by TC Matson
“Candice!” I scold weakly through my own laugh.
“I guess count me out then.” Jay winks and hurries off for our food.
“You have no filter.” I giggle.
“Have I ever?”
“You’ve gotten more brazen,” I tell her.
“I think you’ve turned into a prude since I’ve been gone,” she says.
“Maybe I’ve sobered up from the Candice-high I’ve been on for over a decade?”
“Impossible. I’m not easily abstained from.” She grins.
“Two Whitney specials, heart attack in a wrap, for two special ladies in my life,” Jay croons setting our plates down.
As we eat, he comes to our table often, between tending to his other customers, and catches up some more with Candice. And although they talk about everything, his highlight subject is my boyfriend. It feels awkward listening to someone gush profusely over the guy I’m dating. I’ve never had a boyfriend everyone deems so irresistible. I mean, my boyfriends have been good-looking but never drooled over.
Thank goodness I’m not a raging, jealous manic.
Since moving in with Ryker, he doesn’t pressure me to come to the gym to run anymore because we live in a safe neighborhood and he knows all the neighbors. Even with that, he still familiarized himself with my route “just in case.”
He’s my protective bulldog.
But after listening to Jay and Candice gush about my man, I got off work, changed, and headed off to RingSide to soak in the sight of him and allow him to be my escape for the day.
With his championship fight approaching, he spends the majority of his time at the gym. More so now than ever.
As I step into the gym, I immediately feel the vibe is…well, it’s not as intense. He’s standing by the heavy bag with Flynn flanking his side. The moment his eyes find me, he smirks and then strides my way. I drop my bag on the bench just as he approaches and tiptoe, kissing his jaw.
“Good news. Candice is taking over the sweet sixteen the weekend of your event and the Powell wedding the weekend of your championship fight. I’m all yours both times.”
His right dimple emerges as his eyes glimmer with satisfaction. “I like you being with me. You make me look good.”
I tilt my head to get a better look at him. “I mean, you did ask nicely,” I jest.
He kisses me softly. “I did.”
He looks over my head when the locker room door squeaks. “Because of your soft side, my training has been interrupted. Carter showed up.” His tone is twisted with annoyed warmth. It’s an odd contradiction.
I turn when he releases my waist. Carter’s sporting a white t-shirt with a pair of gym shorts, just standing there unsure what to do.
“You’re working out with him?” I ask Ryker, keeping my sights set on Carter.
He chuckles. “He’s been watching me for the last hour. I think he’ll have fun.”
“You’re going to kill him.” I sigh.
He squeezes my side compelling me to look at him. “I remember being inexperienced and unsure. Don’t worry. I’ll kill him gently.”
I laugh and pat his chest. “I like you playing nice.”
He places a kiss on the side of my head. “Your smile makes me do shit.”
Just like he did with me the first time I dared to step foot into his ring, Ryker warms Carter up with stretches and several minutes of jumping rope. Afterward, Ryker walks through the same speech about how important a wrap is to protect your hands and wrists before centering Carter in the ring with a pair of black punching gloves.
Carter shifts on his feet. I’ve never witnessed someone so happy to be terrified, and I can’t help but giggle inwardly. Ryker holds up two pads and instructs him to punch them like he means it. Carter nods and does as he’s told.
Several long seconds of him slamming into the pads pass by before Ryker stops it. I’ve got my earbuds in but I’ve not turned any music on. Instead I’m enthralled with what I’m witnessing. He educates Carter about the techniques of throwing proper punches that won’t injure you.
The size difference between the two men is profound. Ryker is taller by several inches, his biceps seemingly the same size as Carter’s waist. Carter’s skinny with long, lanky legs, but he’s still cut and it would show if he’d work out regularly.
I watch in awe as Ryker’s muscular arms flex, his tattoos hypnotizing me. Images of his naked skin standing before me cloud the picture of him in the ring. His eyes become dark and greedy, lusty and heated while gazing at me. One touch is gentle and loving. Then the next is erotically rough as he loses himself with passion. He grunts as he rocks into me, the smell of his skin intoxicating as he presses his body against mine. The pleasure he gives me when he—
“Whit!” he barks, melting the bed and our naked bodies away.
