Chapter Nineteen

Zoey

I could feel his warm breath across my cheek as I opened my eyes. He still had me pulled against his chest, his arm wrapped around me as if he were holding on for dear life. I adjusted a little, and I heard him suck in a breath. I felt exactly what had happened and I smiled to myself, then stifled a chuckle and wriggled against him once more, just for the reaction.

“It isn't funny,” he mumbled.

“It kinda is.”

“I can't help it. It's nature, right?” He chuckled. “It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that a sexy as hell woman is wrapped in my arms at the moment.”

“What time is it?”

“It's gotta be before five, my alarm is set for then.”

“Ugh.” I groaned and pulled out of his arms. I walked to the bathroom and looked around for his toothbrush, but hit the jackpot with one in a drawer that hadn’t been opened. When I came back into the bedroom, I stopped and looked him over. He was on his back and had an arm over his eyes. I wanted to enjoy the moment of silence and watch him.

“I can feel you staring at me,” he said, breaking my moment.

“I'm not staring, I was looking at how peaceful you were.”

“I would be a lot more peaceful if you would get your ass back in this bed.” He never moved, but continued to speak. I chose to climb over him instead of walking around the bed to get back in. I shivered and reached for him. He pulled me against him and kissed my neck as he wrapped me back in his arms and intertwined our legs. I must have fallen back asleep shortly after because the next thing I knew, his alarm was going off.

He grumbled. “I have never in my life wanted to blow off a workout more than I do right now.”

I kissed his chin and rolled away from him. “Go get your workout in, I'll be here when you get back.”

“Hopefully still in my bed,” he countered with a kiss.

I listened as he moved around the apartment. The blender came to life and then the sizzle of a pan. The aroma of bacon wafted in the air, mixed with the smell of coffee. A few minutes later, I felt the bed dip with his weight. He had pulled on gym shorts and a tank top and I was a little disappointed that I didn't get to run my eyes over him once more before he left.

“I left you some breakfast. I'll be back in a few hours.” He placed his lips on my shoulder, then stood and grabbed his bag from the floor. I watched the muscles in his legs as he moved around the room. He looked back at me and blew me a kiss, then he was gone. I snuggled back into the covers, enjoying the warmth that his body had left behind.

* * * * *

I smelled him before I felt him. He smelled of soap and aftershave.

“You gonna sleep all day?” he asked.

“That depends. You gonna let me?” I pulled the pillow over my head.

“Maybe I'll let you stay in bed all day, but I doubt you’ll be getting much sleep.”

I pulled the pillow up, peeking out from under it.

“You are really cute when you’re hiding from me,” he said with a smile.

“I'm not hiding from you, it's still early.”

“It's after ten—that's not early,” he insisted.

“It is for me.”

He laughed as he reached for my foot and pulled me to the end of the bed.

“Get up, lazy bones.” He kissed me softly then released me.

“Why?” I flopped back on the bed.

“I have someone I want you to meet, and we need to get going. I also have an afternoon sparring session, and I'll need to come back here and get loosened up beforehand.”

“Who do you want me to meet?”

“Don't worry about it. You'll see.” He smiled, then walked out of the room.

I reached for my bag and pulled out a pair of leggings and an oversized shirt. When I walked out, he looked me over and handed me an English muffin with bacon and egg on it.

“You need to eat something. You might need your strength later.” He winked.

I gave him a pretend suspicious glare. “I feel like I should be concerned about where you’re taking me now.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Now, eat.”

He fixed me a cup of coffee to go while I chewed on my breakfast. After I was done, he led me out to the Jeep and helped me up into the seat.

“Ready?” he asked.

“I guess I am.”

We drove for about twenty minutes and pulled into the driveway of a nice house that sat on a few acres. A tall man walked out onto the porch, and I suddenly knew where we were. The man looked like an older version of Ryder. He stepped off the porch and made his way over to us.

“Dad, this is Zoey,” Ryder said as his dad reached and pulled him into a hug. When he pulled back, he reached for me and hugged me as well. “Zoey, this is my dad, Chuck Rollins.”

“It's nice to meet the lady who made my son stupid,” he said with a smile.

“Really, Dad?” Ryder chuckled then hit his dad in the shoulder.

