Chapter Seven
175 days left
Two a.m. and no sleep in sight. Sophie rolled onto her back in the huge bed and stared at the ceiling fan spinning around in a blur of blades. It still felt strange to be here and not her cozy studio, but she couldn’t go back there even if she wanted to. Kristin had come up with the idea of renting out the space on a six-month lease. It would look good to the courts and bring in a little extra money in the meantime. So now she had a squatter (tenant) preventing her from finding any solace in her own home.
She’d been living with Xander for the last week, but it hadn’t been all sunshine and fucking roses. The man was PMSing or something, because he was crabby and distant. She’d been as nice and helpful as possible—she hadn’t forgotten that he was the one put out by this entire situation—but if this was how the entire six months were going to be, she wasn’t sure she could hack it without bitch slapping him.
With a heavy sigh, she tossed back the sheet and got out of bed. Maybe Grams’s trick of warm milk would help her get at least the last two hours of sleep in. Though the remedy was more psychological than real, Sophie was willing to try anything at this point.
As she shuffled barefoot out of the bedroom, she rubbed her eyes, then immediately regretted it. They felt like the Sandman had dumped his stash under her lids and now she had a set of scratched corneas. Fucking ow. She continued down the hall, blinking and squinting her way into the main living space, then tiptoeing over to the kitchen so she wouldn’t wake Xander on the sleeper sofa.
Getting a glass of milk was easy enough, but if she wanted it warmed, she’d have to use the microwave with all its beeps every time you pressed a key. Seriously, what was the point of that anyway? So you knew you’d pressed the button? What was wrong with a silent pulse like smart phones and other smart things? Maybe the beeps wouldn’t be loud enough to really be heard all the way across the room. Only one way to find out.
A minute and a half later, she’d successfully heated her milk without a problem. She carefully extracted the mug and closed the door to the microwave a little louder than intended. Wincing, she held still and waited…and waited…and breathed a sigh of relief.
“You know that doesn’t really work, right?”
“Jesus Christ!” Sophie’s entire body jerked, including her arms, making the milk slosh all down the front of her T-shirt. “Shit. I thought you were sleeping. And I know it doesn’t really work, but the childhood comfort it reminds me of does. Sorry I woke you.”
That had come out more annoyed sounding than she’d meant, but a shirt soaked in very warm milk was bound to have that effect on her.
“You didn’t,” he said matter-of-factly.
“You’re having as much luck as I am at finding sleep, huh? Maybe it was something we ate.”
“Since I cooked dinner, I highly doubt it.”
Mmmm, dinner. Just thinking about it made her mouth water. She might rule in the game of desserts, but the man was definitely king of his kitchen. She’d learned that eating healthy meant learning how to make nutritious food taste good, and he was damn good at it.
“I know; it was a joke.” When he didn’t respond, she mumbled to herself, “Apparently not a very good one.”
Sophie set the now mostly empty mug on the counter and peered across the room. There wasn’t much ambient light in the apartment, but her eyes had adjusted to the dark so she could make out his prone form on the sleeper with his hands behind his pillow. He wasn’t even looking at her, like he couldn’t be bothered to turn his head, and that stung.
She shook her head. Whatever. If he didn’t want to talk, they wouldn’t talk. She had no problems working with the silent treatment. It’d be a hundred times better than dealing with a pissy Brit.
The warmth of the milk on her shirt had cooled in the air-conditioned room so now her nipples were standing at full attention beneath the clinging material. Using only her thumbs and forefingers, she gingerly pulled the sopping cotton away from her body, though it didn’t do any good. As soon as she let go, the pocket of air she’d created only lasted a couple of seconds before the shirt suctioned to her breasts again.
Fucking fabulous. She grabbed the roll of paper towels, knelt, and started wiping up the milk on the floor. It was a good thing Xander didn’t feel the need to acknowledge her presence with eye contact, after all. The last thing she needed was—
“Here.”
