Chapter Twenty-Five
Brooklyn
“Do you want to watch something?” I asked Trey, very aware of the good foot of space between us on the couch. You know what takes all the air out of your boyfriend surprising you by showing up early? Taking him down to the mat two times in a row. There’d been a voice in the back of my mind screaming it was a bad idea to step into the cage with him, but I’d let my pride and my irritation that he thought he could take me down so easily win out over common sense.
I’d let fucking Shane Knox mess with my head.
I ran my palms down my jeans. “I’m sorry about the gym. I just—”
“Let’s never talk about the gym again.” While Trey’s voice was as calm as ever, his words held a finality he didn’t usually use.
I picked up the remote, deciding anything was better than the impenetrable silence, but hesitated before clicking the power button. “Can’t it be something you’re proud of?”
“My girlfriend humiliating me in front of the meatheads she hangs out with all the time? You want me to be proud of that?”
“Yes?” When he put it like that, I supposed it didn’t exactly sound like something you bragged about at the company picnic. Still, I was proud I could defend myself. I’d felt stronger these past few weeks, and I didn’t realize how important that was to me until I’d questioned how well I could still protect myself. “I’m related to most of the meatheads, if that makes you feel better.”
“No. It doesn’t make me feel any better, Brooklyn.”
I grimaced, at a loss what to try next. I’d spent the first two weeks here in San Diego anticipating this trip and the next two confused and torn how to feel about us in general. Never in a million years could I have predicted it’d go this badly. “Do you want to go to the beach?”
Trey sighed. “This… Us…” He raked his hands through his sandy-colored hair and leaned forward on his forearms. “Long-distance has been rough. A lot rougher than I thought it’d be.”
I nodded. “It has. Are you saying that…you want to take a break?” It killed me that relief was my main emotion, kicking sorrow off the stage.
“I feel like I don’t even know who you are.”
“Because I know some self-defense moves and a few MMA takedowns?”
“Because there’s this whole other side to you, but mostly because of that guy at the gym,” Trey said. “You’re not that way with me.”
I shrugged. “I’m sorry I don’t want to murder you the way I want to murder him.”
Trey slanted me a look, and shit, I was going to cry, and I hated crying. “I wish I didn’t want to murder him so badly.” Or kiss him, or do more with him.
My…boyfriend? gave me a sad smile.
Out it came, one word at a time. Working at the gym and fitting in workouts; running into my ex at the bar and putting on an act to get Shane the fight; and how my old life was wrapping its tentacles around me and trying to pull me back into it.
Then dead silence.
It felt like an hour but probably only lasted a minute or two—in other words, they were in-the-cage minutes, where each second slowed down and stretched into infinite possibilities for pain.
“I knew the second I kissed you at the gym that it was over,” Trey said. “All those weeks apart, and you didn’t kiss me back.”
A sharp pang went through my chest—the plan had been to kiss him, mostly so I could convince myself that my doubts would disappear once we were in the same zip code again. But I couldn’t bring myself to truly do it, not with Shane in the same vicinity.
I sniffed. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you more over the phone. I kept almost saying something and then holding back. Mostly because you’re, like, the perfect boyfriend. You’re safe and reliable, and you were always there when I needed you. I probably never told you how much I appreciated that, but I did.”
He shrugged one shoulder, humble as ever. “And just so you don’t feel too horrible, I’ve been spending a lot of time with Emily. Nothing’s happened, but…”
“You want it to.”
“There’s something there.” His eyebrows drew together. “Maybe.”
Again, I felt mostly relief. The mix of sadness and anxiety tightening my lungs was more because a phase of my life was ending and I didn’t know what that meant about my future. “If it’s not too weird, I can text her and tell her she has my blessing.”
“Oh, no, that’d be super weird. Please don’t do that.”
I laughed and held up my hands in surrender. “All right. I’ll let you sweep her off her feet without warning.” I slumped back into the couch cushions, the weight that’d been pushing me down for so long finally easing up.
“Now that some of the bruising on my pride’s wearing off, I am a little impressed at your moves.”
I wanted to shove his shoulder, but touching him was suddenly awkward. “A little?”
He chuckled. “A lot.”
“Better.” I picked up my phone. “Shall I order pizza?”
“Even though this is the calmest breakup I’ve ever experienced, I don’t know if I want to sit here and pretend nothing’s changed.” Trey scooted to the edge of the couch and tapped his fingers on his knee in that way he did when he was anxious. “I think I’m going to see how soon I can get a flight out of town. Southern California and I aren’t jelling.”
