The guy beside me laughs a little, but it’s not at me, it’s different—it’s understanding, solidarity.
“I also broke into his new house and stole a football… and hocked it to pay for some fines. Then I put his truck in a pond. So, after I had a few strikes against me, the judge decided this would be a good place for me, and—” I pause, looking around the room. “I think he was right.”
Everyone nods in agreement and Lana gives me an encouraging smile.
The weight from the day is lifted off my shoulders. Just like when I shared some of this with Cage. It’s like I’m not carrying the full load of the burden any more.
“For the next thirty minutes,” she says, looking down at her watch, “I’d like us to talk about other ways we can release stress.”
The talk ranges from yoga to meditation to journaling to physical activity.
Listening to them talk about how karate or swimming or running have helped makes me think that Cage’s offer to teach me kickboxing might not be too far off from what I need.
When I leave the anger management session, I stop by for a coffee at a local coffee shop, sneakily judge their muffin choices—deciding they’re nowhere near as good as mine—and enjoy a few more moments of the anonymity before heading back to Green Valley.
An hour later, as I turn down my street, a familiar truck in my driveway catches my eye and I nearly stop in the middle of the road. Creeping the rest of the way, I slowly turn in and feel my heart begin to race as I put the truck into park and turn off the ignition.
Asher is standing in the driveway, leaning against the side of his own truck. I haven’t seen my old truck since the day I drove it into the pond. I’m assuming he did as he said he was going to and sold it.
Deep breaths, Tempest.
You didn’t need that truck. It was just a mode of transportation. And you have another one to drive until you can buy your own… in your name… one no one can take back.
“Tempest,” Asher greets when I step out of the truck.
“Asher,” I reply, trying to keep my voice as even and calm as possible. I want to ask him what he’s doing here… and tell him to leave… and make some snide comment about his nuptials, but instead, I try something new and hold my tongue.
It’s strange, seeing him like this. The last time we were actually face-to-face, just the two of us, was the night before I walked in on him and Mindy. Since then, we’ve always had a window or a person between us… someone or something acting as a buffer. I’ll give it to him, this is actually a pretty ballsy move, something totally un-Asher-like. He’s normally a play-it-safe kind of guy… well, until he decided to have an affair.
I guess he’s been doing a lot of un-Asher-like things lately, or maybe I didn’t know him to begin with?
What does he want?
Why is he here?
Those questions are on the tip of my tongue, before he finally speaks.
“Did the realtor show up today?” he asks, and I breathe a little easier. Of course he wants to know about the realtor and the sale of the house. He seems overly anxious to be done with us… everything that was ours… me.
“She did,” I tell him, swallowing down the edge of emotion, the bitter taste of anger on the tip of my tongue. Keep it together, Tempest. “She already has a few people who are interested.”
He nods, his eyes down, focused on the driveway at his feet. “Good.”
“Yeah,” I agree. Good.
Good.
I’m sure you need your portion of the sale to fund your second honeymoon or something.
Internally, I roll my eyes, but manage to keep my calm facade.
“Who is your plus one?” he asks and for a second I stop breathing.
Are you kidding me?
“What?” he asks, his eyes snapping up to meet mine, and that’s the moment I realize I said that one out loud.
“You don’t get to ask me that,” I inform him, feeling my spine straighten and my heart pound in my chest. “You don’t get to know anything about me.” Deep breaths. “Outside of this house selling, we’re done… over.”
I don’t miss the minute squint of his eyes. He doesn’t like me denying him this information. Asher’s never been good at handling being told no.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” I add, walking past him to the front door. As I pass him, I notice him stiffen. Maybe he thought I wasn’t privy to that bit of information. Before I walk into the house, I add, “I hope the two of you will be very happy.”
Chapter 10
Cage
I’ve been giving myself a talk all morning.
Actually, I take that back. I’ve been giving myself a talk since the day, excuse me, night, Tempest Cassidy walked into my life.
Friends.
I don’t have many of them, not just in Green Valley, but in life period.
Tempest needs a friend.
I need a friend.
So, we’ll be friends. I can do that. I can ignore my crazy, ridiculous, instant attraction to her and be what she needs. Starting today, I’m going to teach her how to kickbox. And what she doesn’t know is that this isn’t just for her. I need this too.
Looking around the downstairs, I smile to myself. Where there was once stark, white walls and gray concrete floors, blue mats now cover a large portion of the floor and half of the walls are covered in mirrors. Not to mention the two bags that are hanging from the steel beams. I plan on adding a few more, eventually. And I need some speed bags, but it’s a work in progress.
What a difference a week makes.
What a difference a few months makes.
The day I rolled into Green Valley, which doesn’t seem that long ago, I was searching and pretty fucking lost. Over the past seven days, as I’ve worked all my nights at the Pink Pony, spent my mornings running, and every afternoon working on this place, I’ve found a sense of peace and purpose.
