From my cozy new bedding to my dishes on the exposed shelves, everything about this space is just… me.
It’s mine.
Spinning around like Julie Andrews in Sound of Music, I can’t help the smile on my face.
After my little victory dance, I decide to break down the empty boxes and walk them downstairs to the back alley where the dumpster is. Having everything done before I go to bed will feel good, and hopefully, it’ll help me sleep better and feel rested, because I haven’t since the call from the realtor that the house sold.
I’ve laid awake every night thinking about the move and everything being final.
Actually, if I’m being honest with myself, that kiss has cost me more hours of sleep than anything else. That damn kiss and the man who gave it to me have consumed every waking moment.
I wish he was home.
No, no I don’t.
Because if he was and I went over there… or he came over here…
My thoughts immediately turn to the heated scenes I’ve been conjuring up every time I think about him, and now that I know what it’s like to feel his touch, I can’t stop myself.
I know I need to, but I can’t. I’ve tried, but it’s futile.
Part of me wonders if my attraction to him is a way for my heart to rebound from the rejection and hurt, but something tells me it’s not that at all. The way my skin tingles every time I’m around him and my heart skips a beat when he looks at me with heat in his eyes, I know it’s something more. And it’s not just the physical attraction, I like him. I like hanging out with him and talking to him. He’s funny and smart and interesting. And he’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met.
He doesn’t judge me or try to change me.
He just accepts me for who I am and he makes me better.
The truth is: I might be falling for Cage Erickson.
And I want him, more than I ever wanted Asher.
And that scares me. And excites me. And worries me. And makes me hopeful. He makes me feel everything.
With Asher, it was a relationship that developed slowly. I didn’t immediately love him. He eventually won me over. Like eventually turned into love. He was the only boy I’d ever dated. Hindsight being twenty-twenty, maybe I should’ve dated more and figured out if marrying him was really what I wanted, but I thought I knew. I thought I knew him and thought I could trust him.
Apparently, I was wrong.
With Cage, the attraction was immediate and it’s gotten stronger as time goes on. I don’t know what I’m going to do about it. But I do know I don’t want to ruin the friendship we’ve developed. Besides, I don’t know if I’m ready for another relationship or if he’d even be interested in having one, but the feelings are definitely there.
Chapter 20
Cage
“I can’t believe you got Julio to agree to fight,” Val says incredulously, like I might be lying to him. “I just talked to his agent a few weeks ago and it was a hard no. The purse wasn’t big enough.”
Pacing the length of the room that’s looking more and more like a legit studio every day, I huff. “Well, believe it. I called him… called in a favor and he’s in.” I want to add “don’t say I’ve never done anything for you”, but I’m trying to smooth the waters not stir the shit, so I keep my mouth shut.
“Thanks,” he finally says and I can tell it’s a struggle. He still wants to be pissed that I won’t give in and fight a losing fight. Because regardless what he and Viggo think, I would lose that fight. Wilson is in the best shape of his life and he has a vendetta against me for taking his belt a few years ago. “But it would still be nice for you to be there. We could use the extra publicity. Maybe you could do an exhibition bout—”
“No,” I say, cutting him off. “I’m not stepping foot in that ring.”
He sighs and I can picture him running a hand over his short buzz cut. “Viggo said you were done… I guess I just didn’t believe him.”
“Well, I am,” I confirm. Admitting it doesn’t leave me with the gutted feeling it did eight months ago. Back then, I couldn’t imagine a life outside of the sport, but now that I’m living it, I can. Sure, I’m disappointed and there’s still a hole that hasn’t been filled, but I’m getting there.
“Gunnar wants to fight,” Val says and I stop pacing and turn toward the mirrors. “He wants you to train him.”
Crossing the mats, I throw a punch at one of the bags, making the chains rattle. “What do Mom and Dad think about that?”
