Priest (A Standalone Bad Boy Romance Love Story)

by Claire Adams

  He shrugged and said, “All right. It didn’t look like the bartender was paying much attention. I’m leaving so I thought if you want a ride…”

  I suddenly wanted a ride very badly. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” The man of many words just shrugged again. That could have meant anything, but I took it as an “I don’t mind at all.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I said, accepting before he took back his offer. “I only live a few blocks from the gym.” He acknowledged that with…well, nothing. He just headed for the door and I followed him.

  I followed him out to the parking lot. He didn’t look back to see if I was there even once. I could’ve been lying passed out in the doorway of the bar and the guy would’ve never known. I was not even a little bit surprised when he stopped next to a big, black Ford F-350 with a lot of chrome. I couldn’t imagine him in anything else.

  “Nice truck,” I said. He unlocked my door and pulled it open. He didn’t say “Thanks,” but I thought I saw a miniscule trace of a smile playing around his lips. Lucky smile, I’d like to play around those lips. Geez, I’m drunk. Hopefully something stupid like that doesn’t slip out on the ride home. I reached up to grab the pull bar and haul my drunken ass up into the truck. Once again I was humiliated as Paul had to take me around the waist and practically lift me in.

  “Thank you,” I said. He responded to that by closing the door and going around to his side and getting in. I slipped on my seatbelt as he started up the truck. As we pulled out of the lot he asked, “Have you worked for Greg long?”

  Wow! Conversation! “Not long,” I said. I was getting sleepy now, so it was even harder to manage my words. He seemed to suddenly be interested in talking to me though, so I was going to do my best. “I graduated from USC this past June. Greg had given me an internship while I was still in school, so between that and my permanent job now, it’s been about a year I guess.”

  He nodded and said, “Greg’s a good guy.”

  “Yeah, he is. I got lucky.” My head was beginning to feel almost too heavy for my neck to hold up. I only prayed that I wouldn’t get sick. “Sam was actually my savior. He was one of my part-time instructors at USC and he introduced me to Greg. I love working there and they’ve all become really good friends. I owe him a lot.”

  “Yeah, Sam’s the best conditioning trainer that I’ve ever had,” he said. “He definitely knows what he’s doing. He knows the difference in his athletes too. He doesn’t try to train me like a baseball or soccer player.”

  That was actually one of the most valuable things I’d learned from Sam myself. “How long have you been fighting?” I asked him.

  “About eight years,” he said.

  “Eight years? Were you in middle school when you started?” He laughed. The change in his face that the laugh brought about was enough to send my stomach rushing up into my throat. He was gorgeous.

  “I was eighteen when I started. I was a wrestler in high school.”

  As I was doing the math in my alcohol soaked brain, I felt my eyelids trying to close. No, no no! That would be just too embarrassing. I could see it now, passed out, drooling and in dirty clothes to boot. I had to fight it.

  “So are you any good?” I said, realizing that no matter how hard I tried my words were still running together.

  He laughed again. I liked it a lot. He really should do that more often. “I’ve won a few championships and tournaments,” he said.

  “Like what?” I asked. Most athletes loved talking about themselves. This guy was obviously not most athletes. It was like pulling teeth to get any information out of him.

  He said, “When I was twenty-one I won a King of the Cage Championship. I went to Japan in 2010 and won the UFC Japan Tournament there, and last year I won the UFC TUF Middleweight tournament.”

  “Amazing,” I said. It was the last thing I remember saying. I hoped…later on anyways when I sobered up, that it was all I had said. My mouth is sometimes uncontrollable when I’m awake and alert. God only knows what I might say when I’m out of control of it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I woke up with a pounding headache and cotton mouth. God, I hate it when I let myself get drunk. I know better, I don’t drink that often and so when I do, it doesn’t take much. I rolled over slowly, trying not to make myself nauseated on top of everything else. That was when the panic started to settle in my chest. I wasn’t at home. I sat up too fast, and set the unfamiliar bedroom into a spin. I sat really still until it stopped and then I took another look around. I realized I was sitting in a king-size bed in my bra and underwear in a definitely masculine bedroom. Damn it! What the hell did I do?

