by T Gephart
Well, fuck.
Was I actually considering it?
Yeah.
Yeah, I was.
“Where’s the gauze, Ricci?” I held out my hand, my brain still not on board even though it was clear my body was.
Her gloved hand tossed me a roll, grinning excitedly as she moved to a shadow boxing warm up.
Of all the shit I ever thought I’d do, getting into a boxing match with someone I wanted to fucking date would have to rank dead last.
Was I still going to do it?
Obviously, I was.
My wraps weren’t as clean or as tight as Tessa’s, her old man handing me a pair of boxing gloves before stepping out of the ring. He—like his kid—seemed way too thrilled about this shit, which just made the situation even more fucked up than it already was.
And if that weren’t enough, we’d seemed to draw a crowd. The gaggle of Apollo Creeds gathering around the outside of the ring like the Pope was about to give a blessing.
Awesome.
Just fucking awesome.
“Three, three-minute rounds. No headshots and nothing below the belt,” Tessa’s dad called from the sidelines. “Go ahead and shake.”
Ricci tapped the top of my gloves, shooting me a grin before back-walking on the balls of her feet to what I assumed was her corner.
One hell of a first date. And for the record, there wasn’t a chance she was having any say in the second. And to think I’d told her dinner and a movie was out, those two pedestrian options were looking pretty fucking awesome right about now.
Backing away—without the fancy footwork—into my corner, I waited for her dad to ring the bell.
Ding.
Ding.
We were barely out of our corners when I felt the first punch make contact. I hadn’t even seen it, the blow to my kidney coming out of nowhere as I took the full force of the hit without having a chance to brace.
“Jesus,” I cursed out, managing to maneuver out of a second hit, but not so lucky on the third. She was quick, agile and lethal, each punch explosive as it made contact, and that wasn’t me being generous either. She was hard and fast, and I needed to pull my head out of my ass if I didn’t want to end up on my knees.
Going against everything I ever believed—and praying to God for his forgiveness in advance—I let loose with a few decent jabs of my own. She was quick, but I had a bigger reach, able to land a couple of decent—fuck, who the hell was I anymore?—hits on her while she continued to do damage.
She barely blinked, accepting the impact of my punches without so much as a whimper and moving me around the ring like we were line dancing.
At first, I was definitely pulling my punches. Holding back the power because even though I’d clearly lost my mind and was participating in the stupidity, I hadn’t turned into a complete degenerate. But as the fight went on—and after enough body shots to rattle my molars—I was ashamed to say, I completely forgot.
How had it not been three minutes yet? My gloves managed to deflect the last of her offensive attack before her dad finally rang the bell.
She was a hurricane, rolling onto the shoreline, fucking shit up and then retreating with zero shits given to the carnage she’d left behind.
Both of us were breathing heavy, backing away into our respective corners, taking the small reprieve that wouldn’t be sufficient for my head or my body.
I was so fucking appalled.
So horrified and yet so incredibly turned on that I was going to need years of therapy before I’d ever be right again.
“Ready?” her dad asked from the sidelines, the bell ringing before either of us had given our answer.
Two more rounds, I reminded myself as I pushed off from the ropes. Just six lousy minutes and it would all be over.
Learning from my past mistake, I decided to draw her in rather than the other way around. But no, what I hoped would give me more time, did absolutely nothing as she controlled the tempo even though I’d landed the first punch.
She was a machine, each of her fists hitting their mark even though I was actively trying to stop her. Oh, I got in a few decent shots—seriously, I was going to burn in hell for eternity—as well. But while mine had power behind them, they lacked the precision and finesse of hers. And I could tell that she was also starting to hurt.
“Shit, Ricci.” I made the mistake of dropping my hands for a second, the left right combo hitting me square in the gut. Guess that was what I got for letting down my guard, my internal organs begging me not to make that mistake again.
“C’mon, Tibbs, please tell me you’re not tired already?” she taunted, her lips edging into a smile just as my fist made contact with her ribs.