“Fair enough. Want me to give you a ride to the airport?”
“Now that I’ll take you up on.”
…
Rain slashed at my windows and pattered against the roof of my Mustang as I circled the neighborhood Shane lived in two times. AKA I chickened out two times. Part of me was still beyond pissed at him. And I didn’t kid myself that he and I could work long-term. I was still going back to San Francisco and his career was about to skyrocket, I could just sense it.
But we could spend time together until those things happened. Between his intensive training. And all the work I had to do to catch up the books at the gym. My brothers and Dad would strongly oppose, so we’d have to keep it a secret on top of everything else, which would also cut down the time we’d have.
So there were complications. Like, a ridiculous amount of them. But I couldn’t get him out of my head. From his desire to protect me, even as it pissed me off how overboard he went about it, to the way everything in me reached for him whenever we were in the same vicinity. Every time he’d texted me or told me “now” about wanting to kiss me. As furious as I was, I’d nearly dissolved into a puddle of molten hot need when he’d brushed his thumb across my lip.
His words replayed through my head: Now. Now, now, for the love of God now.
Desire and affection melded together and streaked through my body, giving me the strength to turn into the parking lot in front of his apartment complex. I pulled into an empty spot, took out my phone, and sent him a text.
Me: Ask me to come over.
I followed the swiping blades of the windshield wipers. One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thous—
Shane: I’m not sure that’s a good idea right now.
My heart sank, and I almost backed my car out of its parking space. But I’d come this far. My fingers trembled as I tapped out a response.
Me: I need to see you.
The day had left me a tad beat up, and I needed to know that he still wanted to see me. That I wouldn’t surprise him and find another girl there, or that I hadn’t imagined everything brewing between us, and because despite having an amicable breakup with Trey, I felt guilty for even thinking about rushing right over to see Shane the second I dropped my barely-exed boyfriend at the airport.
Shane: If you do come over I’m not sure I can behave. Watching you leave today, knowing I made you cry. If you want to know the truth I’m a little drunk.
Me: Shane, ASK ME!!!
Shane: Come over.
Of course he didn’t ask, something I’d have to take up with him once my heart wasn’t trying to beat its way out of my chest.
I wrapped my fingers around the door handle, sucked in a deep breath, and then climbed out of my car. The rain pounded down in sheets, whipping at my skin, and I fled for the shelter of the apartment complex. I happened to pick the exact spot where the gutters dumped their runoff, and that finished the job of leaving me completely drenched. Guess it was good I didn’t waste time going home to change and redo my hair and makeup.
I rushed up the stairs like I was in a fight-training movie. I even considered a Rocky-type fist raise when I made it to the third floor.
I hope I have the right place.
I pulled out my phone to double check the address and then stopped in front of apartment 307. The weight of what I was about to do hit me. Things would be different. I’d be putting myself in a vulnerable position. It couldn’t end well.
Yet…if I didn’t play this out—if I didn’t take a chance—I feared I’d always regret it.
Apparently my brain was stuck on the All-Shane channel because I heard him in my head again: Life is short, but it feels a lot longer with regrets weighing you down.
Holding on to that thought, I raised my fist and knocked, hard enough it stung my knuckles.
Each second Shane didn’t answer grinded by at a painfully slow pace, and after waiting what seemed like an inordinate time to answer the door, I knocked again.
The door swung open, and he stood in the entryway, in baggy shorts that hung dangerously low on his hips, his torso gloriously bare. A bottle of Jack Daniels dangled between his fingers. His gaze dropped to my chest, and when I followed suit, I noticed that I looked like a wet T-shirt contest participant.
“Yeah, it’s kinda rainy out,” I said. “Are you going to invite me in?”
He gestured me inside, and I turned to close the door behind me. When I spun back around he’d closed the distance, and he no longer had hold of the bottle of Jack. He braced one hand against the door, right next to my head, the way he’d done in the locker room. “Are you okay?”
I nodded. Breathless and too hot and too cold, but sure. Totally okay. Faced with this tall, muscled hunk of a dude, I found it harder to say what I wanted to—probably because I didn’t even know where to start. Just spit it out. Say something…
“Want a tour?” he asked.
“Sure.” That’d buy me some time to get it together.
Shane didn’t move. “Living room’s here, bedroom’s back there”—he jerked a thumb over his shoulder—“and I have a kitchen and a bathroom.”
I bit back a smile. “Informative.”