This time she managed to keep her startle to a gasp and racing heartbeat. Standing up, she said, “Damn it, Xander, you keep scaring the shhhh…” Her words died off when her eyes landed on his naked torso a mere foot away. She’d only ever seen him without a shirt from her spot at her window across the street. She’d thought she had a damn good idea of what he looked like in this half-naked state, but holy hell had she been wrong. So very, very wrong.
Xander James was a delicious manifestation of shapes. She didn’t remember what the muscles were called that swelled between the sides of his neck and his round shoulders, but he had them. Pecs resembled three-sided squares tipped with small circular nipples that made her mouth water, and he had a six-pack that was so defined, it reminded her of the top of a Lego block. His entire upper body looked like an upside-down triangle, emphasized by the prominent V-cut of his obliques that disappeared beneath his gray boxer briefs and led to what she could only imagine to be a damn fine tip of said triangle.
A tip that seemed to be getting bigger by the second.
“For fuck’s sake, Sophie, take the blasted shirt already.”
She blinked and registered what he’d been trying to offer her while she drooled over him like a dog staring at a rare steak just out of reach. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him she didn’t need his shirt that he’d just stripped off his body, but the look he pinned her with had her resigning and accepting the worn gray T-shirt.
“Thank you,” she said.
He grunted his response and returned to his bed, turning on his side and facing away from her to give her privacy. After she peeled the disgusting wet shirt over her head, being careful not to let the wet areas touch her hair, she dropped it into the sink. Quickly, Sophie wet a clean dish towel and rubbed it down her front where the milk had soaked through, then pulled on Xander’s shirt.
Oh my God. Had she been the delicate sort of girl that swooned, she’d be picking herself up from the floor.
The soft cotton still held the warmth from his body and comforted her like a favorite blanket right out of the dryer. Discreetly, she turned her head to the side and lifted the ribbed collar to her nose. She’d never been aroused by a mere scent before, and she’d be embarrassed if he knew how affected she was from using his shirt like scratch-n-sniff nose candy.
Sophie made sure everything was cleaned up then grabbed her milk-tastic shirt and the hand towel. “I guess I’ll be going, then,” she said as she made her way toward the back of the apartment and the bedroom. “Night.”
“Put that stuff directly into the washer on your way instead of the linen basket.” She’d already planned on it, but she didn’t bother saying so. But then she heard him grumble, “Not that you use the bloody linen basket to begin with.”
That stopped her in her tracks. Take a deep breath, Soph. He’s not sleeping well, you’re intruding, and he’s a tad crabby. Just let it go. Doing her best to heed her own advice, she took a cleansing breath and continued to the closet in the hall where the stacked washer and dryer were stowed. Though she’d started well enough, she found herself slamming the door to the front-loading washer a tad harder than necessary.
Screw this. I’m not tiptoeing around his cranky ass for six long months. And with that, she spun around and stalked back the way she came until she stood next to his makeshift bed, arms crossed.
“Have I done something to offend you, James?” she asked. “Because ever since the night I moved in, you’ve been like a bear with a thorn in his paw.”
He huffed. “No, I haven’t.”
“Uh, yeah, you have.” What were they, five? “So what gives?”
“Nothing gives, Sophie. I’m just… Because you’re…” The frustration she heard in his voice made the muscles in his jaw jump as he struggled to find the right words. Or maybe he had them but didn’t want to say them. Finally, he pushed himself up to rest against the back of the couch, then he, too, folded his arms over his chest. Dollars to donuts, he looked a hell of a lot sexier doing it than she did. “Maybe I’m having a hard time living with someone who doesn’t tidy up after herself, did you ever think of that?”
“Maybe? Are you asking me if that’s your problem? If that’s the case, then I’m going with ‘no.’ Final answer.”
“Why would you say no?”
Sophie used her best duh tone. “Because I’m not a messy person.”
