Dirty Boxing

by Harper St. George

  “Jules?” Megan cocked her head to the side. “You okay?”

  Jules nodded and tried to remember what the hell they’d been talking about before she’d started thinking about Nick. Again. Because apparently Nick was all she could think about now. Not her job, or the ad campaign, or even her damn grocery list while standing in the cereal aisle—she’d turned into a total space cadet. Even sitting on Megan’s couch next to her, all Jules could think about was how he’d looked just before he’d walked out of her office yesterday: angry and sad and a little smug . . . but hopeful. She’d seen the hope shining in his eyes, and she wasn’t any closer to figuring out what to do with it. She couldn’t live without him, but she couldn’t make the leap. Not when it could end with her a broken mess.

  “Okay, you’ve gotta tell me what’s going on. Is it Nick? It’s Nick, right?” Megan looked vaguely amused as she shifted and brought her legs up under her.

  They’d kicked their shoes off a couple of hours ago and popped the cork on a bottle of Moscato, though Jules was still on her first glass. She’d had a glass with dinner last night and realized wine relaxed her just enough to fine tune the ache in her body. It wouldn’t dull that tender spot he’d left on her heart, and it only emphasized the ache between her legs. She’d lain in bed last night reliving what had happened in her office, and her mind had taken her back to every single time he’d ever touched her. Like it was mocking her. And though he’d made her come so hard on that desk, she’d come again with her fingers on her clit, imagining it was him. Afterward she’d curled up in a ball and cried because she’d wanted to curl up with him. So she wasn’t enjoying the wine tonight.

  Dammit. He’d ruined wine.

  “No, it’s not . . .” But she let the denial trail off because she couldn’t lie to Megan. “Maybe.” When her friend raised a knowing eyebrow and brought her wineglass to her lips, Jules sighed. “Yeah, okay, it’s Nick.”

  Maybe it was the misery in her voice, but something made Megan reach over and take her hand. “Oh, honey, did he say something else? Something mean?”

  Jules exhaled a laugh. “He’s said a lot, but no, nothing mean, exactly.” Jules let her gaze wander over to the large window in Megan’s living room, staring out at the mountain range in the distance. They’d sat down to watch the sunset as they talked, but it was dark now and the mountains were giant shadows in the distance. She hadn’t planned to talk about Nick, and especially not about what happened the day before, but when Megan squeezed her hand, something broke inside her and it all came out. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been talking, but it felt good to share it. “I didn’t mean to let it happen, but . . . there he was looking so sweet and . . . God, I don’t know, looking at me like only Nick looks at me.” She turned back toward the window because she didn’t want to see the disappointment on Megan’s face. “Before I knew it, there I was, laid out on my desk, and he went down on me like a starving man at a buffet.” She forced a laugh, trying to make a joke of it. She knew that one day very far in the future—probably when she was in a nursing home—she’d look back on what had happened and laugh. But not yet, not when everything was so raw and miserable.

  Megan wasn’t laughing either. “That’s so hot.” She didn’t say anything else, and gave Jules’ hand another gentle squeeze. That sympathetic gesture made an ache well up in her throat. Why hadn’t she called Megan immediately and told her what had happened? Why had she tried to keep it all to herself, not letting anyone in?

  Because she was Craig Darcy’s daughter, that’s why. He’d never told her about Allison because they didn’t talk about things, so why would she talk about Nick?

  But she’d realized at dinner with her dad that she didn’t want to be like him, so she faced Megan, because normal people confided in those close to them and didn’t push them away. “He said he wants to give us a chance. He asked me to say yes to us,” Jules said.

  “Oh my God.” Megan’s eyes were wide. Give her a bowl of popcorn and she’d look like she was watching a movie and couldn’t wait to see what happened next. “Are you going to say yes?”

  Jules automatically shook her head, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out. She couldn’t say yes, because that would lead to even more pain down the road, but she couldn’t say no. She was stuck in this purgatory where nothing was good and everything just hurt, each breath prodding the jagged edges of the gash in her heart.

