Stud Muffin: Donner Bakery Book #2

by Romance, Smartypants

  If she’ll have me, of course.

  This trip to Knoxville came at the perfect time. Not only do I get to spend extra time with Tempest, but I can pick up some more supplies for the studio. Some things, such as wrapping tape and protective equipment, I don’t mind ordering online, but for others, I prefer a more hands-on approach.

  For example, the speed bags I’m looking at right now. I have a couple already but I need a few more in different sizes. Being so close to a bag, I can’t help but tap it a couple of times with my fist. It’s like breathing to me and it feels so damn good.

  I continue to move around the area, testing out the different bags, before deciding on a few I plan to buy. After I tell the sales guy which ones to set aside for me, I check out some boxing gloves. I’d really like to surprise Tempest with her own set of gloves, but I want them to be perfect. They need to be tough, obviously, but also flexible, just like she is. They also can’t be pink or anything too girly looking. Not that there’s anything wrong with pink; I just don’t think that color suits her.

  A pair catches my eye and I immediately know they’re perfect for her. Black with bright red flames covering where her fingers and knuckles will be. I can’t help but laugh at the multiple meanings behind my choice. They obviously match her name and red hair but they also remind me of the story of when she burned all of her ex’s belongings in the driveway. Lastly, the flames represent how freaking hot I think she is.

  I make my purchases and drive back to the church to wait for Tempest. I’m a few minutes early, so I roll down the windows and cut the engine, enjoying the nice breeze as it blows through the cab of the truck. It’s such a nice day and with her faint scent lingering around me, I find myself somewhere between dreaming and awake, my mind wandering and contemplating life, as you do—where I’m at, where I’m going… what I want, and of course, who I want. Images of Tempest easily flood my mind and my daydreams seem so real, I swear I hear her voice.

  It takes me a moment to realize I really am hearing her voice and when I open my eyes, I see her walking toward my truck with a guy. I’m assuming she knows this man from her sessions but that doesn’t make me feel any better, especially as I notice the way he’s looking at her. He’s not even trying to hide the fact that he’s checking her out and it makes me sick to see him leer at her that way. Tempest doesn’t seem to notice as she continues to talk, but I’m confident she’ll put him in his place if he oversteps her boundaries.

  She’s a tough girl, but I can’t help wanting to help her, be there for her.

  I also can’t help the slight twinge of jealousy flowing through me as this man stands close to her, breathing her in, appreciating what I’d like to be mine. So, maybe, it’s a bit more than a slight twinge because the moment that jackass places his hand on her lower back, leaning in as if he’s trying to hear her better, my muscles tense and I swear steam comes out of my ears. In fact, I’d like to take that arm of his, rip it off, and beat him with it, but I know I can’t do that.

  Tempest squirms a bit, moving away from him, and I instantly relax. I hate that he made her feel uncomfortable, though. I should kick his ass for that, too.

  Shit, maybe I need to put the new bags I just bought to use tonight and blow off some of this pent-up aggression I’m feeling. Jacking off would probably help, too, if I’m being completely honest.

  Anyone in their right mind would be able to tell Tempest is wanting her conversation with Mr. Handsy to be over based on her body language alone, but the guy just can’t take a hint. She’s being too nice and I’m about to lose my cool, I can feel it. She edges closer to the truck and I take that as my cue to do something.

  Stepping out of the truck, I walk over to the passenger side and open her door like a fucking gentleman.

  “Hey, T, you ready to get some dinner?”

  Tempest looks a little surprised to see me but she plays it off well. “Oh, hey! Yeah, I’m definitely ready for food.” Turning toward her escort, she thanks him for walking with her and tells him to have a good night. Her back is facing me as I help her into the cab of the truck, so I use the opportunity to look over my shoulder and glare at her buddy, daring him to try something with her again.

  Fortunately for him, he’s smart enough to concede and walk off.

  Sorry, not sorry, dude.