“Really? I’ve only asked you a dozen times to stop leaving your wet towels lying about the flat. What’s so hard about hanging them on the rack or putting them in the laundry?”
Sophie winced. Okay, so maybe she had a bad habit of forgetting about taking care of her towel after her morning showers. But to be fair, it was four thirty in the morning when she typically finished towel drying her body and hair, and her mind was already thinking about her outfit options and her ever-growing to-do list at the bakery. And she could be wrong, but if memory served, he’d only asked her twice. Three times, tops.
“I’m sorry. I promise I’ll try harder to remember not to drop my towel wherever I happen to be standing at the time. But I hardly think that’s an issue worth getting this worked up over.”
“No,” he said. “It isn’t. But then there’s the fact that you forget about your clothes in the dryer so I have to take them out to put my load in. And you leave your makeup and hair stuff all over the counters instead of putting it in the drawers and cabinets I cleared out for you. And let’s not forget you constantly reminding me to close the curtains as soon as the sun sets every night. I know about the goddamn curtains!”
Damn it, why did he have to be so hot when he was all worked up like this? Xander was nothing if not brimming with passion in everything he did. It made it hard not to imagine how he’d be in bed with all that fire inside him. But that was a thought for a later time. Much later.
Or never, because you’re not going there with him, remember?
Oh right. Stupid starved libido.
Raising her eyebrows in challenge, she asked, “That all? You sure there’s not something else?”
He lowered his voice to normal decibels again and answered with a nasty tone. “You don’t load the dishwasher properly.”
Sophie’s jaw dropped. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
He shrugged indifferently. “Nope.”
Fine. He wanted to do tit for tat? No problem. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe the way you do things is abnormal? I don’t know if it’s your super-proper British upbringing or what, but I’ll let you in on a little tip. Dudes typically don’t ‘hoover’ every third day—hell, they probably don’t do it more than every third month—or spread their magazines on their coffee table like a doctor’s office waiting room. And who in the hell puts the cap on the toothpaste? Maybe you should try to lighten up instead of walking around like someone pissed in your cornflakes.”
His brows drew together.
She scoffed. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is that another American reference you don’t get? I’ll translate for you because I’ve been brushing up on my British vernacular and slang. You’d say you’ve been walking around like someone took a jimmy in your porridge.”
“Cute, Soph, real cute, and right mature of you.” Xander threw back his covers and got out of bed. Brushing past her, he stalked to the refrigerator and took out a beer.
“What are you doing?” She crossed to the breakfast bar and watched as he twisted off the cap, tilted the bottle to his lips, and drank until he’d drained the entire thing. “You said you don’t drink while training for a fight. Isn’t it only two months away?”
Xander tossed the bottle into the recycler before bracing his hands on the edge of the breakfast bar to stare her down. All that sculpted muscle and angry intensity aimed at her from across the counter sent a shiver down her spine. His gaze raked over her body—the baggy shirt hid her curves underneath but it felt like he had X-ray vision with the way he looked at her—before locking eyes with her again. “I seem to be doing a lot of things out of character for me lately. What’s one more?”
Sophie reared back, her ire mounting. “Are you saying you’re pissy because you can’t sleep with me?”
“What?” he protested a tad too quickly. “Where the hell did that come from?”
“Oh come on. You’re used to screwing around with women whenever the mood strikes you, but now I’m cramping your style. I told you to do whatever you want, you just can’t bring them home anymore.”
Rounding the breakfast bar, he advanced on her until he had her pinned between his arms as he gripped the edge of the counter. He narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice in warning. “You seriously think that I can’t keep it in my pants for a fuckin’ week without getting pissy about it?”
She shrugged, her bravado quickly fading with his nearness and the way he utterly surrounded her. “Men need sex,” she said. “Don’t pretend that you haven’t been thinking about it.”
“I’m not pretending anything. I’ve been thinking about sex every day from the time I was a lad, just like every other male on the planet. That doesn’t mean I need to be having it just as often.”