Yesterday, I popped into Donner Bakery after my run, looking for a muffin… and the Duchess of Muffins, but she’d already left for the day. The consolation prize was the last two Muffins of the Day—Mama Tried. They were peanut butter and banana… and fucking delicious. I had to go run a few extra miles just to make up for them, but they were well worth it.
Tempest and her muffins—and the names—are quickly becoming my favorite things in Green Valley.
Checking the clock I hung on the wall, I see it’s almost time for her first lesson—if she shows.
She’ll show, right?
I mean, no big deal if she doesn’t. I was planning on doing all of this before I offered to teach her, so it’s no loss, but I really hope she shows up.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Who am I these days?
Worried about whether or not a woman will show up?
This is so not me and I’m worried that along with blowing out my shoulder, I might’ve also grown a vagina. Glancing down my abs that are covered in a tight black T-shirt, I give my dick a nod.
Still there.
Not like it doesn’t give me a reminder every fucking time Tempest is around—or I think of her—or catch a whiff of something sweet.
Turning on the radio I brought down from upstairs, I amp up the volume to fill the space and drown out my thoughts. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the only two channels I can pick up on it are an old, classic rock station and a country western one. I smirk at the thought of Tempest—red hair, perfect little nose, big green eyes… full lips and—
Fucking stop.
Growling out my frustration, I turn to one of the bags, pull on some gloves, and go to town. The tightness in my right shoulder keeps me from unleashing the beast. The Fighting Viking isn’t as intimidating as he once was, but I still let the punches fly and every kick makes contact, giving my lower body the workout it’s been craving.
When the front door opens, my eyes slide over to the mirrors, seeing Tempest’s reflection. Just before she sees me looking at her, I’m pretty su
re I catch her ogling me. Those green eyes go wide before zeroing in on my back... and if I’m not mistaken, her teeth bite down on her bottom lip.
“Hey,” she says, scanning the room, nerves replacing whatever it was she was just feeling and the wall she usually has up seems to reinforce. “Am I too early?” While she’s looking down at her phone, obviously checking the time, I take a split second to do inventory: tight black yoga pants, loose tank top, sports bra peeking out under her arms. Her hair is pulled up on top of her head, no makeup.
Perfect.
“You’re right on time,” I tell her, pulling one of the gloves off with my teeth, and then the other, tossing them to the side. “You can put your bag over there.”
She walks to the corner I’m pointing to and I try to not look at her ass as she bends over to deposit her bag on the floor.
Try and fail.
Miserably.
“We should, uh,” I begin, clearing my throat. “We should stretch first.”
Turning toward me, she nods slowly. “I’m not very… athletic.” She makes the statement like it’s a warning or maybe an apology. “I like to go running and sometimes I do work-out videos at home, but I’ve never really tried a sport… I mean, if I had one, it’d be baking, and that doesn’t really burn calories.” Her awkward, uncomfortable laugh is enough to pull me out of my head and get my dick in line. It’s adorable, and a turn on, but it’s also a reality check.
She’s nervous and out of her element and she’s expecting me to be her guide.
This is what I’m good at.
I can do this.
“We’ll start simple, so don’t worry about it. Don’t even think of it like a sport. The awesome thing about kickboxing is that you don’t have to involve another person until you’re comfortable. For the time being, we’ll work on basic punches and kicks. Today we’ll just do some shadowboxing and then next week, or whenever you want to come back for a class, we’ll start on the bags.”
Her eyes go around the room again, taking it all in. “I really like what you’ve done with the place.”
“It’s a start,” I tell her, shrugging.
“You’re going to add to it?”
Walking over to the mats, I nod. “Yeah, I don’t really know what I’m going to do with it, but I needed a place to work out… and it felt like a waste letting a big, open space like this stay empty. Hank was cool with it. The rent is cheap. So, even if I only ever use it for myself… and the occasional class… it’s worth it.”
“I can pay you,” she says. “I don’t feel right taking up your time and not paying.”
I immediately shake my head. “No way,” I tell her. “I’m the one who offered. And besides that… we’re friends.” She smiles at the term we keep throwing back and forth between us, but the more I say it, the more it sinks in and starts to feel real. “I’d never charge my friends… haven’t ever in the past, don’t plan to start now.”
“So you’ve taught before?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ve been taking it since I was a kid, along with other martial arts. When I’d graduate to a black belt, my instructors would usually put me to work and have me earning my keep.”
The slow smile and the way her shoulders relax tell me she’s feeling more comfortable and it puts me at ease as well. “Ready to stretch?”
“Yeah,” she says, shaking her head. “I’ve had quite the last couple of days. I’ve actually been looking forward to this.”
“Well, let’s do it.”
Leading Tempest through stretches isn’t as hard—all fucking puns intended—as I thought it would be, but only because I made her stand beside me and follow my motions in the mirror. From there, I forced myself to keep my eyes to myself. But what I did see from her was promising. She’s limber and has very fluid movements. Those are all good qualities in a kickboxer… amongst other things… which I’ll not be thinking about today, at least not right now.