I blink realizing I was entirely lost in the daydream. Heat creeps to my cheeks.
He doesn’t say a word but a knowing smile sweeps across his lips.
“What?” I gather the courage to call out.
“You know what,” he says with a laugh.
How the hell would he know what I was thinking of? And as if he was reading my mind, “Your eyes,” he answers and then flashes a megawatt smile.
I roll my eyes and focus on the black LED numbering on the display, embarrassed to look at him. I can feel the crimson creeping all over my body, my hands trembling as I grab my phone and finally fill my ears with music.
I left the gym before him but as I push through the door, Ryker is whipping his truck into the garage. He’s grinning like the devil springing up the stairs into the house. He clutches my hand as he walks past me and yanks me in behind him. His strides are quick as he tugs me into our en-suite and spins my body, placing my back to the little partition wall beside the shower.
His eyes are holding me prisoner as he bends, leveling his face to mine, and reaches behind me to turn on the water.
“Tell me what we were doing?” he says, his voice deep and low.
He gets a thrill out of playing chase. I’m highly aroused by it. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
His extraordinary blues darken and his jaw muscles flex as he pulls my tank top over my head. He trails his heated tongue along my neck, and a sigh escapes me.
“I can taste the lie on you, Whit,” he growls so huskily my knees wobble. Sliding his hands down my sides, he tucks his thumbs under my waistband and squeezes my hips. With his gaze on my lips, he says, “I love knowing it’s me.”
A warning growl stops me in my tracks as I reach out to touch his chest.
His eyes are so dark and heated, homed in on me. “Not until you tell me.”
“You…” I start, glancing innocently from under my lashes and trailing a finger up his hard stomach. “This…” I state reaching his chest. I splay my palms heavily against his muscles. “Was sweaty…” I drag my hands over his shoulders, down his arms, and squeeze his biceps. “These were flexing…” I tiptoe and nip his bottom lip, pulling on it. “These were all over me.”
His eyes flare with heat and desire. He takes a step back. “Take off the rest of your clothes.” The order is incredibly sexy and I do as I’m told. I step out of my pants and glance up to him. “Strip me,” he says thickly.
Slowly, I start with his shirt and tug it over his head before moving to his shorts. His gaze remains fixed on me. The second the fabric falls to his feet, he spreads his hand across my stomach and guides me backward into the shower. Warm water spills over my hair and down my body when he places my back against the cool wall.
Dragging his tongue from the dip of my neck to the bottom of my chin, nibbling here and there, he leans back and meets my eyes. Again, he trails his hands down my sides, rounds my hips, and grips my ass.
“What were we doing?”
I’m so turned on. “You were making love to me.”
“Where?” he gruffs, dipping his fingers into me.
I gasp, dropping my head back to
rest on the shower wall.
“Where?” he repeats with more urgency.
“I-I don’t know…” I pant, riding his hand.
A low, husky chuckle rumbles from his throat. His eyes are dangerously darker as he sinks into me slowly until I’m full with him. I suck in a sharp breath. He exhales, dropping his head to my ear. He grips my leg around his waist and drives upward in slow, delicious, and torturous thrusts intent on turning me into a frantic mess.
It’s working. “Please,” I pant.
He grins devilishly. “Please what, Whit?”
Instead of answering him, I fist his wet hair and bring his mouth to mine, kissing him sloppily. As usual, he controls the pace and keeps it slower, teasing me with a smile against my lips.
“Baby, please,” I plea, dropping my head back to the wall again and squeezing my eyes shut.
He shifts and then shoves deeper into me, picking up the pace. His thrusts are powerful, slamming my back against the wall. My muscles begin to tighten. He nips my neck as I paw at his back and his hair, panting and gasping when my orgasm begins to sear through my body.
