His Alone(13)

I'd waited―hoped, actually―for him to mention the breakfast he left for me. But when he didn't, I let it go, not wanting to make it seem like it was a big deal. Instead of bringing it up, I decided to play it cool and pretend that my body wasn't screaming for his touch as we worked out. All day he's kept his distance, and it's eating me alive. Normally he'll find ways to touch me and I'll pull away, but now that I welcome it, it's not coming. Maybe now that he's had a taste he doesn't want any more. He went back home and thought everything out and has changed his mind. I'm more work than I'm worth. I've heard that more times than I want to remember over the years. 

I was anxious to get in the ring because I knew this way I could put my hands on him. But it's not the same as when he's the one doing the touching. Instead of making a grab for me or getting us tangled up in one another, he deflects all my moves and blocks me when possible. Going down and taking the loss without really fighting back. It doesn't feel like he's letting me win; it feels like he's trying not to touch me. And that thought makes me a little angry.

"You gonna let me win all day?"

Captain stands and moves to the other side of the ring, watching me. Just as he's about to say something, a buzzer goes off and the guys all push away from the ropes.

"Time's up, Turner," McCoy yells, and I let out a breath.

Our session is finished for the day, and I'm overloaded with emotions. I want to get out of here as soon as I can, yet I want to stay and yell at Captain. What is wrong with me?

I duck under the ropes, grab my water bottle and take a drink. I pack up my stuff and say my goodbyes to the guys as they head out before me. As I throw my stuff in my gym bag I feel him behind me, and I know if I turn around I won't be able to take the look on his face. It will only remind me that I'm an idiot for wanting someone so perfect. I'll hate myself, because I shouldn't have him. I'm not good enough for a man like him, and my past is nothing but trash that follows me around.

"What?" I say, not turning to face him. He reads me so easily I don't want him to see I'm upset.

"You owe me another round."

I flip around at his words, angry that he wants to get back in the ring. What the hell? I just took him down without him so much as touching me, and now he wants another chance. No, thanks. I don't want his pity. I know I'm being a brat because I'm always running hot and cold, and it's completely hypocritical, but it still pisses me off. He's the one who started all this. With his touches and sweet words. Maybe a little crush I had on him blossomed and now it feels like he's the one running. He's taken away the little touches I'd grown accustomed to. He made me crave them and now I'm pissed I'm not getting my fix.

"You didn't get enough nap time in on the mat? I thought that's what you wanted."

Reaching behind his head, he grabs the neck of his sweat-dampened shirt and pulls it off. Up and over it goes, revealing his smooth chest and tight abs. His wide rib cage does nothing to hide his muscles. The dark tattoos that wind up his arms flex, and I swear to God if I had panties on they'd disintegrate. Jesus, this guy looks like the after picture on one of those workout videos.

I swallow audibly.

"Just one more round. I think I needed to find my rhythm." His words are punctuated by the sound of the gym door closing. The guys all left in a hurry to enjoy the rest of their Sunday.

Squaring my shoulders, I reach up and tighten my high ponytail and bounce on the balls of my feet a little. "Let's do it."

The old Italian ladies in the restaurant had a name for me. They called me Difficile. I found out it meant tough, and I kind of liked it. They didn't say much to me, or about me, but knowing that they thought I was tough meant something. I wasn't one to back down from a challenge, and I sure as hell wasn't going to stop now. Captain throwing down the gauntlet was the one sure way to get me into the ring.




 

 

I watch as he goes in first, bending between the ropes. I watch his ass, and I give him a smirk when he straightens and catches me checking him out. I duck in and stand up, bouncing all the time. My body is still loose from the workout, and we don't have on gloves. When we spar we don't throw punches. We disarm, restrain and contain. So as we both put our hands up and start circling around the ring, we wait and see who's going to make the first move.

For once, I chase all my feelings out of my head and focus on what's in front of me. Other than the small distraction of the perfection that is his body, my mind is sharp. I mimic his speed around the mat, waiting for an opening. He's at least twice my size, so I'm at a disadvantage when it comes to strength. But with the right moves, any man can be brought to his knees.