  I sat there for a long time, racking my brain. Who did I leave with last night? I vaguely remembered promising Greg I’d take a cab home…but then he left…and Sam and Debbie left…Oh God, what did I do? I wasn’t in the habit of going home with strangers. As a matter of fact, I could say that at twenty-three years old I hadn’t done it yet. Surely I didn’t do it last night. I wouldn’t have…would I? I looked around the room. It was neat for a man’s room, but obviously male. There was a big framed poster on the wall of a fighter with a giant UFC title belt draped across his shoulder. I was sure I knew who that was, but my head hurt too bad to come up with a name. The mirrored dresser was covered with men’s deodorants and colognes and the furniture was all dark, heavy wood. There were wooden blinds on the two windows and sheer blue curtains hanging on them that matched the comforter I was covered up with. None of that really gave me a clue about where I was. Shit! Oh God, I remember Mark was there last night. Did I sleep with Mark? Oh God, I hope not! He’s my client. How unprofessional would that be? How would I face him? I’d have to quit my job!

  I finally realized that I wasn’t getting anywhere sitting in the strange bed in my underwear. I had no idea where to begin looking for my clothes though. I stood up and pulled the light blue comforter off the bed and wrapped it around me. Like the intruder I felt like, I tiptoed over and cracked open the door. All I saw was a hallway, still no clue where I was. There was a picture of a pair of boxing gloves on the wall. The evidence that I’d slept with my client was piling up.

  I could hear the soft sounds of a television down the hall. I had to get this over with, so I followed it. When I got to the living room I was surprised to see a kid sitting on the blue couch. Everything there seemed to be blue…The young boy’s attention was glued to the sixty-inch television in front of him and he was playing what looked like a fighting or boxing game. He was maybe ten…or eleven or twelve…I knew nothing about kids. He was cute. He had dark hair and little freckles across his nose. Geez, what the hell was he going to think about a strange woman coming out of his…Dad’s bedroom? Oh man, I hoped there wasn’t a mom around somewhere too. I started to turn back around but it was too late to make my escape. The little boy was staring curiously at me now.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hey,” was his reply.

  “I’m Jessie.”

  “Victor,” he said. Then he turned his attention back to the game.

  I looked up on the mantle behind the television hoping maybe there would be a picture there to solve this mystery. Victor was obviously not a talker. He reminded me of Paul Delport. Oh my God!

  “Victor?”

  He looked back up at me. “Yeah?”

  “Is Paul Delport your dad?”

  “No,” he said.

  Whew! That was a close one. If I went home with Paul, there’s no doubt I’d slept with him. I wasn’t a slut, but I was no fool either…

  “He’s my uncle,” Victor said.

  I felt my face lose all of its color. I was about to ask the boy another question when I heard the front door open. I looked over to see Paul coming in. He was in a pair of running shorts and a tank top. He had his iPod tucked in the waist band of his shorts. He had on his running shoes too. My brilliant detective skills deduced that he must have been out for a run. Unfortunately, even in my state of panic, his gorgeous mas
culinity did not go unnoticed.

  “Hi,” he said, glancing at Victor who didn’t even look up. He looked back at me and I wondered what he was thinking about the fact I was standing there wrapped up in his comforter.

  “Hi.” I forced myself to be polite; it was his home after all. Can I see you in the…” I looked around and saw a door next to a little dining room table and four chairs. “The kitchen?”

  He motioned toward the door without speaking. No big surprise there. I was beginning to notice that talking was either not his best quality, or not his favorite. I went through the door and he followed me.

  With the lump back in my throat I said in a whisper, “Did we sleep together?”

  He didn’t smile, but I got the impression he wanted to. I was glad I could amuse him. “No,” he said.

  “Oh, that’s good.”

  “You fell asleep in the truck. I had no idea where you lived. I tried to wake you up, but you didn’t even flinch until I got you in the apartment and laid you on the bed.” Those were the most words I’d heard him string together at once since we’d met. When I processed that he had to actually carry me into his apartment from the truck and I got a visual of that in my head, I almost died of humiliation. Oh dear God, how much more humiliating was this going to get?