Out of all my brothers, Gunnar is the most like me. He’s smart. Not that my other brothers aren’t, but where Gunnar and I excelled in academics, the others just coasted by until they could graduate. Viggo and Val both have their business degrees from a community college. Ozzi went straight from high school to the gym. By the time he graduated, business was booming. I was fighting, Viggo was managing everyone, and Val was promoting fights.
We were a well-oiled machine.
And I do miss those days.
“He’s graduating in December. He promised Mom he would graduate. He’s doing it,” Val says, but what I feel like he’s implying is that unlike me, Gunnar is graduating.
Yeah, I already know.
I’m officially the failure of the family.
“Besides, he’s twenty-one,” Val adds. “It’s not like he needs their permission.”
True. It’s hard to believe he’s that old, but he is—plenty old enough to make his own decisions and blaze his own path. I’m proud of him for sticking with college and getting his education. I always knew he would, because the other way Gunnar is unlike me is that he actually wanted to go to college.
He even applied to Harvard, but didn’t get accepted.
However, he’s graduating from Rice with a degree in Exercise Science. If I had stuck with college, that’s something I probably would’ve enjoyed, but being at Harvard, I felt stifled. I just didn’t fit in with all of the pre-law and pre-med students. It wasn’t the life for me. And as much as my family, my mom most of all, would like me to feel bad about my decision to quit and start fighting full-time, I don’t.
I made my choices.
I lived my life.
And I don’t have any regrets.
Gunnar is going to be a great addition to the Erickson MMA business. He’ll probably be the one to fulfill all of the dreams placed on my shoulders.
“He’s good, huh?” I ask. I know he is, but I haven’t had a chance to see him fight recently, but according to Viggo, he’s really come into his own in the last few months—more driven, more focused… stronger, faster.
“It’s like he knows he has to pick up the torch, man,” Val says and I can hear the smile in his voice… the pride he feels. “He’s ready to step up.”
And fill my shoes, that’s what he leaves out.
Maybe I should feel bad about it, resentful even, but I don’t.
“And he wants me to train him?”
“We all do,” Val says. “You’re the best.”
“I’ll think about it. And I’ll be home soon, so we can all sit down and talk about it.” I need to make a trip to Dallas to tie up loose ends. If I’m going to stay in Green Valley for the foreseeable future, there’s no sense in keeping my house. Plus, I could use the money from selling it to invest in a studio.
There’s a pause and it’s then I hear the shuffle of feet behind me and turn to see a sight for sore eyes, my sore eyes.
Tempest is standing on the other side of the mats holding a box from the bakery. I haven’t seen her since the day we went to Knoxville and ended up kissing in the truck… best fucking kiss of my life. But that was over a week ago and I was afraid she wasn’t going to show today.
“Hey,” I say to Val. “I’ve gotta go.”
“Think about it,” he says. “And think about coming home for the fight.”
“Fine,” I agree, ending the call and walking toward Tempest.
She gives me a small smile, biting down on her bottom lip.
>
“Hey,” she says, pushing the box out in front of her, like they’re a peace offering. “I made you these.”
My payment.
So, I’m guessing we’re still on for her reunion. After the kiss and the way she bolted after the call from her realtor, I thought she might’ve changed her mind.
“I wasn’t sure if you were coming today,” I admit and her eyes skitter around the room, looking anywhere but at me, and fuck me, this is what I don’t want. If Tempest gets weird and feels uncomfortable around me, that would be the worst, because as much as I want her body, I want her presence even more.
“It’s been kind of a shit day,” she says, exhaling. “And I really need a friend… and something to take my mind off of everything.”
I feel a tightening in my chest with her words and as much as I want to tell her to fuck being friends, I can’t. She obviously needs that from me and I’m willing to be what she needs.
For now.
“You came to the right place,” I tell her with a smirk, hoping to set her mind at ease—giving her a safe place to land.
The hesitant smile on her face tells me she really needs a good session. And by that, I don’t mean with my dick. So I walk over and set the muffins down, grabbing her new gloves I bought in Knoxville.