  Once Tempest is settled in her seat and buckled in, I hop back in the truck and start it up. Glancing at her, I’m about to ask where she wants to go eat when I notice the expression on her face. It’s a new one for me, one I’m not sure how to decipher. She looks a little annoyed but also amused, perhaps? Either way, I should probably address it before driving anywhere.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Did you seriously call me ‘T’ out there?” Her body is turned fully in my direction and when I start to stutter a bit, she quirks an eyebrow at me, letting me know she’s onto me.

  “I, yeah, well… I mean—”

  “Do you not think I can handle myself, take care of myself?”

  Oh, shit. I should’ve known that would piss her off.

  Is it wrong that I find her even more attractive right now?

  She continues, “Are you not the person teaching me how to protect myself? Do you doubt your own skills as a teacher?”

  “Now, wait a minute,” I say, holding up a finger between us. “I may have jumped the gun a bit, but that’s because I didn’t like that guy putting his hands on you. It had nothing to do with me doubting you or my skills.”

  Tempest starts laughing, which only confuses me more.

  “Cage, I’m just teasing you.” She grabs my upheld fingers and pushes them down to the seat, and even though I’m relieved she’s not angry with me, I’m struggling to concentrate thanks to the feel of her skin on mine. Jolts of electricity sear where she’s touching me, making me wonder what would happen if she touched me in other places. She must feel it too, because her pupils have dilated and she seems to have lost her train of thought.

  A moment later, she clears her throat, which breaks the tension a little bit. “I’ll be honest. Normally, I hate all that ‘pissing on my leg’ business but it was actually kind of cute. That doesn’t mean I need to be rescued all the time, though, got it?”

  “I got it, I do. I didn’t plan on overstepping any boundaries today and I’m sorry if I upset you, I just didn’t like that guy. You were obviously trying to end the conversation, but he refused to take the hint. I see that shit and worse at the club all the time and it pisses me off.”

  “I can appreciate that and I’m grateful for your concern, but Andy is nice guy... from what I can tell. I don’t think he meant any harm.”

  I don’t tell her I disagree. Instead, I ask what I meant to ask a few minutes ago. “Where do you want to eat?”

  * * *

  Tempest tells me how to get to a Mexican restaurant that she swears is ‘the real deal’. Being from Dallas, I’m pretty sure I know more about real Mexican food than she does, but I’ll trust her opinion this time. Truth be told, I couldn’t give two shits where we go as long as I get to spend more time with her.

  We’re seated quickly and are just about to dig into our chips and salsa when I see a guy coming our way. I can only assume he knows Tempest since I’m a nobody here, so I keep my guard up in case he’s like the other troublemakers she has to deal with.

  “Sorry for interrupting.” Instead of looking at Tempest, he’s looking at me… with what can only be described as anticipation. “Are you Cage Erickson… The Fighting Viking?” he asks, completely catching me off guard.

  I quickly glance at Tempest and see she’s sitting straight up in her chair, extremely interested in this interaction.

  “Uh, yeah, that’s me... but people don’t really call me that anymore,” I say as politely as I can. I’ve had people approach me in the past, mostly when I’m in a city hosting a fight… or in Dallas, where the Erickson name means something, but not in Knoxville, Tennessee. And not since I haven’t fought a
publicized fight in over eight months.

  “I knew it!” the guy exclaims, slapping his leg and turning back around to gesture to the guy sitting at a table across the room. “I told my buddy it was you but he didn’t believe me. My name is Tony.” He sticks his hand out toward me and I shake it. “I’m a huge fan; I saw a couple of your fights in Nashville… Bridgestone Arena… you were awesome. Shame about your injury.”

  He shakes his head in disappointment and I feel eyes on me from around the restaurant. I don’t want to be rude, but I’d really like to end this and get back to my date… not date… meal with Tempest.

  “Yeah, it sucks, but I’ve kind of come to terms with it.” I shrug my shoulders and am instantly reminded of how when doing that motion I still feel the twinge. Surgery helped and physical therapy got me to a pretty good spot, but I’ll never be what I was.

  “So… you’re not training for that fight against Wilson?” he asks.

  “No,” I reply, not trying to be short, but between him interfering with my time with Tempest and asking stupid-ass questions that have no doubt surfaced through the rumor mill, it pisses me off.