  “I’m afraid,” she said looking down at the deep blue swirls in the rug. It was the most honest thing she could think to say. She was afraid of saying yes and watching this thing they had disintegrate, and she was afraid of saying no and living the rest of her life with this hollow ache in her chest. Either way, she’d end up in pain, but maybe if she stayed away, Nick could be happy.

  Megan set her glass down and covered Jules’ hand with hers. “Jules, honey. Look at me.” Megan waited patiently, and Jules bit her lip at the sincere warmth shining back at her from Megan’s hazel eyes. “What if everything you’ve ever wanted, ever needed, is waiting for you on the other side of your fear?”

  “Shit, Megs.” Leave it to Megan to cut through the bullshit and make Jules dig into that open wound. “It’s not that easy for me. I can’t just make a wish and have everything work out. That fairy-tale stuff isn’t real. My parents taught me that.”

  “But you’re not them. You’re not a borderline alcoholic who likes to chase Valium with vodka.” Jules shook her head, but Megan continued. “And you’re sure as hell not your dad, throwing tantrums and burying yourself in work to avoid your emotions. You’re kind and warm and funny.”

  She smiled sadly. “Maybe, but I’m still a product of them. I see both of them in myself.”

  Megan tilted her head, winding a strand of hair around her index finger as she thought. “That’s true, but you can make different choices.”

  God, she made it sound so easy, so simple, to just be different. “But what if I can’t?” Something pinched in her chest, her skin both too hot and too cold at the same time. “What if I take a chance on Nick and we go down in flames, just like my parents did? I . . .” She shook her head, her stomach churning slightly. “I couldn’t handle that. I couldn’t deal with Nick looking at me the way my dad looked at my mom, with contempt, and resentment, and so much ugliness. I don’t want that for us.” She just wanted to remember the way Nick had looked at her in Chicago.

  Megan frowned, her eyebrows knitting together. “You don’t know that that would happen.”

  “My parents must’ve loved each other at one point, and I watched that love turn into misery,” Jules said. “Don’t you think there was a time when they looked at each other and saw something amazing? Before it all went to hell?”

  “I don’t know, but I do know that when shit went bad, they didn’t try to work through it. They were too caught up in their own problems to fight for their marriage. I’m sorry you had such a terrible example, but not all relationships work out that way. Lots have happy endings.” Megan reached forward and pushed Jules’ hair back from her shoulder like an older sister. They were the same age, but Megan had always been more mature, more stable. The sane, sensible, logical one. She sighed heavily before she spoke. “You know you have the right to be happy, don’t you? You can’t keep holding yourself hostage to their mistakes.”

  “I’m not.” Denial welled up within her, pressing against that dam she’d built up over the years to contain everything she didn’t want to feel. On some level she’d recognized the denial as an attempt at self-defense, but she’d held on to it because it was all she had. What would be left of her if she let it go? “I’m being smart. I’m learning from their mistakes so I don’t make the same ones.” But even as she spoke, the words felt hollow.

  “But you’re only making different mistakes. Come on, Jules. You have feelings for him. You were happy with him, and he clearly feels the same. He wants you. Don’t lose what yo
u could have in the present because of what happened in the past.”

  Nick did want her. He wanted her with everything he had. While she’d been too afraid to even think about him, he’d been living every day with the pain she’d caused. And now he was fighting for her, for them. She swallowed around the lump in her throat, but she couldn’t hold back the tears that welled in her eyes. All she had to do was let go of her fear, stop letting her parents’ toxic marriage ruin her life, and say yes.

  She sucked in a shuddering breath, fear mingling with hope. No more denial. No more lies. “I’ve never felt happier or more whole than I do when I’m with him. When we’re together I feel more like myself than I ever have.” The truth of her words washed over her as she spoke them, chasing away a bit more of her fear.

  “Okay,” Megan said like she was trying to explain particle physics to a five-year-old. “After everything I’ve been through, I’ve learned that you can’t allow yourself to be so paralyzed with fear that you’re not living your life. We don’t know what tomorrow will bring. You owe it to yourself to be happy now. Today.”

  “But what if it doesn’t work?” What if she and Nick grew to hate each other the way her parents had?