I jerk his mouth to mine as heat erupts throughout my entire body. The wet sounds of our bodies, pushing and pulling under the spray of water, tangle with my sighs and his hisses. Erotic bolts of lightning scurry over my already sensitive skin and I lose it completely.
His mouth is on mine, catching my moans. With one hand on my ass, he quickly grips the back of my neck and impales me so incredibly I rip my mouth from his and cry out.
“Fucking hell,” he grits, surging forward before barreling into his own release.
He rests his forehead against my shoulder, breathing heavily for several sated moments before I’m forced to stand on my own two wobbly feet.
He grazes a kiss along my lips. “I love being your distraction.” He chuckles. “You might want to learn to control your hormones out in public, though. Dead giveaway.”
I smack his chest. “You conceited ass.”
He beams. “That’s no way to talk to the man of your dreams.”
Chapter 4
Kids. They squeal, cackle, and shriek with joy as they run amok everywhere. Sarah and Jackson have a backyard full. Half of them are playing a weird version of kickball, some are horsing around in the pool, and the others? Well, Gracie has them lined up beside me, all eager as hell for me to toss them into the water.
Yep. I’m the designated kid tosser and full-time lifeguard. No thanks to Kyce’s lazy ass, who quickly scurried away inside.
Emma, Gracie’s best friend, shrieks when I lift her from under her arms and throw her into the pool. She’s cackling, flailing her little limbs just as she hits the water.
“Unk Ry! I’m next,” Gracie declares from my right.
“Oh, you’re next alright.” I snatch her up, throwing her over my shoulder. “The birthday girl needs a special birthday throw.” I chuckle moving toward the diving board.
She kicks and squirms, squealing with laughter. “No. Don’t!”
I’m grinning like a bastard as I step out to the end of the board, but suddenly, she whips herself around to face me, constricting my chest with her little legs, and latches on to the back of my neck.
“I’m not going in without you,” she tries her best to stay stoic but her voice breaks with giggles.
I shake my head holding on to her sides. “Wanna bet?”
Her little eyebrows furrow with determination. Her hazel eyes zero madly. “I do bet.”
In slow motion, I watch her lean, stretching backward and pulling with all her tiny might.
Could I stop what’s about to happen? Of course.
Will I? Absolutely not. What kind of uncle would I be if I did?
I feign a stumble and allow her to haul my big ass into the water.
“I told you!” she cackles, water splashing me in the face as she slings her pointy little finger at me.
“That was a cheap shot,” I tease.
“You taught me any way to get away is the best way.” She burns me with a frolicsome smirk and splashes away from me.
Whitney’s holding a towel, looking amused as hell when I lift out of the water.
I smile and shrug. “I’ve taught her well.”
“I feel bad for her future boyfriends,” she quips.
“Me too. She’s got a mean father and a vicious pack behind him protecting her.”
“We’re about to cut the cake and do presents,” she says.
After wiping my face off with the towel, I whistle over the ruckus of kids and yell out it’s cake time. Squawks, shouts, screams, and shrills come from all different directions as the moment of excited chaos erupts.
Whitney slides her hand into mine and we circle around the crowd of kids eagerly waiting to sing “Happy Birthday” so they can get some cake. Kyce’s punk ass strolls out of the house with Jackson and Sarah, wielding Gracie’s birthday cake.
Whitney was enlisted to help, and of course, she was excited to. She went to her go-to bakery and had them make a two-tier cake that’s pink with black and white polka-dots, some stripes, and a bunch of ruffly icing along the bottom. On the top, the number nine is centered, held by more sugary icing.
“Happy Birthday” sung—check.
At least one monkey remark—check.
Several kids jumping, clapping, and squealing after song was over—check.
Gracie’s cheeks red as hell—priceless.
“Ryker, would you like a piece of cake?” Sarah asks as she hands the last kid her plate.
“Nah. I’m good,” I tell her.