  “What about my clothes? Why am I in my underwear?”

  “You said your clothes were dirty,” he said. That time his lips quirked up on the edges.

  “Oh, they were!” I was so excited that I remembered something and I started babbling again, “My washing machine is broken; It’s been broken for about a week. That’s why I looked so disheveled this week and my clothes were all wrinkled…Wait a minute…You took them off me because I said they were dirty?”

  “No. You took them off yourself,” he said. He turned to the refrigerator and pulled something out that looked like a green protein shake. He shook the container and took a long swig off of it. Then he said, “Your clothes are on the chair in the corner of my room.”

  My face was on fire. I don’t know when I’ve ever been so embarrassed or ashamed of myself. Here I was accusing him of taking my clothes off and I was too drunk to even remember what had happened. Shameless!

  “Oh, thanks,” was all I could think of to say. I turned and did the walk of shame back to his bedroom. I found the clothes right where he said they would be as well as my shoes and purse. I was so humiliated I didn’t even know how I would go back out and face him. I was pretty sure the apartment didn’t have a back door or I would have gone out that way. I considered escaping out the window but that put me on a whole new level of desperation. I finally pulled on my clothes and decided that I needed to further explain myself. I should at least try and explain to him that I’m not really a drinker. When I got back to the living room, Victor was in the same spot on the couch but Paul was nowhere to be seen. In the room to my left I could hear the sounds of a shower running. Victor still hadn’t looked up. I started to say something but I found that I was even humiliated in the presence of the young boy. Instead I slunk out the front door like a coward. When I got to the street I spent ten minutes trying to hail a cab. I finally ended up walking to the closest bus stop and taking the bus home.

  *******

  My only saving grace of the miserable morning was that I wasn’t scheduled with anyone until one o’clock that afternoon. Mark was once again my first client of the day, but he always came in later on Sundays because he had a standing appointment with his masseuse Sunday mornings, and then he took his mother to church. Good old fashioned American boy. I’m so glad I wasn’t naked in his bed this morning.

  Once I finally made it home on that hot, smelly bus, I called Yolanda who was kind enough to come pick me up and take me to the sports bar to get my car.

  “So how did you get home last night, a cab?” she asked. I considered lying so that I didn’t have to admit the embarrassing truth. I hated lying to anyone, much less a friend. I wasn’t very good at it anyways so I decided to go with a half-truth and I said,

  “Paul Delport was nice enough to drive me home.” Yolanda raised an eyebrow at his name. “What?” I said.

  “Oh nothing,” she said.

  “Oh come on, now you have to tell me.”

  “I’ve just never heard the man even speak. Greg likes him, but I swear he goes mute when I’m around. I guess that would be a good guy to have a relationship with…”

  I laughed and said, “Yeah, he’s not a big talker.” I did vaguely remember then about him telling me he’d won fighting championships…I guess when I was drunk he at least tried to talk to me.

  When we got to the bar Yolanda said, “Just be careful of these arrogant athletic types, honey. I know they’re all you’re really going to meet working in a gym…but I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

  I smiled and said, “Greg’s an athlete.” Greg played Triple A baseball for quite a few years before opening the gym.

  “True, but he’s the exception, not the rule,” she said with a smile. I thanked her for the ride and for worrying about me. It was nice of her. They’d kind of adopted me in a strange sort of way.

  After I picked up my car, I did a quick run to my place and then to the laundromat. I’d at least have clothes for another day or two until I could get the washer fixed. By the time I got home again I had time to eat a fast lunch, take a shower and then got to work. I broke a few speed laws, but if a cop doesn’t see you, is it really illegal? That is the million-dollar question.

  Mark was waiting for me when I got to work and I was mortified to see that Paul was there once again as well.

  “Hey, how’s the head?” Mark asked when he saw me. He was talking way too loud. As a matter of fact, the whole gym seemed extraordinarily loud.