Scoffing, she muttered, “Heard that one before.” The residual hurt still sticking to her heart after all this time flared to life when she thought about Jared’s betrayal, and she hated herself for it.
“What was that?”
Dropping her head, she focused on their bare feet. “Nothing.”
Damn it. Masking her pain was normally easy. Her rockabilly style had more purpose than just embracing her inner rocker pinup girl; it was also her armor. The makeup, tattoos, piercings, modern takes on vintage clothes, and her precious heels…all of it allowed her to portray what she wanted the world to see: strength, independence, and all-around feminine badassery.
But right now—wearing next to nothing, her face clean of cosmetics, and her hair thrown up in a messy bun—Sophie felt naked and uncharacteristically vulnerable. It was rare anyone saw her like this, and there was a damn good reason for that.
Using a finger under her chin, Xander tipped her face up to his. His eyes softened as he searched for her secrets. His voice was quiet but commanding. “Tell me what you said, love.”
“I said I’ve heard that before—a guy claiming he’s not led around by his dick—but the truth is, once the blood rushes south, there’s not enough left to operate your brain.”
“What was his name?”
Sophie wanted to deny she knew what he was talking about, to deny there’d been anyone who had the power to leave the kind of jagged scar marking her heart. But the intensity of his gaze at once demanded honesty and asked for her confidence. “Jared,” she said simply.
“And what did this Jared do to you?”
“Long story short: I loved him, we got engaged, I got him into my uncle’s company where he moved up quickly, and he showed his appreciation by banging his secretary.” Tears blurred her vision, but she forbade them to fall and raised her chin in defiance for good measure. “I forgave him his moment of weakness, as he called it. A month later, I found him with my uncle’s secretary. And after that, the bagel girl.”
Xander swore as every muscle in his torso contracted.
“But I’m a big proponent of the three-strikes-you’re-out rule, so I kicked him to the curb after that last one. Plus, that last one was just insulting. I mean, the bagel girl?” she added drily, trying to inject a flippant tone that fell flat. “Since when are bagels better than gourmet cake truffles, am I right?”
“Soph…”
Shit, she couldn’t handle the pity in his gaze. She should have gone back to bed and stayed there. “Don’t,” she bit out. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not some poor, helpless female who needs you or anyone else to comfort me, or even worse, feel sorry for me. I’m not the first girl who’s broken off her engagement to a cheating bastard, and I certainly won’t be the last. Not as long as men have dummy-sticks hanging between their legs.”
He arched a brow at that, no doubt amused at her unflattering description of his junk, but she wasn’t in the mood for amusement or this conversation. At least her anger had rid her of the stupid tears previously threatening to spill over. Taking advantage of the distraction, she broke his hold on the counter and started toward the bedroom.
“Sophie, wait.” A strong hand encircled her wrist and pulled her back until she was right back where she’d started, between his strong arms. “I get that he hurt you, love, but you can’t classify all men as cheaters because of one asshole.”
A mirthless chuckle bubbled up. “Oh, he wasn’t the only man who’s ever cheated on me. Just the last one, and admittedly, the one that had the most impact. But it doesn’t matter because I don’t need a man to validate my existence.”
Xander leaned in so gradually she didn’t realize he was even moving until she had to raise her face to keep eye contact. His warm skin and virile scent seeped into her skin and heated her from the inside as he brought one hand up to cup her cheek. “O’course you don’t. You’re beautiful and strong, a force to be reckoned with, that’s for damn sure. Any man who doesn’t see that isn’t worth the air he breathes.”
Sophie didn’t know what to say to that. She’d heard similar things from Grams when she was cognizant and from her friends, but never from a guy. Swallowing thickly, she stayed quiet.
“Not all men are like the ones you’ve been with, Sophie,” he said quietly. “There are plenty who are capable of being faithful—happy to be, even.”
