by Amity Cross
“Nobody’s bothered to change the code on the alarm,” he said through a heavy breath. “I needed—” He ran a hand over his face, beginning to look agitated.
“No psychos allowed, buddy. I’ll crack that dense head of yours open if you don’t get out now.”
“You’re a feisty little thing, aren’t you?”
“You’re totally full of yourself.”
He looked me up and down and a grin pulled at his lips. His full, totally kissable, lips. “Coach used to let me train whenever I wanted,” he drawled. “Twenty four seven.”
I stared at him, suddenly releasing who I was looking at.
“Coach?” he prodded. “Andrew Miller? The guy who owns the joint you’re squatting in?”
“I’m not squatting,” I protested.
“So, you’re the guard dog?”
Seeing red, I swung the bat again, but he caught it easily with one hand. He started laughing as I jerked it out of his grasp.
“I’m going to fuckin’ love you, princess.”
“You must be the golden boy that everyone worships around this place,” I said. “They lick your photo every morning and twice before they go home.”
“Ash Fuller,” he declared. “You can lick me anyway you like, darlin’.”
“Fucking, puke.” Total lie. I’d lick him from head to toe and pay special attention to one appendage in particular, but I guess he was used to women submitting to him on their knees. I had a newsflash for Mr. Ash Fuller, Golden Boy. I was definitely not a submissive.
“Listen,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t know who the fuck you are or what you’re doing here, but I’m just getting in a workout before tomorrow. I’m not going to nick anything.” He edged closer, his hand going for the bat. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
Jerking away, I lowered it, but tightened my grip on the handle. One wrong move and I’d kneecap him in an instant.
“Coach know you’re crashing here?”
“Get the fuck out.”
He stared at me for a second, before his gaze lowered to my tits.
“Out.”
“Bitch,” he snarled, turning to pick up his stuff.
He dragged on his clothes, stuck his monster feet into his trainers and stormed across the studio. It wasn’t until the door slammed closed behind him, that I lowered the bat.
What a total asshat. A totally hot, sex dripping, asshat.
Checking the lock and punching in the alarm code, I went back upstairs and closed the door to my ‘room’, propping a heavy box in front of it.
Mental note. Get a lock.
The next morning I hadn’t been back long from the coffee shop when the inevitable happened.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Dad’s excited voice echoed through the studio.
Coming to a stop on the landing, I stared down at Ash Fuller, who had blown right in like he owned the joint. That part was obvious since he thought he could just turn up at midnight and do whatever he wanted. And annoyingly, he was still as sexy as he looked in the dark. Probably more since now he was all lit up and in Golden Boy mode.
Dad threw his arms around GB and thumped him on the back. Definitely his favorite.
My gaze met with Dean’s and he just made a face at me. Looked like I wasn’t the only one not thrilled at the return of one Ash Fuller. Then I felt his eyes on me.
With a groan, I thumped down the stairs, knowing I wouldn’t be able to escape him for long, so I just better get this over with. He said he wouldn’t tell, but that didn’t mean shit.
“Ren,” Dad called out, waving me over.
Stopping an arms length from the two men, I fidgeted nervously.
“She work here?” Ash asked like I wasn't even there.
“She's right the fuck here,” I snapped.
Ash looked me over in a way that made me feel fucked from head to toe. He looked at me like he was seeing me naked and it only made the shade of red I was seeing a lot closer to blood.
“She's just like you,” he said, his voice all deep and sexy, still ignoring me like an arrogant asshole. “Bites like a motherfucker.”
Biting my tongue, I strode off into the gym where Lincoln was pounding the pavement on one of the treadmills. Glancing through the window, I saw Ash talking to Dad, and then he looked up and narrowed his eyes at me. Yeah, I was the Coach’s daughter. I wondered how Dad was spinning it to his star pupil.
“Alright, Ren?” Lincoln asked through a heavy breath, not even breaking stride.