“Don't abuse an old man. You see how he treats me?” His dad looked at me, trying to frown. He couldn’t hold the frown, though, and he broke into a huge smile.

“What brings you out here today?” Chuck asked as we made our way up the walkway. He slapped Ryder on the back and opened the door leading into the house.

I stepped inside, hearing them talking but not really listening. I smiled as I took in the dark wood and the rustic feel of the house. Pictures on the wall showed a young Ryder in a football uniform. In another one he held a baseball bat, and in a third one he sat on a pony. I smiled to myself as I looked at his childhood.

“That pony was a bastard,” Ryder said in my ear. The deep timbre caused goose bumps to run down my neck.

“Maybe you were the bastard.” I quipped back at him.

Chuck laughed, and I smiled over at him.

“I like her,” Chuck said. “I can see why she made you stupid.”

“She didn't make me stupid, Pops.”

“She didn't?” He cocked his head to the side and leaned in the doorway. His eyebrow lifted in question.

“Okay, maybe she made me a little stupid.” Ryder sighed and turn away from me. “Damn, Pops, you trying to make me look like a teenage boy who can't handle his emotions?”

Chuck smiled and walked toward him. “You never want a woman you care about questioning how you really feel. Women have a lot of choices, and you are damn lucky if this beautiful one chose you.” He smiled and reached out for my hand taking me into the kitchen.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, ignoring Ryder.

“Water would be great,” I replied, then looked out over the yard at the odd setup. Large wooden beams held sandbags which swung lightly from ropes in the breeze. Other mechanisms had large, torso-sized pads attached—the kind of things football players would run into during practices.

“What’s all that?”

“That's how I keep that kid in there on his toes,” he replied.

“Is that a gauntlet?” I asked.

“It sure is. You want me to tell you a secret?” he asked. When I nodded, he continued, “All these athletes train in a boring building with four walls keeping them safe and secure. But when you’re in the ring or on a field, there is nothing controlled about that situation. If you want real life fighting, then you need real life training. Ryder can be quick on his feet by running on a treadmill, but he can't be quick enough to move away from a punch on a treadmill. When I swing those bags at him, it changes the way he moves. He can bend in ways other fighters can't. It's what makes him better than every other fighter.”

“Wow.” I looked out again.

“You wanna give it a try?” I heard Ryder as he walked into the room.

“Uh, no.” I laughed and moved toward Chuck, taking the glass of water he was offering.

Ryder had changed his clothes and was rolling his shoulders. He looked at his dad and asked, “You think we can do an impromptu run today?”

“Sure,” Chuck replied, then turned to me. “You wanna help?”

I nodded.

“It's a good thing Tristan doesn't know we train like this,” Ryder said. “He might have a coronary.”

“Tristan?” I asked.

“My new agent,” Ryder said. “I’ll introduce you soon.”

Ryder and Chuck laughed as they walked out the door. He was bouncing on his toes, moving his body around. I watched as his muscles stretched and bunched under his shirt. When he walked over to the course, his father moved and explained what I was to do.

I got into place and waited.

When Ryder came barreling toward me, I shoved the large pad out into his way. He ducked and moved to avoid the pad, then hit it as he came back to a standing position. He winked at me before he was hit in the back of the head by a long, padded bar.

“Ow, fuck!” he shouted as he rubbed his head. He cussed when it hit him again.

Chuck laughed. “You’re gonna get hit again if you keep flirting with that lady while you’re training.”

I laughed at his interaction with his father.

Ryder rubbed the side of his head, then turned and moved back through the maze. It was amazing how intricate it was and how his father ran the entire thing from almost one position.

“This is incredible,” I said as I walked over to Chuck.

“I used to be an engineer, and after his mom died I needed something to keep me occupied when he wasn't here. I built it for football, but it actually works better for the fighting.”

“You would think that a run through for fun wouldn't leave me with a bruised ego,” Ryder said as he walked over to us.

“There is no fun workout. If you’re having fun, then you aren't working out properly,” Chuck said.

“I beg to differ, Pops. Some workouts are all about the fun.”

He laughed when I punched him in the arm.

“He’s an asshole—will you marry me?” Chuck offered his arm, and I took it and followed him back in the house.