  “The head?” I asked, not sure what he was talking about. Did I hit my head last night too?

  “Yeah, your head,” he said. “After you tied one on so well last night I was sure you’d have a massive hangover.” I felt my face turn red again. The humiliation was never going to stop.

  “Nah, I’m okay. I wasn’t that drunk,” I lied. Mark laughed, not buying it either.

  “You were putting the tequila shots down!” he said.

  “Tequila shots? Really?”

  He laughed again and said, “No, I didn’t see you shooting Tequila. But you must have been drunk because you were about to believe me.” He had a point, jerk. I’d just take it out on him in the gym. “I didn’t know Crown Royal could get you to dance on the tables like that.”

  “Okay, let’s get started. Weights today,” I said, changing the subject. I knew by now that he was full of it.

  “Shit, I hate weight-training,” he said with a grin. I just shook my head at him. I gave a sideways glance over to where Paul and Sam were working. Paul had his back to me, thank God. I had no idea what I’d even say to him if we had to talk again. At the same time, just knowing we were in the same room made my stomach flutter. I forced attention back on Mark.

  Mark and I did two days a week of strength training. Coupled with his conditioning and the fact that he actually worked out with his coach once a week as well, that was more than enough. That day was day two of his strength training for the week. On day one we’d had him bench press, do pull-ups, single leg deadlift, and the Bulgarian squats. He didn’t complain as much when we worked with the weights as he did when we did conditioning. That day we were going to do the Military press, chin-ups, eccentric only pull-ups, and then some light grip and ab work-outs to cool him down.

  I’d spoken too soon about Mark because that day he whined through most of it. When we got through it all except for the ab work we happened to be right next to Paul and Sam. I thought about just not making eye contact with Paul at all, but that was just way too rude considering what he’d done for me. Instead, I forced myself to make eye contact and smile. He didn’t smile back; he just continued to concentrate on his crunches. That was annoying; he could’ve at least forced a smile at the woman
who’d spent the previous night in his bed. Trying too hard, as usual, I looked at Mark who had really been jumping up and down on my last nerve all session and I said, “You should be a nice guy like Paul here. I don’t hear him complaining.”

  Mark laughed and said, “You don’t hear him doing nothing, he barely speaks.”

  Paul barely glanced over, not missing a beat in his work-out. Mark looked interested though, and said, “Paul’s a nice guy? That’s news to me.” He smiled when he said it and looked over at Paul.

  “He’s nice enough to not torture his trainer with one complaint after the other…Oh! And to look after his nephew. Do you do that?” I looked at Paul when I said it.

  I could hear Mark say, “I don’t have a nephew. So there. I didn’t know that Paul had a nephew…” but then whatever else he said was a blur as I realized that Paul suddenly had a really pissed-off look on his face and it was directed toward me. I’d definitely said something wrong. Paul finished what he was doing quickly and got up and walked away. I was confused. What I said was intended to be a compliment. I wondered why it seemed to make him so angry. Men were so weird sometimes.

  I finished up with Mark and was considering just going home since I didn’t have any other appointments when Sam said, “Hey, Jessie! Can you come over here for a second?”

  He was still with Paul who I really, really didn’t want to face again. I couldn’t very well ignore Sam, though, so I sucked it up and went over. “What’s up?” I asked Sam, trying not to look at Paul. I could feel his eyes boring into me. They felt angry…or annoyed…

  “Debbie just called. Her car got a flat on the 405. She’s calling a tow truck but I’d like to be there to pick her up…I hate the thought of her out there alone on the side of the freeway…”

  “Oh yeah, go get her. I’ll cover for you.” I had a flat on the 405 once and they’d sent me the strangest tow truck driver they had, I thought. I had to spend thirty minutes in the truck with him and there was one point I thought about jumping out on the pavement.

  “Well, Paul is my last client so if you’ll finish up with him for me that’ll be it for the day.” Shit! Damn! Shit! I took a deep breath and looked at Paul who didn’t look pissed any longer, just completely disinterested. I preferred pissed. It at least made him look less like a sculpture and more human.