“Are you saying that you—Mr. Playboy Fighter Guy—are one of those men?” she asked, her tone saturated in skepticism.
“I haven’t been in a relationship for many years, nor have I desired to be in one. But for the right woman…” Xander’s gaze fell to her lips as his thumb slid from her cheek to the corner of her mouth with a barely there caress. “I’d give up all others for her in a heartbeat.”
Tingles radiated out from where he touched her and pooled in her belly. The tip of his tongue moistened his lips, drawing her in until their breaths, growing more shallow every second, mingled in the scant inches between them. She couldn’t remember ever wanting to kiss a man as much as she did right then. She burned with it, needing the feel of his lips on hers to extinguish the ache building in her chest.
“Xander,” she whispered so softly that she couldn’t be sure she’d even said it aloud.
“Sophie,” he whispered in kind as he lowered his mouth.
Laughter and drunken shouts from the apartment hall slashed through the perfect moment, snapping her back to reality. The one where she almost kissed her fake husband because he’d pulled a few smooth lines and was hotter than the sins Vegas was known for. The one where her fake husband had been surly all week because she’d invaded his home, his routine. His life. She needed to put a stop to, well, everything. The marriage rouse, the living arrangement…the kissing. Definitely the kissing.
But before she had the chance to react or say a word, Xander took a large step back and cleared his throat. “You should get to bed. Your day starts before long.”
“Yeah, okay,” she started, but there was so much more to say before she could do that.
Xander’s biggest fault was his big heart and obvious hero complex. If he had the means to help someone—even someone he didn’t know all that well—he didn’t think twice about it. He was a good man, and she’d taken advantage of his overwhelming generosity out of desperation.
The truth of the matter was, it didn’t matter how desperate she’d been or still was to save the Sweet Spot. Xander shouldn’t have to deal with rearranging his life for someone he barely knew. He didn’t deserve any of this. He needed to focus on his training and upcoming fight. His career depended on it, and she was making it difficult for him to do what was needed. Hell, it’d only been a week and he had already turned into a grouchy insomniac guzzling beers in the middle of the night. And it was all her fault.
A violent storm of emotions raged in her chest—guilt, sadness, frustration, anger, hopelessness—all of it making her throat tight and the unwanted tears she’d managed to hold back rose up to sting the backs of her eyes again. Sophie peered down at her clasped hands in front of her to hide her reaction. It took several tries before she got the words out, and once she did, there was no taking them back.
“Xander, I… I’m really sorry.” She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head in self disgust. “I can’t believe I let this go so far. I never should have involved you in my problems. You don’t deserve any of this, but I ignored my common sense in favor of my selfish needs to show the court a legitimate marriage. There’s no excuse for taking advantage of you like this.”
Xander scrubbed his hands over his face a few times before pushing them back through his hair, making it stick up in wild tufts. “Soph, you didn’t take advantage of me for Christ’s sake. I was the one barging into your office and suggesting we get married. Or have you forgotten all of that?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She felt the tears slip down her cheeks and she hated them. Hated that she couldn’t seem to give this apology and admission in stoic strength like Grams would have done. “We can’t go through with this. Tomorrow I’m going to contact the courts and admit everything. I’ll have the marriage annulled and start moving my things out.”
“Like hell you are.”
“Xander—”
“No, Sophie, it’s your turn to listen. I started this whole thing, and contrary to the way I’ve acted, I don’t regret doing it.”
“No offense, but if the last week has been you not regretting our arrangement, then I really don’t want to see how you are in a few months when we start getting on each other’s nerves like normal roommates.”
He plowed a hand through his hair and gave it a firm tug before releasing it. “I know I’ve been acting like a jackass all week, but it has nothing to do with regretting marrying you or moving you into my flat. It’s…” Expelling a long breath, he continued. “It’s been a long while since I’ve had a roommate and I reacted poorly to the adjustment. That’s all it is, I swear. You did nothing to provoke my bad behavior. I was completely out of line, and I’m truly sorry. Can you forgive me?”