“Alright,” I replied, tossing my water bottle in the holder and towel over the rail.
My gaze was like a magnet and I found myself looking back out into the studio, where Ash had stripped off his shirt and was stretching out, Dad still talking to him. They were training right away? I wondered what for, since he’d been kicked out of pro.
My gaze travelled south, across his chest, trying to decipher what was inked there. His entire chest and stomach were tattooed with black and grey designs, the rest of his body seemed bare. He was etched with stars, skulls, some kind of filigree and words I couldn't read.
Getting on the second treadmill, I started out at a jog, staring out the window that looked over the street. Thankfully, that view was one way and nobody could see in.
Lincoln snorted beside me and thumped the control on his treadmill, increasing his pace.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothin’.”
I slowed down to a walk and slapped his arm. “Out with it.”
“The favorite is back,” he said, nodding through the window where Dad and Ash were still chatting like old buddies.
“You’re worried he’ll steal all your training time?”
“Ash was always better than everyone else. He was better without even trying. He doesn’t need the attention.”
I got it. The Twins had to work doubly hard, or at least double the normal person hard. All this must come natural for Ash and from the looks of the guy, he sure as hell knew it.
“I don’t even think he was in Thailand.”
I turned off the treadmill, facing Lincoln. “What makes you say that?”
He peered out the window, resentment written all over his face. “He’s different. He’s lost form and someone fighting four years solid in those circles would be a lot fitter than he is right now.”
“Maybe he had time off?”
“Ash?” he scoffed. “Unlikely. That guy is like a machine. Fighting is his go juice, Ren.”
I glanced over my shoulder and my gaze crossed Ash’s. A sneer pulled at his lips even as my body began to tingle and I turned away, picking up my towel. Asshole.
Lincoln thumped the controls on his treadmill, slowing down to a jog, then a fast walk. “Be careful with him, Ren. He’s got a reputation.”
“Reputation?”
“Fucks ‘em, leaves ‘em and has a nasty anger problem.”
My face began to heat because all I could think about when I looked at the guy was how much I wanted him to do the fucking part with me. Wiping my face to cover my flush, I sighed. “Thanks for looking out for me Linc, but I don’t intend to be anything with him.”
“You let me know if he gives you any shit, right?”
Thinking about how I tried to crack Ash’s skull open with a cricket bat, I nodded, a grin spreading across my face. “Sure.”
8
Ash
She was Coach’s mother fuckin’ daughter.
Renee. Ren. Spitfire. Shit hot aim with a cricket bat.
Hiding out in the gym as the Thursday night Intermediate class got under way, I stared out the window as I lifted some weights, my gaze planted directly on Ren’s firm little ass. The fuckin’ mouth on her. Smart ass bitch.
I watched her little body as she went through the motions warming up on the mat. Stretching and sticking her tits out with her arms over her head. Then her ass was in the air and my cock tightened. Bloody hell.
She was the only woman who took the
class and had been paired with one of the smaller guys, but he was still at least thirty kilos heavier than her. A single blow to the head would send her straight out.
Sweat trickled down my back as I watched her line up with the rest of the men. The class was small, ten all up. My gaze settled on her tits and before I could glance away, my cock started to twitch at the memory of her hard nipples pressing against that little singlet she'd been wearing the night before. Shit.
I was only horny because it'd been a while, not because I wanted her in particular. I could have her if I wanted to, but she was Coach's mother fuckin' long lost daughter. How would that shit look? I'm sure he'd marry me off to Monica in an instant, but the thought of Monica didn't make my dick do anything. She was pretty and all, but if I stuck my cock in her I swear her pussy would bite it off. I liked my dick. I liked it a lot.
And Ren? She already hated me.
Snorting, I set the weight down and turned to the treadmill. Focusing my pent up sexual tension on the street outside, I ran full tilt. My feet pounded on the track and I thumped the control. It wasn't until sweat was pouring down my back that I felt it. It being the burn in my muscles.
