, splitting the air, and at that precise moment, my feet lose contact with the ground.

He's got me.

I swing my head back, giving myself a teeth-shattering jolt as the back of my skull makes contact with his forehead.

“Fuck!” a bellow comes from behind me.

He drops me.

I spin.

Then I'm against the door by my throat, and pale-gray eyes are fixed on me like twin slits of iced smoke.

“So you're Teacher?”

What? I try for words, but my throat's pretty much not working because this crazy man is holding me up by it.

“Ya gonna try to head butt me again, scream, or ball kick?”

Actually, I was kind of contemplating all three.

He clearly sees the direction my wheels are spinning.

“Don't like hurtinʼ women, but I'll sure as fuck subdue ya. I'm hell on wheels at that.”

I believe him and give him a jerky nod, and he slides me down the door.

Pressing my palms against the wood panels, I say, “Who are you?”

It doesn’t come out intelligibly because my throat's still messed up. I clear it then repeat my question.

“My brother, Trainer? He's got the hots for you.”

I'm super confused now. “So you hide in my bedroom and strangle me?”

Crossing my arms, I glare at the man I thought was an attacker. “You make zero sense. I guess you won't kill me, but I need to understand why you broke into my house to wait in my bedroom.” My fingers go to my throat, and I try to quell the racing of my heart.

“Yeah…” He rakes his dark-blond hair into a ponytail and ties it off at his nape. Out come some cigarettes, and he makes like he's going to smoke.

“You are not smoking in my house!” I yell. “Who the hell are you? Forget it—get out!” I point at the door as my fingers circle the knob.

“Nope. Got shit to discuss.” He stabs an unlit cigarette at me. “And you're gonna listen.”

“Really?” I spit out, raising my eyebrows. Unbelievable.

“Can you shut that fucking thing up?”

Tossing him a second glare, I move quickly to the stovetop and take the screaming kettle off the burner.

I turn, and he's striding to my small sliding glass door. He unlocks it, yanks it open, then steps onto the Juliette balcony. Just like the name implies, it's a one-butt accommodation, little more than a perch.

This dude doesn't mind. Leaning up against the rail, he lights the cigarette, shooting out three successive rings so quickly, they collide.

“Huh,” I say.

“Better?” he asks, waving the cigarette around. 

“Yes. I don't want my house polluted with that garbage.”

He snorts, taking another drag, and smoke streams out in a clean line with his next exhale, muddying the air between us to an opaque wall.

“So Trainer is my brother.”

I frown. I hadn't gotten the sense Trainer had family, except for the “mama” he referenced a few times.

“We're club. Motorcycle club.”

I'm not a big TV watcher, but everyone's heard about Sons of Anarchy.

Of course I'd seen Trainer's bike and the vest with the colorful patches, but I hadn't put the pieces of this particular puzzle together. Probably too deep in lust.

“Okay.” I touch my slightly sore throat then fold my arms again. “So tell me why you're hiding in my house and strangling me.”

He winces. “Had to calm your shit down so we could talk.”

“Could you have knocked on the door maybe?”

He shakes his head, eyebrows hiked. “Don't figure you'd let me in, would ya?”

Silence. Absolutely not.

He nods as if my silence was just what he expected. “My name's Noose.”

“You know who I am, I suppose.”

He nods, tapping his temple. “Know a fuckton now.”

Great.

“How do you feel about Trainer?”

I've been trying like hell not to examine my feelings about him because I know if I get too introspective, I'm going to come up with something really uncomfortable about myself.

Meeting him was like one of those rehearsed, love-at-first-sight things that I’ve heard about and never believed. And I sure didn’t believe it could ever happen to me. I didn't love Trainer on first sight.

Not first.

But probably second.

“I've known him a week,” I answer cautiously. Do I really owe this guy anything? He breaks into my house, chokes me, and what—expects me to just spill my guts?

My eyes roam his vest, finding it to be nearly identical to Trainer's. I’ve got a feeling they're not handing those out at the local department store.

Noose puts the cigarette out on the thick tread of his boot and carefully sets it on the wide metal top piece of the balcony rail.

“That's not what I asked ya. I know how long you guys have known each other.”

He begins to stalk toward me, and I do what any reasonable person does.

I back the hell up until my ass hits the door.

Noose stops about two feet from my position and looks me over from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.

I blush under that unyielding scrutiny.

“Like what you see?” I snap.

He shakes his head. “Got an old lady. Don't need other tail.”

