Fighting the Fall

by J. B. Salsbury

  The heat of his breath against my ear paints goose bumps down my arm, and I fight the urge to groan. He’s like a light switch to my sexuality, turning me on by simply talking.

  “I might be interested. I’m just . . . undeclared.”

  He turns his big shoulders toward me and leans an elbow on the bar. “Explain that.”

  “It’s none of your business, but if it means you’ll leave me alone”—Please don’t leave me alone—“then I’ll tell you.”

  Void of any playful expression he nods for me to continue. Does this guy ever smile?

  “I’m not attracted to men or women.” Such. A. Lie.

  His eyebrows drop low over his already tight eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

  “You don’t give off the vibe.” He tips his chin back to take a long swig off his bottle, and I watch the powerful cords of his neck contract as he swallows.

  Act unaffected.

  I shrug and slug down another gulp of my tea. Funny, I hardly taste the booze at all now. “If I were into men, I’d be throwing myself at a guy like you.” What? Why would I say that? Challenging a man like this is lunacy. I’m drunk. That’s got to be it.

  “Maybe you’re playing hard to get.” The set of his eyes makes it look as if he’s glaring, but the corner of his mouth is pulled up just enough to contradict. Not a smile, but a taunting. It’s predatory, dangerous with just enough soft to lure in his prey. His eyes drop to my mouth. My cheeks flame and I look away.

  “Or maybe I actually am hard to get.” Oh my gawd! It’s as if I’ve been taken over by a phone sex operator. Why do I insist on poking the bear?

  “Sounds like a dare, Eve.”

  Is it just me, or was there a growl in the way he said my name?

  I take a deep breath, hold my head high, and swivel my barstool to face him. My knee brushes against his rock hard thigh, and another wave of arousal washes over me. I need to stay away from this guy. He’s fishing with superhuman pheromones.

  This is the moment, the line drawn in the sand and a choice to make. But how do I turn and leave when every cell in my body screams for me to plow through and right into bed with this charming asshole.

  My chest aches, my heart’s memory clearly stronger than my libido’s. One-night stands. All the men I hoped would fill that black gaping hole in my chest and never did. Even now, as fucked up as it is, I still hold out hope that this guy, every new guy, could be the one. What is wrong with me?

  I swing my gaze to his. That mouth. Those eyes. I’m screwed. I wish. Ugh!

  “Well, I better get going. It’s late and I have to work tomorrow.” Or more accurately, if I don’t get out of here soon, I’ll get him on his back and climb aboard begging. I slide off my stool to land on unsteady legs.

  His hand grips my elbow to hold me up. “Easy, there.” He eyes my tea. “Long Island?”

  “Yeah, but I’m fine, just lost my footing.” Or lost my mind in his presence.

  He leans down, eyes fixed on mine. “Fuck, Eve. You drivin’?”

  “Yeah, or . . .” Wait. I came with Raven. I press my fingertips to my forehead. “I didn’t drive. I was going to take a—”

  “I’ll take you home.”

  “What? No.” I move to pull away, but he doesn’t release his hold. That’ll ruin my plans for strategic avoidance. That last drink has me a little wobbly on my platforms. And shit! That last drink took my last twenty bucks. “I’ll see if one of the guys can give me a ride.”

  “Yeah?” He tilts his head. I stare drunk and unabashed at his handsome face.

  A soothing warmth envelops me. “Yeah.”

  “Good.” He finally releases me with a nod and turns back to his spot at the bar.

  I roll my eyes at his back and decide to take my chance to get away while I can, but at the same time I’m a little disappointed that he let me go so easily. It happens all the time, and for some reason, I find myself a little surprised each and every time it does.

  They let me go. They always do.

  Unless they’re getting something from me.

  The great thing about being asexual is I have nothing to offer.

  ~*~

  Cameron

  I must be under more pressure than I thought. That’s the only conclusion that would explain why I’m standing in a bar and so turned the fuck on I can’t concentrate. It makes sense. With all the heat I’m getting from the board about putting the UFL back on track and positioning myself to get back into the octagon, it’s no surprise my body is looking to work off some steam. My reaction to Eve is nothing more than a red-blooded male’s response to stress. Sex is a cure-all in most cases. I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes.