Glancing out the window into the studio, my gaze caught on Ren's. Her face was already flushed from the class, but she ducked her head like she was embarrassed I'd caught her staring.
No good was going to come of this. I knew that better than anyone on the fucking planet. Better to be an asshole and deal with it. It would be kinder.
9
Ren
Ash had been back an entire week and still hadn't tired of antagonizing me, so when I walked into the kitchen on the eighth bright and sunny morning, I was thrilled beyond belief to see him sitting at the table.
End sarcasm.
He was all on his own and when he saw me come in, his eyes narrowed in displeasure.
Great, breakfast with the douche. I was stubborn as all hell, so there was no way I was skipping because he was in here. At least there wasn't an audience in the way of Monica.
“Morning,” he drawled. “Where's that little singlet you were wearing the other night? The one that shows off your tits?”
Rolling my eyes, I wrenched open the cupboard, pulling out some bland cereal. “Where's a cricket bat when you need one?”
There was a loud snort behind me.
“Ash Fuller-shit,” I muttered just loud enough for him to hear.
His head snapped up and his green eyes met mine.
“Don't get your knickers in a twist,” he said, his lip curling.
Fixing myself a bowl of cereal, I wondered if I should live life a little dangerously and ask him what the hell his problem was. Had my arrival upset the dynamic of Beat that much? Or was he just spitting the dummy because he couldn't show up in the middle of the night anymore?
I took a spot at the furthest end of the table and promptly ignored him.
“Hey, Ren,” Dean exclaimed as he burst into the room, going straight for the fridge. He glared at Ash and wrenched open the door.
“Hey,” I replied.
Ash snorted, which caused Dean to turn and glare. “What’s your problem?”
“Nothing,” he replied, cocking his head to the side.
“If you’ve got something to say to me Ash, then just say it.”
I glanced between the two men warily. Hostility crackled in the air, but I wasn’t sure who was the more pissed. If I was going to take a stab at it, I’d say Dean. Ash had turned up without so much as an explanation to anyone and the Twins’ training time had been split.
“We’ve known each other for years, Dean,” Ash said, a smirk spreading across his face. “Why so pissy now?”
Dean slammed the fridge door closed and placed his palms on the table, his whole body tense. “You’ve lost form Ash. You think you’re still on top here? You think you can just come back outta nowhere and still be top fuckin’ dog?”
“Care to back up your words in the ring?” Ash asked, his voice oddly calm.
Dean thumped his fist on the tabletop. “You're on.”
Ash stood, his chair scraping across the tiled floor. “Five minutes.”
As he passed me, our gazes met briefly before I looked at Dean. Once Golden Boy had disappeared out into the studio, I asked, “You sure?”
Dean dumped his glass in the dishwasher. “Ash is an asshole. He's lost form, he's lording it around the fuckin' joint and I'd like to be able to beat him so I can rub it in and prove he isn't the god he thinks he is.”
I stood, taking my empty bowl over to join his glass. “Can you beat him?”
He shrugged. “Dunno, but I'm sure as fuck gunna try.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “C'mon, come and watch.”
I smiled. “Watch you get your ass handed to you? Sure.”
Dean groaned. “Ren, you're meant to be on my side.”
I grinned at the thought of Ash having his ass handed to him. That was probably going to be unlikely, but if miracles happened, I wanted to be there to see it. “Then let’s go, hot shot.”
We walked out into the studio where everyone had gathered. Lincoln was giving Dean the stink eye, shaking his head.
“What you thinkin’ man?” he asked his twin.
Dean laughed. “Exactly what you’ve been thinking since Ash Fuller walked back in the door.”
Lincoln turned to me, looking for back up. “You believe this, Ren?”
“Unfortunately,” I replied. “Should I get the first aid kit ready?”
“Oh, ha ha,” Dean drawled, shucking off his shirt and shoes. He turned to tape his hands and I gave Lincoln a concerned look, but he just shrugged. Men.