A strange mix of empathy for the adjustment and disbelief that was the real problem—at least that it was the only problem—filled Sophie. “Of course I can, but I still think I should put a stop to all this,” she argued. “It’s not fair to you.”
“Fuck that,” he said. “What’s not fair is your uncle yanking that house out from under you for his own selfish gain. I refuse to let him or anyone else take advantage of your situation and destroy the dream you built with your grandmother. I’m in this for the long haul, Soph, so you can stop talking about doing the ‘honorable’ thing and letting me off the hook. Yeah?”
She gave him a watery smile and small nod. “Okay, yeah.”
“Good. Now run on off to bed before I toss you over my shoulder and carry you there myself.”
Happy their flirty banter was back, she gave him a devilish smile and poured the sugar on thick. “Go right ahead. But I guarantee you wouldn’t like where my kicking feet line up on your body.”
Xander laughed. “Fair enough.”
She held her breath as he briefly pressed his lips to her forehead.
“Get some sleep, wife. I’ll see you later.”
…
“Reid says you’re in the best shape of your life. That’s what I like to hear, Xan. Keep that up and your chances of getting back to the big time are that much better. I’m working on some of the smaller sponsors for your upcoming semi-pro fight, but they won’t be enough if we get you a UFC bout.”
Xander leaned back in his office chair and twirled his stopwatch around his fingers one way, then back the other. He was agitated, but since he couldn’t very well work the bag while talking to his manager, the stopwatch would have to do. “Do you think they’ll come around if I win this next fight?”
Andy Farmers blew out an audible breath. “It’s hard to say, man. I know how fucking awesome you are, but they’re not there in the gym with you, watching you bust your ass every day, looking better than ever. On paper, you’re just an older fighter who’s returning from an injury that could end your career before it even gets off the ground. It’s a risk putting money behind you until you’ve got a few professional wins behind you.”
Xander pinched the bridge of his nose and held back the sigh that would alert Andy that he was anything other than confident and ready to conquer the world. “Okay, mate, thanks for the call. Keep me posted.”
“Will do. And don’t worry; guys pull out of fights all the time. Stay in fighting shape, and you can fill that spot at a moment’s notice. But Xan,” Andy said, injecting a warning tone. “You’ve only got one shot at this. If you’re not ready when an opportunity comes up, they won’t be calling a second time. Too many young, hungry guys out there. You stay focused and train your ass off like you’ve been doing, and we’ll get you there.”
After they hung up, he left the quiet of his office and returned to the lifting area to finish up his workout. The guys had a playlist of heavy metal and screamo blaring through the speakers, complemented by the clanging of weights echoing in the cavernous gym. As he laid back on the bench press and started his set, his agent’s parting words echoed through his head.
You stay focused and train your ass off like you’ve been doing, and we’ll get you there.
Was that what he’d been doing? He wasn’t so sure anymore. He definitely busted his arse during his training with Reid for the first six hours of his day, and then he would get in a second workout after he finished with his clients for the evening.
But in the last week alone, he’d skipped that second workout three different times because he wanted to get home to Sophie.
Xander blew out a breath of frustration, replaced the bar on the rack above him, and sat up. He grabbed the small towel and his water bottle from the floor, then took a large drink and wiped the sweat from his face and chest. It was a good thing Reid wasn’t around today or he’d give Xan shit about his lack of focus. He was so in his head, it had taken a few tries for people to get his attention. Luckily it was just a weight training day, so it didn’t matter all that much if his brain checked out.
Or rather, checked in elsewhere.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the night before with Sophie. She’d almost walked out on him, and the panic he’d felt at even the mention of it had him analyzing things to death. And when he wasn’t doing that, he was picturing how the wee female had looked dressed only in tight shorts that barely existed past the curve in her gorgeous arse…and his shirt.