  He sighs, turning to Tempest and giving her an approving smile. “So, what brings you to these neck of the woods?”

  None of your fucking business, buddy.

  Clearing my throat, I look up at Tempest and then back to Tony. “Visiting.”

  He must finally get a clue, because he straightens and takes a step away from the table. “Oh, well, enjoy your stay… and the enchiladas here are the best.”

  “Thanks,” I tell him, watching his back as he walks to his table to make sure he doesn’t change his mind. “Fucking Chatty Cathy.”

  Tempest laughs, like a forced huff of laughter. “What was that?” Her green eyes are wide as they dart from me back to Tony across the restaurant, sitting at his table, obviously telling his buddy all about our talk. “Oh, my God… so you’re like one of those guys who fights on the television?”

  The way she phrases the question makes me laugh and it helps to diffuse the tension that’d built in my shoulders while I felt like everyone in the restaurant was staring at me. I obviously don’t have a problem with people looking at me. I’ve fought in public since I was a kid, but when I’m not fighting, I don’t really enjoy being the center of attention.

  “Yeah, I’m one of those guys… was,” I clarify, looking at my menu and immediately writing off the enchiladas. Fuck the enchiladas. I’m getting fajitas, just to spite Tony.

  “I didn’t realize,” Tempest says, trying not to make a big deal out of it, but obviously wanting to know more.

  Sighing, I set my menu to the side and lean over onto the table. “Remember how I told you my dad was a boxer?” She nods. “Well, me and my brothers started training in kickboxing and mixed martial arts from a young age. I happened to be the one that really took to the sport and started fighting in tournaments when I was about fifteen. I fought my first UFC bout when I was twenty… two months after I dropped out of Harvard.”

  Tempest is hanging on every word I’m saying, her adorable chin cupped in her hand and not an ounce of judgment in her jade green eyes. “Wow,” she says. “The only other person I know who’s been on television is Jenn… she’s the Banana Cake Queen.”

  I can’t help the laugh that bursts out of me. “Only in Tennessee.”

  “She’s a big deal,” Tempest says, nodding her head. “Not just a local celebrity, either… like, national. It’s why the bakery is so popular. People drive from a hundred miles away just to buy our baked goods.”

  “I’ve noticed,” I tell her, my focus going to her lips. I can’t help it. When she talks, the way they move mesmerizes me. “And rightfully so… those muffins.” Whistling under my breath earns me a smile from the Duchess of Muffins.

  “What can I get for you?” our waiter asks as he walks up to the table.

  Tempest and I order—me sticking with my decision on the fajitas and her going with the “world famous” enchiladas. After he comes back with our drinks and lets us know he turned our order in, she looks at me pointedly. “So, what do the other Vikings do, if they’re not fighters?”

  “Well, my older brother Viggo and my younger brother Vali own a gym. It was where I used to train and I worked there, conducting kickboxing classes. My other younger brother Osmond… Ozzi… he works there too, mostly training with young fighters. And my youngest brother, the baby of the family, Gunnar, is the one who will probably pick up the gloves.”

  She smiles and I feel it deep down in my chest… every time. “He wants to follow in your footsteps.”

  I shrug. “I’m not so sure it’s me he’s trying to emulate, but he definitely has the fighting gene… and he’s good. He’s got great potential.”

  “Do you miss them? Are y’all close?” she asks, dipping a chip into the salsa and popping it into her mouth, drawing my attention back to those damn lips.

  “Sure,” I say, forcing my attention to the chip basket. I usually don’t eat carbs, but I think I’ll make a concession. Needing the distraction, I dip a chip. “I talk to them almost daily… and things have been a little… stressed since the injury.”

  Tempest frowns. “Why?”

  “Well, the gym really depended on the publicity it gained from my appearances and fights.”

  “So it was riding on your coattails?” she asks.

  Cringing a little, I clear my throat, feeling a little uncomfortable talking about it. I never speak about the gym with other people, at least not like this. If I’m not discussing the business side of things with Viggo or Val, I’m promoting it to a camera or people in the industry. Never do I get a chance to just voice my opinions without fear of repercussions.