“Try these on,” I instruct, handing them over.
She takes them and her green eyes go wide. “What are these?”
“Your new gloves,” I tell her, walking over to grab a roll of tape. “We’re sparring today.”
“You bought these for me?” she asks, disbelief in her tone as she slides one of them on and flexes her fist. When she looks back up at me, there’s pure adoration in her gaze. You’d think I gave her a new car.
She looks down at the gloves and I see a soft smile on her lips… those fucking lips. When she laughs, I ask, “What’s so funny?”
Shaking her head, she replies, “I can’t remember the last time someone bought me something. How sad is that?”
My heart clenches and I have a sudden desire to buy her the world.
“What do you mean?” I ask, sure I’ve misunderstood what she’s saying, but she simply shrugs.
“Just what I said.” Looking back up at me, her eyes are a little shiny. “Usually for my birthday, my parents take me out for dinner, but they stopped buying me gifts when I was in college. For Christmas, we agreed to not exchange gifts a few years after Asher and I got married. I think…” she drifts off, but then continues, her voice an octave lower. “I think they thought we’d have kids… and that they’d start buying for them, but…”
That never happened.
Instead, her fuckwad of an ex went and knocked up someone else.
I feel that gut punch for her. My stomach literally hurts when I think about what she’s been through.
“Wanna know something?” she asks, almost absentmindedly, her gaze fixated on the black leather of the gloves as a finger on her ungloved hand traces the flames. “Asher came into the bakery today to buy a dozen muffins… Back in Baby’s Arms.” She laughs, but this time, it’s empty of humor. “I took the order and had no idea who they were for.”
“So, I’m assuming,” I start, but she finishes my thought.
“It’s a boy.” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes and even though I know she’s over Asher, this hurts. “Mindy went into labor two days ago.”
The fact that he intentionally brought her even more pain makes me want to go find him and make him wish he’d never been born.
“Wanna put those gloves to good use?” I ask, thinking of another gift I can give her.
When she nods her head in agreement, I take her hand in mine and wrap her knuckles in tape, taking care to not make it too tight, but tight enough to protect her hands. They are, after all, extremely valuable. The Duchess of Muffins couldn’t make her magic with damaged hands.
“Just like shadowboxing,” I instruct as we start to bounce around the mats. “Except now, you’re going to make contact.”
Her eyes grow wide. “I’m going to hit you?”
“Yep,” I tell her, knocking together my gloves, which are just for show, because there is no way in hell I’m going to actually spar with her. All I’m going to do is let her blow off some steam and take her new gloves on a test drive.
“Hard?” she asks, still unsure of what we’re getting ready to do.
“As hard as you want.”
I hit my stomach for show, raising my shirt and flexing my muscles. When her eyes darken, I raise an eyebrow in challenge. She wants me… I know she does… as more than a friend. If only I could get her to see that we can explore this heat between us and still be friends.
The best relationships are built off friendships, after all.
“It’s all about getting comfortable in the ring,” I instruct. “This is your ring.” I spread my arms wide to the mats around us. “Stay on your toes… stay moving.”
She nods and begins to bounce around like when we’re shadowboxing.
“Most importantly, breathe,” I tell her, making eye contact and holding her gaze. “Breathe.”
I watch as she inhales deeply and lets it out.
“Relax,” I say, dropping my voice and raising my gloves up. “Eyes on me.”
After a few more seconds, I see her begin to focus and forget about everything else—Asher, the baby… everything. “Now punch.”
She starts off tentatively with a half-assed right hook and then a weak left jab.
“You can do better than that,” I tell her, giving her shoulder a push as we dance around each other. “Give it to me… lay it all on me.”
The next punch hits me in the arm and I can’t say it stings, but I feel it and I give her a quirk of an eyebrow in approval. “Again.”
Left, right… uppercut, jab.