It didn’t feel good, both of us wincing as she did the same to me.
Ding.
Ding.
That bell, the saving grace, as we limped to our corners.
One more.
Three more minutes.
All I had to do was last three more minutes.
And I swore on what was left of my kidneys that I’d never make fun of those stupid erectile disfunction ads ever again. Because hey, now I understood how those assholes thought three minutes felt like three years. Didn’t mean I supported their case of limp dick, but at least I got it.
My back rested on the ropes as I caught my breath, glancing across the ring to Tessa who watched as I pulled off my T-shirt. She was glistening, the sheen of sweat coating her skin while she stared at me with wild eyes and messed up hair.
Her tongue darted across her lips, her gaze following the lines of my chest before dropping to the waistband of my shorts.
It was hot.
So fucking hot, and I had to remind myself that her dad was literally watching us, which meant pulling her panting mouth into a kiss would not be a good idea. That, and we still had one more round to go and I didn’t trust her not to take advantage.
Man, she was messing with my head.
And I wanted more of it.
I didn’t even hear old man Ricci’s warning when the third-round bell rang, my feet hitting the mat automatically as I moved forward. She did the same, engaging me first before I returned the favor.
With no idea—and not really caring—who was winning, we traded blows fairly evenly. And by the time the final bell rang, I’d never felt so relieved in my whole life.
Unable to stop myself, I pulled her into a hug. “You are incredible,” I whispered against her hair, feeling the vibrations of her laugh against my bare chest.
“For someone who doesn’t hit women, you sure held your own.”
“Thanks, Ricci, that backhanded compliment is going to keep me up for the next week,” I chuckled, still a little disgusted with myself but mostly ridiculously impressed by her.
“Break it up, you two.” Tessa’s dad magically appeared by our side, becoming the biggest cock block of all time. Not that I would have done anything. Well that was a lie because given a chance I would have definitely kissed her.
“You ain’t bad for not having any formal training.” It was as good of a compliment as I was probably going to get from him, and I was okay with that. “But Tessa got more technical points so . . . she wins. Don’t feel too bad though, almost everyone had money on you not making it past the first round.”
“Thanks a lot, guys!” I raised a gloved fist, saluting our audience who actually looked disappointed I wasn’t lying face down on the mat.
Tessa was beaming, sliding off her gloves as she moved farther away. I didn’t like that. The distance. With the hug I’d given her not long enough.
I hadn’t really thought about it, and clearly neither had she, my arms around her feeling like the most natural thing in the world. But whatever moment had existed was gone, and she’d backed off when we’d been separated. And I was going to have to find a new reason to touch her.
“Get cleaned up, kids. You’re both going to need some ice.” Tessa’s dad smiled, nodding to me before sticking his hand
out. “And the name is Enzo. If you ever want to stand a chance in the ring against her, you should show up once in a while.”
Then with the brief shake, he left us to go yell at someone else.
“I’ll show you where the showers are.” Tessa moved to the ropes, unwrapping her hands. “We can ice up at my place.”
And whatever disappointment I was feeling, no longer existed. She was taking me back to her place, and I wasn’t wasting the opportunity.
“Lead the way, Ricci.”
Tessa
“LIFT YOUR SHIRT.”
He was perched on the edge of my sofa, his brow raised in curiosity.
“This seems to be a bit of a habit for you,” he chuckled, lifting his T-shirt before pulling it all the way off. “Bringing me back to your apartment, asking me to get naked.”
I rolled my eyes, pressing the ice pack against his toned torso. “You can say no, Tibbs. And don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it.”
He didn’t even wince, his pleased grin getting wider as I waited for him to take over. “So do you like to beat the living shit out of all your first dates? Or am I special?”
I hadn’t really thought it through.