  “I love you, Jules, I do, but come on.” Megan threw her hands in the air. “No one ever knows if it’ll work. You just try. You’re happy with him. He’s crazy about you.” Megan picked up her wine and took a sip, brandishing it at Jules as she spoke. “Harsh truth: you’ll always regret it if you don’t say yes. If you don’t at least try.”

  It was as though Megan had taken a crowbar and cracked Jules’ chest open. A wave of pain rocked into her, and she felt hot tears slip down her cheeks as she blinked, trying not to drown in that pain. It was guilt over hurting Nick, and fear, and a hundred other things she couldn’t even name. She wiped at her cheeks with the tips of her fingers, but more tears fell. She forced herself to take a deep breath, and then another, and that pain filled her up, not leaving room for the denial she’d clung to like a life preserver. “I want him, Megan.” She whispered it, because maybe nothing would break if she didn’t say it too loudly.

  “Then why are you still sitting here?” Megan smiled.

  Jules shook her head, but she couldn’t come up with an answer. She’d been miserable this past year. The only time she’d been happy was when Nick had been in her life. When she’d been allowed to laugh with him, touch him, make him happy.

  “Jules?” Megan’s amused voice broke Jules out of her stupor. “If you don’t get up off this couch in the next ten seconds, I’m gonna drag you over to Nick’s by your hair.”

  She could have him right now. Tonight. His address was in her work phone. She could go to him and he’d take her back because he’d practically begged her to say yes to them. She wouldn’t have to spend another night alone and missing him, crying alone in the dark. Excitement buzzed through her veins, pulling her to her feet. “I need to see him.”

  Megan stood up and wrapped her in a quick hug before turning her toward the door. She shoved Jules’ purse into her hands.

  “Call me tomorrow!” Megan called as Jules hurried to the elevator.

  Holy shit, she was doing it. She was going to say yes to Nick.

  13

  Nick took a sip of his beer, tipping the cool bottle to his lips and letting the liquid wash down his throat. Swinging his bare feet up onto the coffee table in front of his sofa, he picked up the remote, fast forwarding through the fights he’d downloaded until he found the one he was looking for. It was almost a guarantee he’d be fighting Brody Hansen in the tournament, and Nick planned to spend his evening looking for weak spots in Brody’s game and figuring out how he could exploit his flaws.

  He took another sip as he pressed play. Hansen had won this first fight by knockout in the second round, a fate Nick planned to avoid. He wanted to study the way Hansen defended, the way he attacked, and make mental notes he’d go over with his trainers tomorrow morning. Craning his neck to the side, he stretched out his tired muscles. He’d been pushing himself hard, because winning this tournament would prove—to himself, to everyone—that he was a world-class martial artist. He’d moved away from his family and friends for this opportunity and was spending more time training than ever before. But if he was being honest, his training had been particularly brutal since Jules had come back into his life. It was the only way he could stop thinking about her.

  A dull ache settled right in the center of his chest, just like it always did when he thought about Jules. With a sigh, he took a long pull of his beer, trying to chase away the memory of how she’d tasted as she’d come against his mouth on her desk. He hadn’t fully realized just how much he’d missed her taste until then. And God, her eyes. They’d been so open, all of her shields down as she’d tried to convince him to fuck her right there on her desk. He replayed the memory, and hope warred with self-preservation, gnawing at him, back and forth like a saw until he felt ragged.

  With a shake of his head, he returned his attention to Hansen’s fight, noting the way he tended to drop his hands a little after throwing a jab.

  A few soft knocks came from his front door, and setting his beer down on the table, he stood to answer it. Ready to tell whoever was on the other side that he wasn’t buying what they were selling, he pulled the door open.

  His heart vaulted into his throat when he saw Jules, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright, her lips slightly parted. He met her eyes and swallowed thickly, every cell in his body vibrating with hope.

  She licked her lips and sucked in a shaky breath, her eyes still holding his. “Yes.”

  Hell. Fucking. Yes.