I don’t miss the look between Sarah, Jackson, Kyce, Gracie, and Whitney. It might have been a quick glance, but it makes my skin crawl, heightening my senses of anticipation. I tense as Whitney stands beside me with her plate, taking a bite of the chocolate cake. Next, Kyce shifts to my right, he too, only taking a bite. Sarah moves to stand beside where Gracie is sitting. And Jackson…he’s on the other side of the table.
The tautness levels out after several moments of listening, watching, and feeling everything out. Sarah makes small talk with Gracie and Emma, Jackson and Kyce chat amongst themselves, and Whit observes.
Part of the kids have begun playing in the yard waiting for everyone to finish so they can see what Gracie got. Kyce and Whitney ask for seconds—not unusual.
“At least have a bite for my birthday, Unk Ry,” Gracie says with soft eyes.
“I can’t, Poohbear.” I hold my ground against the damn puppy dog eyes.
“But it’s my birthday. You should take one bite,” she whines and then holds up the fork. “Lick the fork. It’s soooo good.”
Whit nudges me in the ribs. “It’s her birthday. You should try her cake. One bite isn’t going to hurt you.”
Gracie is still eyeing me with pleading eyes.
And I’m a fucking sucker for it.
She hands me her plate.
“Careful, Ryker.” Jackson smirks. “You might turn into an ogre.”
Narrowing my eyes, I tilt my head at the shithead and I swear it triggers a fucking bomb.
Quickly and simultaneously, Kyce shuffles behind me, blocking my retreat. The women—Whitney, Sarah, and Gracie—scoop up plates and slam them into my face, including the fucking one in my hand.
Cake and icing plaster my face.
Gracie is squealing and everyone is doubled over with laughter when I wipe the coating of chocolate from my eyes. I lunge, snatching her up and kissing her cheeks. I drag my face all over hers and toss her over my shoulder. Then I reach out and grab Whitney by her waist.
“You’re dirty,” I say.
She pulls back, but my grip is tight as I bend, lifting her off the ground. She laughs, squirming and pushing off me. Unlike Gracie, Whit’s more to handle, but not enough for me to lose. I’m on a fucking mission for payback.
Gracie’s still cackling.
With both my loves and ten feet separating us from the pool, Jackson steps off from the si
de with his large shithead grin.
“And where do you think you’re going with my daughter?” he asks.
Thankfully, the girls have quit wiggling. I shrug the shoulder Gracie’s on. “Not far.”
Sarah steps beside Jackson with her arms crossed, a faint smile threatening her lips. “Put them down.”
I laugh, step around them, and leap into the pool.
Gracie’s a fit of bubbles when she emerges.
Whitney springs up, her hair slick and flat against her head. Her eyes are smiling, but the gorgeous mouth of hers isn’t.
“You’re in hot water,” Whitney finally chortles, wading in the water.
Gracie paddles over to her. “That backfired.”
Whitney smirks at me. “Not necessarily. He still ate the cake.”
I’m still on a mission. I hop out of the pool and make my way to my next intended victim. Sarah backs up toward the corner, laughing and gasping for air, holding her hands up.
I seize her wrists and she yelps, trying to pull away.
I feel his presence behind me. Suddenly, Jackson slips his arms around my neck, tugging me into a playful chokehold.
“Release my wife,” he says.
“Not a fat chance.”
Kyce hurries over and helps Sarah get free from my grip, but dumbass puts himself in a vulnerable situation and I snake my arm around his neck, putting him in a chokehold.
I’m the more experienced one. It’s my fucking job to know how to get out of ugly situations, but these two have a solid fucking plan. I twist, trying to get out of Jackson’s hold but not releasing Kyce. We’re all grunting and groaning, wrestling around.
They maneuver together and jerk me to the side of the pool. Instantly, I’m tossed in, but not without seizing arms.
Guess who comes in with me? That’s right. The whole fucking Hayes clan.
“Boys!” my beautiful mother calls out and then snickers.
She’s beaming, her head tilted with her pretty copper hair falling over her shoulders. Her round hazel eyes are rich with evidence of how happy she is etched at the corners.