Assuming that he would show up to the gym but turn around and leave when I suggested we got in the ring. It was what I’d been expecting to be honest, with no man ever taking me up on the challenge. And then, after he left, his whole fascination with us dating would be over, and we could just move on. Or go back. Or just be done with the awkward stage we seemed to be in.
I’d wanted to force his hand, to prove that he wasn’t really interested. Or that whatever attraction he thought he was feeling didn’t go beyond the surface.
But . . .he surprised me.
Not only did he not turn around and walk away, but he went toe-to-toe with me on every round. He hit me hard too—which usually wasn’t a positive—except that it proved he respected me as an athlete and trusted me to handle myself.
And that respect, that trust—it was a turn on.
His hand replaced mine, holding the ice pack in place as I slipped off my T-shirt and iced my own ribs. “You want some Advil?” I asked, settling on the sofa and watching him do the same.
“Nah, I took some Motrin in the car on the ride over here.” His eyes dropped down to my sports bra briefly before lifting back to mine. “But if that food doesn’t get here quick, another fight is probably going to break out.”
I laughed, my muscles protesting a little as my chest expanded. “You want me to kick your ass again? Wow, Tibbs, you really are a glutton for punishment.”
We’d showered and changed at the gym before getting into our own cars and driving back to my apartment. On the way home I’d ordered enough burgers and fries to feed an army from a place nearby that delivered because we were both starving.
“Yeah, I guess I am. Which reminds me, you didn’t answer. You do this to every guy, or just me?”
I’d deliberately sidestepped his early question because I wasn’t really sure how to answer. I didn’t really want to admit what I was feeling. That part of me really liked him and it had been a strategy for avoiding disappointment. He thought I was strong, confident, and I didn’t want to shatter that illusion. Besides, I wasn’t exactly sure what was happening between us. And other than that really—and I do mean really—nice hug on the mat, it had all been pretty friendly.
“You thought that was a date?” I deflected, chuckling as I tried not to stare at his chest. He was in amazing shape, those muscles definitely not decorative. I wanted to rub my hands on them, to trace the curve of his body with my tongue, to—Not helpful, Tessa. You are not sleeping with him even if he is hot and doesn’t scare easily.
“Of course, Ricci, I piss out blood on all my first dates.” He laughed. “And don’t even try and pretend like that didn’t count. I asked, you accepted, we went somewhere together. It was a date.”
“I assumed you’d chicken out.” I shrugged, giving him at least part of the truth as I moved my ice pack to the other side. “No date has ever fought me before. I thought you would leave.”
He tossed his ice pack onto my coffee table leaving his hands free as he turned toward me. “Did you not see what you were wearing? Umm, yeah, I wasn’t going anywhere. But just so there’s no confusion, I don’t hit women. Ever.” He stopped, looking at my raised eyebrow and the ice against my body. “Okay, besides that. Which—I’ll add—I only did because it was obvious you were a professional and knew what you were doing. Not to say that it isn’t going to totally mess with my head, but even if I hadn’t fought you, I wasn’t walking away.”
“I’m glad.” It had come out of my mouth before I’d had a chance to stop it, my body leaning in closer.
“Yeah?” he asked, his fingers moving to the ice pack against my skin. He hesitated, but only for a second before removing and replacing it with his hand. His palm was warm, making my skin shiver from the sudden change in temperature. “You’re so hard to read, Ricci. But I really like that about you.” His head edged closer, his other hand moving to my chin. “What do I have to do to get a second date?”
“Pretty presumptuous of you considering this one hasn’t ended yet.” I lifted my face, my hands finally getting what they wanted as my fingers moved to his chest.
He closed his eyes, sucking in a heady breath as I traced his abs and then moved on to his pecs. “Mmmmm, I’m not going to pretend I’m not cocky, Tessa.” God, I loved the way he said my name. “And I’d say the chances are better than average that this one is going to turn out pretty fucking great.”
His lips pressed against mine, my mouth opening automatically as he kissed me. He took the advantage, sliding in his tongue as his hand moved to the back of my neck and pulled me closer.