Ash clapped his hands together and started stretching his quads as Dad stood by the wayside looking disappointed, but hardly surprised at their impromptu pissing match. He just eyed both men and shook his head like he was dealing with a bunch of testosterone fuelled teenagers. The testosterone part was right.
“If you boys have got a score to settle, I’d rather you do it in the ring with a ref, than out on the street, “ he said as he threaded his way into the ring.
He turned to hold the ropes up for Dean, who slipped through and began bouncing on his heels, cracking his neck back and forth.
“No unnecessary risks,” he declared, jabbing a finger at Dean. “You’re the one with a placing for the AUFC, not Ash. Got it?”
“Got it, Coach.”
The Twins were in the competition, but Ash was the competition. I had a feeling that just being in it wasn't enough for Dad and the reputation of the studio. It was Championship or bust and Ash could've done that for him. Beat was doing bad financially because of whatever happened four years ago. It was bad enough for the studio to take some of the fall and nobody seemed to know what had really happened.
So, yeah, I wanted to watch the Golden Boy fight to see what all the fuss was about.
I perched on the bench along one side of the ring as Ash stepped through the ropes. Despite myself, my gaze took in every inch of him from his heels, across his tattooed chest which was ripped with muscles, all the way to his messy head of dark hair.
I'd gotten used to being around naked male torsos and exposed nipples a while ago now, but none of them had looked quite as fine as Ash Fuller. His tattoo made him look meaner than he was, enhancing the broadness of his chest. In short, he looked formidable. His physique was something else, but his personality left a lot to be desired.
The two men toed their marks as Dad held up an arm between them. “Clean fight, boys. If it gets too rough, I’m going to put an end to it. Understand?”
They nodded, not taking their eyes of one another.
Dad readied himself to scramble out of the way. “Okay, ready and…fight.”
The moment he was out of the way, Dean lunged, going for a throw, but Ash countered, their shoulders slamming into each other’s chests. They grappled one another, trying to gain purchase, but neither could get the upper hand. They broke contact and stepped ba
ck, guards up again.
The Twin stepped forward and punched with his right, going for Ash’s jaw. Golden Boy guarded his face with his arms, absorbing Dean’s blow into his forearms. I winced, knowing that had to hurt, but if he felt it, it didn’t even show on his face.
Dean went to feign right while he was distracted, but Ash was too quick. He pushed a shoulder into the twin's stomach, hands grabbing at his arm. Before anyone could blink, Dean was flying through the air, landing on the flat of his back with a grunt.
Yeah, Ash was good.
“Fuck,” Dean exclaimed, scrambling to his feet.
“Language, Dean,” Dad said, patting him on the shoulder.
Ash toed his mark and stood tall, waiting for Dean to get on with it. No fuss, no fanfare, just one hundred percent business. He didn't need to push Dean verbally because his skill and body did it for him. Finally, I could see why Ash was the Golden Boy of Beat and that title was actually deserved.
There was movement beside me and a cloud of Chanel Number Bitch perfume wafted up my nose. I resisted the urge to groan out loud. This wasn't going to be pretty, not by a long shot. I'd seen Monica watching me for weeks, waiting for the perfect opportunity to sink her claws in to mark her territory and now that Ash was here, her game had upped. Seemed like she'd finally picked her moment and it was while everyone was preoccupied with the ring.
“Good, isn't he?” Monica said, venom lacing her words.
I didn't answer or acknowledge her existence.
“I see you watching him, you know.”
I knew she meant Ash, but she had nothing to worry about. I couldn't stand the guy. It was all professional admiration. Liar.
“He's not interested in you Ren,” she said condescendingly, pretending to be all concerned sister. “All you’re doing is embarrassing yourself.”
Glaring up at her, I couldn't help biting. “I'm embarrassing myself? I can't stand the guy. Looking at him makes me want to choke on my own vomit, much like the feeling I get when I look at your face. You think he wants you? If anyone should be embarrassed, it's you.”