“Ready to learn some punches?”
She scrunches her nose, making it even cuter, if that’s possible. “Are we sure this is a good idea?” she asks, her words stretching out as she worries her bottom lip. “I mean, with my track record and all, is it a good idea to teach me how to punch?”
“The best idea,” I tell her in all seriousness. “With that temper you’ve been working with, you really need to know how to defend yourself.” I’m being serious, but I laugh to make light of the situation. “But more than that, getting out the frustration and anger you’ve been feeling in a constructive, controlled environment will help you manage it… it’s like defusing a bomb.”
Taking a deep breath, she nods. “Right… that’s basically what Lana was saying.”
“Who’s Lana?”
“My anger management… person,” she says, her cheeks blushing a little. “Part of our talk this week was about ways we can release stress and tension, clear our heads… that kind of thing.”
I nod, hoping she knows there is zero judgment here. “She’s right.”
“Okay, then… show me what to do.”
We stand in front of the mirrors again and I have her do some basic punches—jab, cross, uppercut, hook—which she picks up fast. She might not be an athlete, but she’s a really fast learner and seems to be in good shape. I’ve turned a lot less capable people into great kickboxers. My guess is that Tempest is probably one of those people who’s good at whatever she puts her mind to, but what holds her back is her lack of confidence.
“How about some kicks?” I ask, walking over to take a drink of water. “Did you bring some water?”
“Yeah, it’s in my bag.” She walks over and bends down to open her bag and I let myself have a quick second to admire her. I shouldn’t, but I do. “So, you’re from Dallas,” she says, coming up with a water bottle and forcing me to avert my gaze. “That’s really all I know about you, outside of you being friends with Hank and working at the Pink Pony. What did you do before you came here?”
“I was a fighter, most recently in the UFC circuit,” I tell her, realizing it’s the first time I’ve talked about it in a while. The only person I’ve even skirted the topic with is Hank.
Her eyes go wide again. “Wow, like one of those guys who fights in the cage?” She smiles. It’s small at first and then goes wider. “Like a cage fighter? Cage the cage fighter?” Her laugh is contagious and I can’t help but join in, even though I’ve heard this joke. It’s different coming from her. I don’t mind it. Anything that brings a smile to her face like this, I’m good with, even if it is at my expense.
But I can’t let her get her jab in without one in return. “Okay, Sundance Kid.”
She tips her chin up in a challenge, eyes narrowing. “Did you really just go there?”
“Oh, yeah,” I confirm, nodding my head. “I mean, that’s what friends are for, right? Just keepin’ it real.” We enter into a minute-long staring contest before I go in for the kill. “It’s rather fitting, you know? What with your run-ins with the law.”
When her jaw goes tight and her full lips pull together, I’m afraid I’ve overstepped my boundaries, but then she quirks an eyebrow. “Oh, it’s go time.”
She starts punching the air around me, putting to use the forms I’ve been teaching her and doing a pretty damn good job, but the way she’s zipping around me like a little hummingbird makes me laugh. I try to hold it back, but I can’t.
When her jab misses the air and makes contact with my arm, it shocks us both. She stops, her hand flying up to her mouth, eyes going wide. “Oh, my God. I’m sorry,” she laughs. “I was… I mean, I’d never…” Her laughs overtake her and before I know it, I have my arms wrapped around her, holding her arms down to her side and tossing her over my shoulder.
The melodic tone of her laugh continues to fill the air, bouncing off the concrete walls and it’s fucking music to my ears. When I finally set her back down on her own two feet, her hair is wild, falling haphazardly out of her ponytail, and our breaths are coming out in short
spurts. We share the same air for a second, maybe more, and our eyes connect.
My body tells me to kiss her.
And for a moment, I think she wants me to.
It feels like minutes or centuries pass between us as we stare into each other’s eyes, but it’s probably only mere seconds. Tilting my head even closer, I lick my lips, swearing I can already taste her on them before we even make contact, but I don’t get the chance. She goes rigid in my arms—eyes going wide with the realization of how close we are, bodies touching—and surprises me by pushing hard on my chest, creating distance between us.
Smoothing her hair back out of her face, she straightens. “I, um… I’ve gotta go. I just remembered that I have a… meeting… with the, uh, realtor. I’m selling my house. We’re selling the house. Asher…” She pauses her rambling to look at me, bending down to retrieve her bag. “I’ve gotta go.”
One second she’s here, and everything is great—fucking amazing—and the next second she’s gone, walking so fast, she’s disappeared far enough down the sidewalk that I can’t see her any longer. Poof. Gone. And I want to punch myself in the face.
What the fuck was that, Cage?
Running a hand down my face, I turn and begin to pace the room.
Yeah, I fucked that up.
Shit.
Chapter 11
Tempest
Stud Muffin: Donner Bakery Book #2 Page 10