  That single syllable was like a million different kinds of joy that Nick could barely process because he was too busy pulling Jules toward him, unable to get his mouth on hers fast enough. The second his lips touched hers, she let out a soft moan that cascaded over him. Her hands tangled in his hair as her tongue slid hungrily against his. His mouth moving against hers with increasing urgency, he slipped his hands under her thighs and hoisted her up. Her legs came around his waist and he backed into his apartment, somehow managing to kick the door closed. She was soft and warm against him, and even though she was so much smaller than him, she fit his body perfectly.

  He broke the kiss, managing to drag his mouth away from hers and everything that it promised. “Say it again,” he said, setting her down and caging her against the inside of his door, his palms flat against the wood on either side of her head. She took several rapid breaths, her breasts pressing into his chest, and unable to help himself, he dipped his head, dragging his lips along her neck. He teased the skin right below her ear with his tongue, and she gasped, the sound going straight to his dick. But before they went any further, he needed to hear her say it again. Needed to make sure it was real.

  “Yes, Nick. Yes.”

  Relief and lust and happiness all tangled together in his chest.

  She whimpered and skimmed her hands under his shirt. “God, I missed you.”

  “I missed you too, Jules. So goddamn much.” He reached behind him and tugged his T-shirt over his head. Before it even hit the floor, he was kissing her again, deeper and slower this time, savoring and tasting, basking in the feeling of her body pressed against his. Knowing she was here because she wanted him, wanted to give them another chance, was almost too much, and he had to remind himself to breathe. It was as though everything was swelling—his heart, his dick, something else inside him that he couldn’t name—because she was here, and she was his. Again, and finally.

  She broke the kiss and stroked a hand over the bulge in his jeans. Fiery pleasure flared down his spine, and his hips thrust toward her. “Ever since you left me on my desk, all I’ve been able to think about is how much I want you inside me again. How much I want to be yours again.”

  He smiled, one side of his mouth inching up, and with one palm still braced o
n the door, he tugged open the tie of her wrap dress. The fabric parted and he pushed it open, his palm brushing over her side and down to her hip. His gaze wandered over her black lace bra and the rounded tops of her breasts, the creamy expanse of skin, the tiny black panties, her slender legs. As his eyes traveled slowly back up her body, a single word beat through him: mine.

  “Say it one more time,” he whispered, every muscle in his body tightening as he dipped his hand lower, giving one of her cheeks a firm squeeze.

  “Yes, Nick. Ye—” But she never finished, the last word stretching out into a moan as he pushed her panties to the side and brushed his thumb over her clit. Her body shook a little, and he eased two fingers into her, letting out a grunt at how wet and tight she was. No woman had ever felt as gorgeously perfect as Jules.

  His Jules.

  God.

  She gripped his shoulders as he fucked her slowly with his fingers. “Oh shit, Nick,” she moaned, her head thumping softly on the door as she writhed against him. He moved his hand again, trailing his mouth up her neck, wanting more than anything to make her lose her damn mind, just like he’d done so many times in Chicago. But this was different. Bigger and brighter, because she’d said yes. Because she’d chosen to come here, chosen him. Chosen them.

  She clenched around his fingers and let out a long sigh. “You make me feel so damn greedy. God, I’ve been waiting so long for this.” Her back arched off the door and he groaned, tension radiating through his body with the need to get inside her. “Please, Nick. Fuck me. Right here, right now. I need you. Don’t make me wait anymore. Please.” Her voice trembled as she spoke, and it was the way she begged him so sweetly, so earnestly, her blue eyes burning bright with need, that snapped his control.

  “Fuck, Jules,” he breathed, his mouth crashing back into hers. He slipped his fingers free and tugged her bra down until her breasts spilled out. He cupped them, his hands rough on her nipples, hard and peaked against his palms, and she moaned into his mouth. She fumbled with his jeans, prying the button open and pulling the zipper down, her hands pushing almost frantically at the fabric, taking his boxer briefs down with his jeans. His cock snapped up and into her palm. She stroked him roughly, and they moaned in unison as he thrust into her hand. His entire body throbbed almost painfully, and he knew the only way to ease the ache was to slide into her, hard and deep. To reclaim her, in the best possible way.