Xander choked back a groan, grabbed his rope, and started jumping while his mind continued to replay the images of Sophie. He’d nearly fucking lost it when he saw her tank plastered to her breasts, her nipples tight and straining against the wet material. Giving her his shirt had been a necessity. If she didn’t change into something dry and baggy immediately, things would have turned bad. Or very, very good, depending on one’s outlook.
He’d wanted to peel the shirt from her and lick every last drop of milk from her skin. Lave it from the curves of her breasts and the tips of her taut nipples before sucking them deep and working them over with teeth and tongue until she cried out and begged him to sate the thirst that was driving them both stark raving mad. It’d been safer to be irritated with her and keep his distance than deal with the powerful need for her begging him to sate it.
What the hell was wrong with him? He’d never been anything but charming to the fairer sex. Instead, he’d acted immature, like a school lad pulling on the pigtails of the girl he fancied so his mates wouldn’t catch on and take the piss at his expense, upsetting her in the process. He needed his bloody arse kicked.
Xander cringed as he remembered the lame excuse he’d given for his behavior. Though he had gotten used to having everything the way he liked it after living with his not-as-particular-where-he-dropped-things friend, Irish, Xan’s recent problem had nothing to do with adjusting to her tendencies for the same habit.
It did, however, have everything to do with wanting to pin her against the nearest wall. But he’d agreed to not go there with her, and as much as he might want to, he wasn’t going to be the one to change the rules, no matter how much it killed him or made his balls ache. He’d almost fucked that up, too. Another second and his mouth would have been on hers, claiming her body the way she’d claimed his thoughts nearly every waking moment for the last week.
He wanted to respect her wishes for a platonic relationship, and he damn well would. He’d show her that not all men thought with their dicks. Just thinking about the pain in her deep brown eyes when she told him about her ex made him want to go twelve rounds with a heavy bag. Xan couldn’t imagine how anyone could intentionally hurt a woman as amazing as Sophie like that. She wasn’t even his, and somehow she’d gotten under his skin in ways he never thought possible.
“Hey there, Xan,” a sugary feminine voice said from behind him.
He turned to see one of the few female members of TLP2 sauntering over to him, her hips swinging in her tight workout shorts and her fake tits barely contained by her skimpy sports bra. Tami had a reputation—one she didn’t bother hiding—for sleeping with the fighters like she was collecting their cocks for her trophy room. The blonde was fit as hell, and though he’d been tempted to give in on more than one occasion, Xander never mixed pleasure and business. Unfortunately, his refusals only served to make him more of a challenge to her.
He held back a sigh and instead gave her a friendly smile. “Hey, Tami, how are you?”
Her Angelina Jolie lips formed a practiced pout that probably got her what she wanted on the regular. “I’d be a lot better if you’d come over tonight.” Her pout morphed into a saucy grin that screamed of mischief and promised pleasures as she stepped in close and trailed a long fingernail down his chest. “I’m dying for you to show me your submission moves outside of the octagon.”
His cock didn’t even stir at the idea of rolling around on the mats with the leggy woman. Xander grabbed her hand and pulled it from his body. “I’ve told you before, I don’t fool around with members.”
Releasing a heavy exhale, she placed her hands on her hips. “Okay, fine. I like coming here, but your fine British ass is worth it. I’ll find a new gym. See you around eight?”
She was determined, he’d give her that. Smiling, he said the words out loud for the first time and drew her attention to the silicone band on his left hand. “Sorry, Tami, but I’m a married man now. My heart—and my moves—belong to my wife.” He bit back a laugh when her mouth fell open in shock. “No hard feelings, though, okay? Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my training. Have a good workout.”
Xan crossed the room and started wrapping his hands. And as he worked through the rest of his routine, he thought about the gorgeous woman who’d be at his place when he was done. Starting today, he’d make sure their time spent together was easy and fun, like it’d always been. He was a fake husband on a mission to have a companionable, live-in friendship with his fake wife, and he couldn’t wait.