  “It might sound that way, but it was mutual,” I tell her, being completely honest. “I benefited from the gym just as much as it benefited from me. By being so connected to it, I had opponents to spar with at the drop of a hat, access to one of the most elite training facilities in the Dallas area, and the best support system.”

  “I bet they really miss you,” she says thoughtfully, something in her gaze shifting.

  I shrug. “I guess… yeah.” Grabbing another chip, I dip it and shove it in my mouth to buy me a few seconds to think about my response. “They miss the notoriety and the opportunities… but things change. It’s not like I planned on getting injured, and regardless of my involvement, Erickson MMA is still an elite facility in the southwest.”

  “Impressive,” Tempest says, nodding her head.

  The waiter steps up to our table about that time, a sizzling plate of beef fajitas with my name on them and a plate oozing with gooey cheese for Tempest.

  “Yum,” she says, inhaling deeply as she closes her eyes.

  Mexican food is like a religious experience for Tempest and I’m feeling so fortunate to be along for the ride. As we get down to business with our food, the conversation shifts to lighter topics… how amazing the side of guacamole is and how we both love sopapillas. And Tempest wasn’t wrong, this is some of the best Mexican food I’ve ever had.

  The surprises in Tennessee just keep coming.

  On the drive home, I find myself wishing I could call in sick and find a way to spend the rest of the evening and night with Tempest. But duty calls. So, as we make our way back to Green Valley, I just enjoy the view, both inside and outside of the truck.

  The scenery in this part of the country is hands-down some of the best views I’ve ever witnessed, and I’ve been everywhere. The Appalachian Mountains are quickly becoming my favorite thing, well second favorite.

  “I bet it was great having siblings growing up, huh?” Tempest asks, her elbow resting on the window as she kicks back and enjoys the ride.

  I laugh. “That’s something an only child would say.”

  “Hey!” she protests. “I didn’t have a choice in the matter and I honestly can say I spent the better part of my life wishing I had someone to share the burden of being a Cassidy wit
h. I mean, I never had anyone to split the chores or commiserate with when my mom was being overbearing or my dad was being a hardass… which they still do,” she mutters.

  “Was it that bad?” I ask, glancing over at her and then back to the road. “Green Valley seems like a pretty good place to grow up.”

  She sighs, sitting up a little straighter. “Home life wasn’t terrible. I always had food on the table and clean clothes to wear. My parents were involved in my schooling and activities… well, I didn’t have many of those, but they were always present… I had a good childhood.”

  “But?” I ask, sensing there’s a flip side.

  “School was rough. Thankfully, I had Cole. He was the big brother I never had, which is probably why we’re still so close. And then he started dating Anna and we became friends.”

  Now I’m sitting up a little straighter in my seat, not liking the sound of this. “So, let me get this right… Cole and Anna were your only friends?” That’s how she’s making it sound, but I hope I’m wrong. The thought of Tempest being alone or lonely doesn’t settle well with me.

  “I had friends, but they weren’t great ones,” she says. “They were the kind of friends who would turn on you at the drop of a hat, always swaying to play the side that benefited them the best.” For a second, she’s quiet—contemplative. “But,” she continues, fortifying her voice, “after I started dating Asher, things got better… at least on the surface, but looking back, I’m not so sure he did me any favors. My friends were his friends and after the divorce, I realized their loyalties always resided with him.”

  That pisses me off.

  “I think that’s why I felt like I was fighting for air those first couple months… I didn’t know what was up or down or sideways. When he was out of my life, I didn’t know where I stood. It was scary and I constantly felt like lashing out at everyone and everything… like my fight-or-flight mechanism kicked into high gear, and I chose fight.”

  We sit in the quiet for a few miles, just the noises from the road filling the truck. It’s not that I don’t have anything to say, but I’m trying to think about how I want to reply without telling her what a dick her ex-husband is and that’s she’s better off without him… and that I’m grateful for his mistake, the worst mistake of his life, because due to his stupidity, I get to sit here… with her.