It was soft yet demanding, his mouth dominating mine while not overwhelming me with his body. The hand that had been pressed against my side slid up my torso but didn’t even try to grab my tits, the slow glide of his fingers making my skin pimple.
I whimpered, scooting my body closer while he stayed on his side of the couch.
I wanted to straddle him, to climb into his lap and kiss him hard while our bare skin rubbed against each other. I wanted to feel if he was hard, to thread my fingers through his dark brown hair and watch his beautiful eyes while I rocked against him.
My core felt like it was on fire, my lips hungry as he gave me more.
“Fuck, you’re sexy,” he whispered against my lips. “If all I had to do was take a beating to be able to kiss you, I’ll do it fifty times over.”
“You’re so sick,” I chuckled between kisses, loving the way his mouth felt against mine. “I don’t know what the hell I’m even doing with you.”
“It’s because you’re sick too,” he answered, pulling me closer. “Normal people don’t hit each other for fun. And I could tell that you were getting off on it.”
He was right.
I had been turned on.
“Stop fucking talking, Tibbs, or I’ll stop kissing you.” My butt lifted from the couch, moving to his lap like I’d wanted to in the first place as I wrapped my arms around his neck.
“I’m kissing you, psycho.” His hands moved to my hips pushing them down as he ground against my core. “And I’m not stopping.”
He didn’t, bucking up under me while our tongues tangled and our bodies pressed against each other. The thin cotton of my sports bra was the only barrier between me and his chest, my nipples hardening from the friction.
It was hot and raw, and way more intense than I’d imagined it. He knew exactly how much pressure to apply, showing complete mastery over my lips while his hard-on worked against my clit even through our clothes.
I was just about to reach between us and unzip his jeans when a loud buzz broke through the room. It was coming from the intercom by the door, my hand frozen just above his waistband as we stopped and looked at each other.
“Food,” I groaned, almost forgetting we’d been waiting for a
delivery. “I need to let them up.”
His hands anchored on my hips stopped me from moving to the door. “Wait.” He leaned forward, kissing me again but much gentler than before. It was slow and seductive, only pulling away when the buzzer sounded for the second time. “Okay.” He released me, my feet hitting the floor as I clamored off his lap and ran to my intercom and unlocked the external door.
That last kiss—the more gentle one—was oddly unnerving, the feel of him still on my lips as I opened my apartment door and waited for the delivery guy.
I felt him behind me, his hands handing me my discarded T-shirt. “Wasn’t sure how big a tip you wanted to give him,” he chuckled when I looked down and realized I was just in my sports bra and leggings. “Unless you like punishing all the guys in your life, in which case, leave the T-shirt off.”
My grin widened, tossing the shirt aside as I waited. I wasn’t shy and it thrilled me a little that he thought something as utilitarian as a sports bra was an instrument of seduction.
“Umm,” the delivery guy’s eyes widened as they dropped to my chest, “Tessa?”
“Yep, that’s me,” I smiled brightly, handing him the tip money I’d placed on the side table by the door. “Thanks so much,” I held out my hand for the bags of food.
He hesitated, unable to pull his gaze from my chest until Tibbs cleared his throat from behind me. Then he thrust the bags at me, turning around and almost running down the hall without so much as a goodbye.
“You’re such a sadist.” Tibbs shook his head, biting back his grin. “That poor kid is just trying to do his job.”
“Hey, this isn’t sexy.” I waved my free hand around my chest before closing the door. “It’s functional and comfortable, and it’s hard to work out effectively when you’re wearing a bulky T-shirt.”
“Ricci, you need to adjust your definition of sexy. I’d say me and speedy Pete,” he pointed to the door, “are probably in agreement that we don’t give a fuck how functional and comfortable it is, it’s going to make us hard. And yeah, I get that it isn’t its purpose and you assume that makes us pigs. But that doesn’t make it any less true.”