His free hand came up on the other side of my head, his body caging me in, and his eyes bored into mine. “What are you doing here, Brooklyn? Besides lookin’ to get yourself into trouble.”
I reached up and twisted one of my wet curls around my finger. “It’s sort of a long story that I don’t really want to get into right now, but the gist of it is that Trey and I broke up. I don’t have a boyfriend anymore.”
Shane’s eyes darkened in a flash, something primal overtaking his features, and it sent a spike of awareness through me.
“Wrong,” he said, the word so short, sharp, and final that I almost questioned if I’d broken up with Trey. “You have one now, and he’s a jealous asshole who sometimes loses his shit. But good news…” He lowered his body so that it pressed me flatter to the door, and his growing erection ignited a pulsing need between my thighs. “He’s really fucking good in bed.”
A whimper escaped as he pushed into me. He trailed his lips over my jaw and then nipped at my earlobe. “I think this is the part where you tell him to prove it.”
I ran my hands up his muscled back, feeling all the exquisite dips and grooves. “Do you have a script typed up? I guess you better hand it to me so I can—”
He rolled his hips, the delicious friction making me moan, and a cocky smile curved his lips. “No script. But spoiler alert: there’s going to be more moaning and panting, and then there’ll be screaming of my name.”
I circled my hands around his biceps, needing to hold on to something solid so I didn’t melt right to the floor. “Well, get on with it, then. I want to see if you’re right.”
He brushed his lips across mine, more a teasing than a kiss. “It’s your turn to ask.”
I lowered my eyebrows. Then it hit me. I reached up and ran a hand down the side of his face, his scruff scraping my palm. “Kiss me.”
Our eyes met and held, the air charged with everything that had been building between us all month. Then he crashed his mouth over mine. One arm circled behind me, anchoring me to his body, and the room spun as his tongue parted my lips and swept inside.
“I almost went insane thinking of you with him,” Shane said, bringing his hand to my neck and using his thumb to tip up my chin. The urgent, intense way he claimed my mouth fanned the fire he’d ignited inside me earlier today, and I took charge of the kiss, rolling my tongue over his. His deep groan vibrated through me, and I arched against him, needing more, taking more.
His lips moved to my neck, and I reached for the waistband of his shorts, wanting the extra fabric out of the way.
He caught both of my wrists in one of his large hands and pinned them up over my head.
I stuck my lips out in a pout. “But how can I get you undressed if I can’t—” I attempted to pull free of his iron grip, and he pressed me harder to the door with a growl that traveled right down my core and intensified the pulsing ache between my thighs.
“You need to catch up first.” He hooked a thumb under the hem of my shirt and slid it up, so torturously slowly that I thought I might combust. The more I squirmed in his grip, the slower he went. He paused to palm one of my breasts, and then he brushed his thumb over the lace covering my hardened nipple, back and forth, back and forth until sparks of light danced across my vision.
“Shane… uhnn…”
Finally, he ripped my shirt off and tossed it aside. He covered me with his body again, the skin on skin sensation driving me higher. His lips returned to my neck, where he placed hot, open-mouth kisses that sent shockwaves cascading through me, each one stronger than the next.
“How drunk are you, by the way?” I asked through labored breaths. “I’d hate to take advantage of you.”
“My virtue will be just fine, bruiser. But yours”—his teeth sank into the skin where my neck met my shoulder and satisfaction heated my veins—“that’s another story.”
I dragged my nails down his back and then tugged his hips to mine. “Less talking, more banging.”
His mouth recaptured mine in a punishing, searing kiss as he reached behind and unhooked my bra. He yanked the fabric down, fully exposing my breasts, and then he took a step back and let his gaze roam over me. “Fuck, Brooklyn. I’m going to need a minute.”
I thought he meant to compose himself—his arousal was pretty obvious in those baggy shorts, which really needed to go already—but then he dipped his head and sucked one nipple into his mouth. It felt so amazing that I didn’t bother being embarrassed about the needy sound I made in the back of my throat.
“Make that two minutes,” he said, and then he did this incredible circling with his tongue that sent one spectacular sensation after another tumbling down my core. He moved to the other breast, and I drove my hand through his hair, desperate for more even as my body teetered on the edge of being unable to take much more.
“There’s the panting.” His deep voice rumbled across my skin and pushed me closer to euphoria. Then he unbuttoned my pants, roughly jerked them down my thighs, and tossed them aside. “Now, let’s see if we can’t get to the screaming of my name.”