Defying the Odds(48)

“We were in the same grade, but we never got on. Jules was all right, but Wyatt was a cocky bastard I’d have hated even if his daddy hadn’t been making my life hell for as long as I could remember.” Clay rolled his eyes at the memory of a young Wyatt. “Believe it or not, he’s mellowed with age. He used to have a real mouth, just unbelievable what’d leave it. So there I was, tired and hungry and dirty, and Wyatt’s big mouth opens and says something ’bout my mama being trash. I punched him ’cause I was having a shit month and I was angry at life, but Wyatt’d been taking martial arts classes since he was old enough to walk. He kicked the living shit outta me. It was a really unfair fight, in front of half the kids from our class, no less. After that there ain’t been any fight I could lose that’d be half as bad.”



“Whatta jerk,” Melody said with a scowl.



“Yeah, I’d be inclined to agree, ’cept Big Fred found out ’bout it and hauled Wyatt out to my house to apologize. Course, I wasn’t there, and Big Fred spent all night looking for me. When he found me sleeping on a bench in the park, he took me back to his place. Turned out Wyatt was feeling pretty bad ’bout what happened. He told me flat out we were gonna be friends if I liked it or not, and I’ve spent the last twenty-two years trying to shake him.”



Melody grinned, deep dimples appearing out of nowhere. “And you started taking classes with him at the rec center.”



“Yup. Lotsa classes, mainly ’cause they let me beat on cocky ol’ Wyatt Conner. Big Fred paid for ’em even when I was living with other folks. Maybe he thought someone oughta be taking Wyatt down a notch too. Then when the system was gonna move me to another town, Big Fred just went ahead and took me in ’cause Wyatt and Jules pitched the mother lode of all fits. I’ve been living there ever since.”



“Then I’m happy he beat you up if it meant you got a family outta it,” Melody said with a smile.



Clay considered that for a second before he reluctantly admitted, “Yeah, me too. But if you tell him I said so, I’ll deny it. I’m still pissed off at him ’bout tonight.”



Melody gave him a look of concern. “He was just worried ’bout you. You should forgive him.”



“Nope.” Clay rolled into Melody, who was still on her stomach. He rested his cheek against her shoulder, burying his face in her soft, sweetly scented hair. “You smell like cookies.”



Melody laughed. “It’s oatmeal honey shampoo.”



His face throbbed, his head ached, and he was suddenly very tired. He tossed one leg over Melody and dragged his bare foot up the smooth line of her calf. He reached under the shirt she was wearing, feeling the slope of her ass, then moved up to caress the dip in her lower back.



“I’m falling asleep,” he warned her, because unconsciousness was only a breath away. “I feel like I’ve been on a ten-day adrenaline rush that crashed and burned two minutes ago.”



“Mmm.” Melody hummed in agreement, making it obvious she was having the same problem as she pulled off her glasses and tossed them on the nightstand.



She stretched out beneath him. Her cheek rested on her folded hands. She seemed happy where she was, and Clay wasn’t going to complain. His eyes closed to the drugging feeling of serenity being around Melody churned up.



And in what seemed like a few minutes, the phone rang.



Melody shifted, reaching for it and bringing the receiver to her ear. “’Lo? Um, yes, we appreciate it.” She clicked the receiver back on the hook and then rolled over beneath him. “It’s the wake-up call.”



“Can’t be.” Clay groaned. “There ain’t no way that was an hour.”



“He said it was,” Melody argued. “You wanna get under the sheets?”



Clay thought that was a brilliant plan. They shuffled to get under the sheets, shoving the comforter to the foot of the bed because it was a little too warm in the room for them. Melody set the phone back on the nightstand, and Clay rolled up to her, resting his cheek in the valley between her breasts.



“Move a second.” Melody pushed at his forehead lightly. When Clay reluctantly lifted his head, she pulled the shirt off and tossed it to the floor. “Better?”



“Much.” Clay’s cheek now rested against smooth, bare skin, and he lay there simply feeling the warmth of Melody. He wrapped his arms around her waist and tossed one leg over hers, knowing she probably felt crushed. Right then Clay wished he’d been born a normal-sized welterweight instead of a big, hulking heavyweight. “Am I heavy?”