I blink. Do people actually talk like this?

“Trying to figure out what Trainer sees in you.”

Well, that's fucking flattering. Stick a fork in me, I'm done. “Get out.” There's brusque, then there's just plain rude.

Noose puts a palm on the door.

Right beside my head.

“Nope, I told you who I am. Now you're gonna listen.”

He turns away from me, and I fight the urge to kick him in the ass and run like hell.

As though he has an uncanny sixth sense, Noose turns, fixing eyes like flint on me.

“Trainer isn't like the other brothers. He's unique. Can't read. Guess that's why he's going to you.”

I'm not allowed to discuss my students, so I say nothing.

“He's not a dumb dude.”

We stare at each other. “I know that,” I snap.

“Good,” he replies in an abrupt word. “ʼCause I don't need some bitch tearing his beating heart outta his chest and grinding her stiletto in it.”

Appalled, I let my mouth pop open.

Noose chuckles. “You should really learn to control your face. Read ya like a book.”

Spluttering, I say, “I've got nothing to hide.”

“I know—looked into ya.”

My mouth remains open. “What?” I yell.

He winces, putting a finger in his ear. “Shit, settle.”

“No.” My hands shake. “I'm not a bitch, and I don't play people, you—you jerk!”

Noose looks amused instead of insulted.

“I don't know what's going to happen with me and Trainer, but you can't warn, scare me, or whatever other plan you had.”

Noose nods. “Good. Because your lily-white background might not work with Trainer. You know he's doing this reading gig to get gussied up to look dandy if this court thing goes through for the attitude adjustment he gave those assholes last year?”

After a second-long pause, I say, “Yes. Trainer mentioned that.”

Noose perches his denim-encased butt on the back of my floral couch and rests his palms on his thighs. “I'm asking you to do your job and not crush his heart. He's been through some shit.”

I'm not betraying Trainer's confidence by acknowledging information he told me during our more intimate moments together. However, advertising what I know would be a betrayal. So I say, “A lot of my students come from less-than-ideal circumstances.” There, that's broad.

Noose nods then waits.

I let the silence go on without volunteering anything.

Finally, after a full minute of scrutiny, he says, “Good. Now about this lawyer boyfriend ya got.”

I shake my head. “No. We're through.” My face gets hot, and I put my hands against my cheeks. “I broke it off with him.” This is beyond awkward.

“Ah-huh. Don't like the guy.”

I jerk my chin back, remembering Trainer saying the same thing. “I don't see what Allen has to do with Trainer.”

“He out of the picture, like a clean break?”

“Yes, he took our break-up really well.” My brows knot. “Wait a second—why am I explaining this to you?”

Noose grins, oozing a crude sort of charm from every pore. “Just that kinda guy, I guess. Father confessor.”

I roll my eyes.

“Can't find anything on him. He's like a void in society.” Noose tears fingers through his hair, messes it up, and reties it. “Had my ear to the ground, and Allen Fitzgerald should have left more of a trail.” Noose shrugs. “I guess it's no big if you cut the guy's nuts off.”

I snort. “There was no surgery. It was a coffee and a ‘let's just be friendsʼ conversation. If you must know.” My eyebrow arches.

Noose nods, cupping his chin. “I must.” He gives an infuriating smirk. “So you teach Trainer. You fuck Trainer. You don't hurt Trainer.” His voice drops dangerously low. “And you definitely don't get back with that fancy mouthpiece, Allen Fitzgerald.”

Our gazes hold.

“You don't fool me, Noose,” I finally say.

“Not trying to.”

“You're smart and manipulative.”

He shrugs. “Yeah.”

“Doesn't that bother you?”

Noose doesn't even pretend to give it thought. “Which part?” He laughs, then his face grows serious, eyes like sleet. “No. Do anything for a brother. But Trainer's special.”

Standing, he heads for the door.

Now it's me pursuing the guy who broke into my condo. “Why?”

Noose turns, hand on the doorknob. “Because I know what he's been through. And I know he's got nobody but us.”

“That's not true,” I say. “He's got me.”

Noose nods, eyes hooded as they search my face. “Figured.” He opens the door and steps into the hallway. “And that scares the shit outta me.”

Not exactly a vote of confidence.

Noose checks out my door and lifts his upper lip in disdain. “Get some fucking real locks. These blow. You're a sitting duck in here.”

His boots thunder down the stairs, leaving me alone. With my thoughts.