by Ciz, Alley
She offered to let him break and he sunk both a striped and solid.
The first shot she lined up to take was close to the edge of the table and she didn't bend over much to make it. Using her standing position to his advantage, he came up behind her, placed a hand on either side of her hips on the mahogany wood, bracketing her body with his arms, and pushed against her so her back was flush with his front.
“Gage,” she hissed.
“Rocky,” he mocked.
“I’m trying to shoot.” Her eyes flashed silver as she tilted her chin over her shoulder to glare daggers at him.
“No one’s stopping you, Blue.”
He was pretty sure she let out a small growl as she resettled the cue between her fingers, then muttered a curse as the ball she was aiming for hit wide of the pocket.
He hit his next two shots in quick succession before missing, turning it over to her once again.
Hip to his ways, she made fast work of her next shot, not allowing him time to get to her before taking it.
Everything inside the apartment faded away as they played.
“I think we’re better matched than you think.” He was starting to believe that was true for much more than just a billiards game.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Champ.”
“Oh, yeah?” He leaned against his pool cue. “If you’re so confident, how about we make things a little more interesting.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“How about a little wager?” She arched a brow but stayed silent. “For every ball we sink, the other has to answer a question.”
She seemed skeptical but agreed.
He smiled as he lined up his shot, the ball rolling into the corner pocket he aimed for.
“What’s your guilty pleasure?” he asked.
She hmmed while she considered her answer and he wondered if she made that sound in bed. Focus, man.
“I guess watching reality TV, the worse and more dramatic the better.”
That was not at all what he expected. “Which ones are your favorites?”
“Now you’re trying to cheat.” She tsked. “But I’ll answer anyway. I’m a sucker for The Bachelor and The Bachelorette, but my favorites have always been the Jersey-based ones. I love yelling at the TV during The Real Housewives of New Jersey or Jersey Shore for how inaccurate they are.”
His next shot went wide but hers was right on the money.
“My turn.” She tapped her chin while she thought. “Okay, got it. What’s your favorite color?”
He huffed out a laugh. “That’s what you want to know?”
“Hey!” Her hands went to her hips. “Don’t judge. You’re the one who came up with this game.”
He moved to join her on her side of the table. “Well…if you asked me a few weeks ago, I would have told you it was green.” He was full of crap, he didn’t have a favorite color, but he could spin this to work in his favor.
“Wh-What changed?” Her words stuttered as he moved deeper into her personal space.
“Well, you see.” He fingered a fine piece of hair curling by her ear. “Suddenly I find myself being partial to a particular shade of blue.” Even now, the light caught the strands and gave them a blue tint.
She gasped, her lips forming that enticing O shape, and blinked up at him a few times. He was shocked he'd managed to stun the girl who always had a comeback.
When she finally broke eye contact and moved to take her next shot, she missed it by millimeters.
With a smirk, he made quick work of sinking his next ball in the side pocket, chuckling at the scrunched up face Rocky made as he straightened up.
“Alright, Champ. This time try to come up with something better than what’s my guilty pleasure.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re the one who had the lame what’s your favorite color question.”
“Whatever.” She waved him off. “Ask your question and take your next shot already.”
There was one thing he was dying to know but hadn't had the opening to ask. Now was his chance.
Not wanting her to feel pressured by what he had a feeling would be a heavy question, he stayed on his side of the pool table.
“Okay…there has been something I’ve been curious about.”
“Oh, really?” She arched one of her black brows. “Do tell.”
He swallowed. “Why don’t you date fighters?”
He held his breath, anticipation bubbling under the surface as he waited for her answer. Instead, she only blinked, not uttering a word.
As the silence grew awkward, he lined up his next shot for something to do, but she spoke before he could take it.
“You know what?”
He lifted his eyes to hers.
“I’m not going to answer that one, because technically I answered two for you earlier.”
He let her have the out—for now—and missed the pocket he’d aimed for. After his failed shot, the position of the cue ball on the table had Rocky bending over to stretch her upper body fully across the felt.
Under the completely bullshit guise of helping her with her shot, because she was clearly skilled, and to create a delicious distraction, he once again molded his body to hers.
The way she was bent over put her ass in the perfect position for him to thrust against her. If they were alone, he would have stripped her leggings from her body and been inside her faster than delivering a knockout punch. Instead, he settled for lining up his erection with the crease of her ass, delivering a subtle thrust of his hips, knowing she couldn’t miss the dumbbell currently residing in his pants.
His left hand rested on the table beneath her arm holding the pool stick, his knuckles grazing the nipple straining against the shirt and sports bra she had on. The thin material did nothing to hide how beautifully her body reacted to him.
Caging her between himself and the table, his right arm stretched along hers, he was pleased to see the goosebumps trailing in the wake of his touch as he lay dominant over her. One day soon, they would be repeating this position.
Naked.