“That’s it,” I coax. “Hands up, keep your face protected.”
It’s too pretty to take a punch.
When she starts to get the hang of it and realizes she’s not going to hurt me, she loses herself in the sparring, throwing punch after punch. Some I dodge, some I deflect, and some I take like a man, letting her take out her frustrations and disappointment on me.
I must get too lax in my protective stance, or maybe I’m losing my touch, because she lands a wild right hook to my jaw and it kind of knocks me for a loop.
“Oh, my God,” she exhales, bracing her hands on her knees as she catches her breath and tries not to laugh. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to punch you in the face.”
Her genuine laugh is a soothing balm to any injury I might’ve sustained, which is minimal, maybe a sore jaw, but probably not even that. But that doesn’t keep me from playing it up. I cup my jaw and turn my back to her, bending over as if I’m in pain.
She immediately comes to my side, concern in her voice. “Cage… are you okay? I… I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry.”
Just as she squats down to look me in the eye, I grab her and toss her over my shoulder.
“I should body slam you for that,” I growl, earning a squeal.
“I’m sorry!” she exclaims. “Put me down. Please!” Her padded fists hammer at my back and I twist.
“A little to the left,” I tell her. “My lat has been tight for a few days.” My own laugh rumbles through my chest as she starts pounding harder. Without thinking, I smack her ass and she practically jolts right off my shoulder.
Letting her slide to the floor, I can’t help the way my body responds to hers.
“Did you slap my ass?” she asks, eyes wide.
I nod. “Yeah, I did… you had it coming.”
Her mouth drops open and she huffs out another laugh in disbelief, but I see the way her eyes change—darkening, lids lowering—just like the other night in the truck. She’s thinking about kissing me… maybe more.
I’d bet money on it.
To preoccupy myself, I take the Velcro closure of my gloves and rip it open, freeing one hand and then the other, before wor
king on hers.
She barks out another laugh as she uses her freed hand to brush wayward strands of hair out of her face. “I think I had some pent-up aggression to get out,” she admits on a huff. “That felt good. Not the hitting you part.” Biting down on her bottom lip, she fights back another laugh. “But the sparring part… that was just what I needed.”
Her words of pent-up aggression and need are going straight to my dick, which is entirely too close to her to be getting hard. At this proximity, she’d feel it… she’d know exactly how much I want her.
That intense connection from the other night is back and I feel something in my chest pull, like it’s tangling with something inside her, pulling me to her.
“I, uh,” she hesitates for a moment, her eyes boring into mine. “I wanted to say that I’m sorry for kissing you… I crossed a line and it was really—”
“Fucking great,” I tell her, cutting off her bullshit apology. I was hoping she’d bring it up, but only because I wanted to do it again and tell her how much I love kissing her… touching her, being near her. When she leaned across the cab of the truck and kissed my cheek, I lost my mind. I’m also confident if we’d have kept it up and her phone hadn’t rang, I would’ve had her in my lap, grinding on my dick in no time.
I wanted her.
I still want her.
Her cheeks tinge pink as she looks away.
“Tempest,” I demand, gently taking her chin and turning her gaze back to me. “It was more than great… best kiss of my life.”
The blush on her cheeks deepens and she swallows hard.
“Don’t overthink this,” I say, barely above a whisper, leaning toward her and praying to God she lets me do what I want—what I need. “And before you say anything, we can still be friends and kiss… lots of friends kiss.”
Smirking, I get a small smile from her and lean my forehead into hers, breathing her in.
A second later, her hands come up to my chest and she grips my T-shirt in her fists, taking some deep breaths.
“What are you thinking?” I ask, not wanting to mess this up because I love being this close to her, feeling her body against mine, but I’m going to go fucking crazy if I can’t touch her. But I won’t if she doesn’t want me to, so she’s going to have to say something, either putting me out of my misery or pouring cold water over my heated body.
Stud Muffin: Donner Bakery Book #2 Page 18