He scratched the slight stubble he was currently sporting along the sensitive skin of her neck and moved to speak in her ear. “Do you feel what seeing you bent over like this does to me?” Another slow rock of his hips.
Her forehead dropped to rest against the felt of the table. He knew she was biting back a moan, but with their bodies pressed this tightly together, he could feel the rumble of her chest.
“I may have to get a pool table for my place. Because I can think of about a dozen ways to have you on it.”
“Gage.” His name was a broken plea on her lips.
“Come on, baby. Take your shot.”
The tip of the stick skidded across the felt as she scratched, costing her the game.
They straightened from their positions, her mercurial eyes blazing.
“You play dirty,” she accused.
“You have no idea how dirty.”
Chapter Sixteen
As Gage went to work rewrapping his hands to spar with Vince, he swore he could feel a fresh callous forming, one that had nothing to do with fighting and everything to do with having to relieve his own sexual frustration from teasing Rocky to the brink. He'd rubbed one out so many times in the last six days he felt like he was a teenager again.
In order to avoid walking around with a perpetual woody while training at the gym—damn Rocky and those sexy leggings and sports bra combinations—he’d taken to adding a jerk-off session to his morning showers.
Even as he grappled with Vince, he couldn’t help but admire the way her long legs looked in a pair of Marauder’s Map-printed leggings and a tight v-neck proudly boasting she solemnly swore she was up to no good. No one made geeking out look as good as she did.
“Looking a little slow today, Champ,” she teased as Vince slipped out of his hold, her eyes sparkling as she watched them.
He might be a weight class above the older Steele sib
ling, but it was barely a factor with the top- notch grappling skills Vince possessed thanks to his years wrestling in high school.
“The hell I am,” he huffed out, scrambling around on the mat, jockeying for position behind Vince.
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that. You’re supposed to be a submission specialist…not really seeing it right now.”
It was true. He'd only won two of his past fights by knockout—all the rest were won by his opponent tapping out. But hearing the word submission spoken in that husky voice of hers had his mind going in a completely different direction.
Lately, they had been working on eliminating any tells Vince was giving away before going into a takedown move. Though he'd studied the guy, Gage hadn’t been able to spot them himself.
Of course, since Rocky was the only one who could read her brother that closely, she usually trained with them. And Gage was not complaining. Even when she was busting his balls—and not in the way he would prefer.
He finally got Vince in a rear naked choke, a hold that had his left arm around Vince’s neck, the middle of his throat in the crook of his elbow, while locking that hand on his own bicep of his opposite arm. His right arm hooked around the back of Vince’s head, applying enough pressure to make him pass out or tap out.
Neither was the goal for this training session though. Instead, they were working on Vince’s ability to break the hold and eventually turn the tide against his opponent, should he be faced with a similar situation in his upcoming fight.
The training program the staff at The Steele Maker put them through was no joke. Gage could only imagine the intensity of it once he booked a fight and entered an official camp like Vince was in at the moment. Being an integral part of another fighter’s training was another first for him. Each day that passed, he grew more comfortable with the team aspect of his new gym.
His back bowed against the mat as he stretched back with Vince on top of him. His hip pulled and an arrow of pain shot down his leg as he tried and failed to hold the position.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” Rocky’s words were rushed.
He was warned, multiple times, not to keep an injury from her, but damn if he was admitting to anything. He’d been managing fine—okay, fine-ish—since his last fight. He wasn’t about to disclose anything that could potentially sideline him now.
“Nothing. I’m fine.” He released Vince and rolled to his side. With a deep breath, he made a conscious effort not to wince as he pushed himself from the padded floor.
“You made a face.” Her eyes narrowed as she scanned his body, and not in the way he enjoyed. Gone was the flirtatious girl he’d been getting glimpses of all week and in her place was the formidable physical therapist he'd been warned about.
She was cataloging each inch of his body like she had X-ray vision and could pinpoint his trouble areas with only a look. Hell if he wasn’t turned on by this side of her as much as the other. Her brain was as sexy as her body.
“Of course I made a face. I had a two-hundred-pound man on top of me.” He moved closer and lowered his voice “I bet you’ll make a face when I’m on top of you.”
“Don’t do that.” She held up a hand to stop any further comment from him. “Don’t try and act all macho. You may be a big, badass MMA fighter, but you’re still human. If you’re hurt, tell me. I can’t fix you if you don’t.”
It would be so easy to do as she asked. In the short amount of time he’d spent training at the gym, he had witnessed her do exactly that for several athletes. Still, he held himself back.
“You know as well as I do, Blue, I’ll take any opportunity I can get to have your hands on me.” The prettiest blush stained her cheeks. “But I don’t need any fixing at the moment.”
Before she could respond, harsh electronic screeches blared through the speakers of the gym, causing a few people to cover their ears and wince.
“Damon, what the hell did we say about trying to add Skrillex to your playlist?” Becky shouted before the music abruptly cut off.
The Steele Maker didn’t pipe in the standard generic radio station. Instead, they rotated between daily playlists picked by the staff and main fighters of the gym. It sure kept things eclectic.
“You know what that means?” Rocky threatened with a smile.
Every male in the place let out a single collective groan.
“Boy Band Bonanza,” she and Becky cheered together, throwing their hands in the air.
The guys put up a fuss, but when *NSYNC's “I Want You Back” picked up where Skrillex left off, more than a few of them were singing along with Justin Timberlake and the boys.
And when Vince, Griff and Deck joined the ladies in the choreography from the band’s “Bye Bye Bye” music video, he knew it was all posturing.
“Oh, man. I feel like I should be taking video. JD and Skye would flip if they saw their badass fighters getting down with their boy band selves,” an unfamiliar male voice cut through the laughter.
He caught the surprised smile on Rocky’s face before she ran toward the newcomer.
“Jase!” she cried as she jumped, wrapping her body around him in an excited hug.
Who the fuck was this guy? His vision went hazy as the dude buried his face in Rocky's neck and returned her embrace just as tightly.
After what felt like hours of staring at Rocky's legs locked around his waist, Gage finally took a breath when the guy lowered her back to her feet. “Missed you too, Balboa.”
He nearly cracked a tooth at the casual use of a nickname.
“I want to say I’m surprised to see you. But I saw the way you were skating after the hit.”
Rocky’s words registered through the scream of jealousy in his head and he realized the man standing there in a Storm hoodie was Jase Donnelly, one of the leading defensemen for both the Storm and the National Hockey League.
“Well, you do know you’re the only one who’s ever been able to fix me.” Donnelly gave her a smarmy smile that made Gage want to knock his teeth out. One by one.
“Bullshit,” she said with an eye roll that marginally soothed Gage's ire. “You do know the Storm employs numerous qualified professionals to make sure you’re in top shape, right?”
“Yeah, but you know you have magic hands, Balboa.”
He was going to kill him. Those magic hands were his.
“No way. You just don’t want them to know you sprained it playing paintball this summer.”
“Yo, Jase. What’s goin’ on, bro?” Vince said, sharing a complicated handshake with the guy, only serving to ramp up Gage’s frustration. It'd been difficult enough learning to navigate a whole new set of friends and expectations. Now this asshole was going to throw off that dynamic he'd been settling into.
“Vin, my man.” Donnelly turned to greet the rest of the people who were making their way over. “Heard you all are coming to the game tonight. At least I know I’ll have one of you cheering me on,” he said with a nod to Griff.
“You know it,” Griff stated proudly.
“Sure I can’t convince you to wear one of my jerseys tonight?” he said to Rocky, pulling her in with an arm over her shoulders.
“Sooo not happening. You know I’m a Blizzards girl all the way.”
She didn’t have a boyfriend—Gage had point-blank asked—and she wouldn’t have kissed him the way she did if she was committed to someone else, but something about the way the two interacted bespoke a closeness deeper than friendship. Were they a friends with benefits situation whenever he was in town? Donnelly played for the New York City Storm, so it wasn’t like he was that far away. Only a quick train ride and Rocky could be in the city.
His thoughts were spiraling. He needed more information stat. But how was he going to ask the questions without coming off like the jealous ass he was?
“Come on. Let's get you checked out so we can have you back in time for your pregame nap.” Rocky took Jase’s hand to lead him to her treatment room.
“Yeah,
you pussies need a nap before a game,” Deck said with a laugh.
“Umm, I’m pretty sure you guys nap the day of a fight, so don’t even try it, Deck,” Donnelly tossed back, walking backward to face them. “Plus, you know it’s the dream to have a job that has built-in nap time. I’m living the dream, man.” He shouted out the last line with pride.
As Gage watched Rocky disappear from sight with a professional hockey player in tow, he had to physically force himself to stay rooted in his spot and not go charging after them to stake his claim like a caveman.
With a deep breath to center himself, he figured now was as good a time as any to learn what he could.
“I take it the two of them know each other from when you all were at BTU?”
“Yeah. The hockey team was Rock’s main assignment while working on her degrees,” Vince explained.
“They also dated for a few years before Jase was drafted,” Griff added.
Fuck. Seriously? The two did have history. A long one too.
“Why’d they break up?” They clearly remained close, so it couldn’t have been a bad breakup.
The guys all looked at each other, most of them shrugging like they didn’t have the answer.
“You know, I don’t really know. It was almost like one day they were together and the next they weren’t,” Vince finally said.
What the hell did that mean? If it wasn't an emotional separation, did they still want each other, even casually?
“They’re still pretty tight.” Vince’s voice broke in echoing his own thoughts.
“Do you think they want to get back together?” And there was his biggest fear. He’d been laying the groundwork to date her, once he had come to terms with his own reservations. There was too much at stake to rush into the sex he knew they both wanted. He wasn’t prepared to lose before the round even began.