  I offered to take her home? Since when do I care about how a woman gets home?

  Yeah, I better get the fuck out of here before I catch another glimpse of her that I won’t be able to drag myself away from.

  “Cam, you leaving already?” Mason snags my attention just before I step away from my barstool.

  “Long day.”

  Caleb strolls up with a girl under his arm, but in a quick scan, I don’t see Eve. I thought she was going to hunt these guys down for a ride. Maybe she changed her mind and decided to take a cab. What the hell? Why do I care?

  “You think I’ll get a shot at Santori this year?” Mason has his elbow propped on the bar and a longneck between his fingers.

  “You tell me?”

  We launch into talk about who’ll be fighting whom in this new season, and it takes the edge off of the Eve-induced disorientation I was experiencing earlier. Caleb hands me another beer. So much for leaving after one drink.

  “You think after tonight’s fight Wade will go after Blake for a rematch?”

  “Personally? I think he’d be stupid if he—”

  Mason turns away as if someone tugged at him from behind. I down the rest of my beer and take advantage of his diverted attention.

  “I’m takin’ off.” I shake Caleb’s hand and move to give Mason a visual see ya when a flash of blond hair catches my eye.

  “You’re right, Mase. I could probably hang out a little and just drink wa—” She yawns. “Water.”

  Mason shifts on his feet and has removed his arm from the shoulders of the girl he was with. “Are you sure? Or um . . .” He looks around, and his eyes land on me, just as Eve’s do the same.

  Mason’s narrow, while Eve’s go wide.

  “Cam, you’re takin’ off, right?” He hooks Eve around the waist and guides her toward me. “You mind dropping Eve off at home?”

  Ah, I see. Eve’s looking for a ride, but Mason’s in the middle of negotiating a sleepover with the little brunette.

  “No, that’s not . . . You don’t . . .” Eve’s words die when my hand comes down around hers.

  “Let’s go.”

  Four

  Cameron

  This is stupid. I should put her in a cab and leave. The words came out of my mouth before my brain was able to get on board. There’s something about this girl that calls to me, one very specific and demanding part of me. There’s no denying it after watching her on the dance floor, her body fluid and seeping sex vibes. Who am I kidding? Even when she’s telling me to fuck off, she’s all-consuming.

  With a quick chin lift to the guys, I put my palm to the small of Eve’s back to guide her out through the crowded bar. In the short distance between the club and my car, I struggle to sort out my body’s reaction to her and what the hell I plan on doing about it.

  With a face like a doll and the body of temptress, this woman stirs my blood. She’s pissed off: bitter, stubborn, and disillusioned. But one thing she certainly is not is gay. It’s evident with every blush of her cheeks, her tiny intake of breath when I get close, and then there’s the way her gaze burns into mine. It’s hot as hell, but there’s an innocence to her, too, that tugs at something deep I can’t even name

  “Can you slow down?”
Her shoes click against the asphalt, and I realize I’ve been so stuck in my head that I’m practically shoving her to my car.

  “Shit, sorry.” I slow down and I know—I know—I should drop my hand from her back, but it feels too good give up.

  I pull my keys from my pocket, hit the fob, and walk to the passenger side.

  “Wow, nice ride.”

  “Thanks.” I pull open the door and motion for her to hop in.

  She complies, dropping into the black leather seat. I catch her running her hands along the fabric and mouthing the word wow as I shut the door.

  I head to the driver’s side, pulling out my phone before folding inside. Before I get the car started, I’m instantly caught by two things: her delicate female scent filling the small space and her not-so-feminine snort-giggle doing the same.

  Strapped into the seat, she’s turned toward me, laughing.

  I look around the space then back to her. “You find something funny?” Maybe she’s drunker than I thought.

  “From the outside, I didn’t think you’d fit in this. What kind of car is this?”

  “Maserati.” I shift in my seat, figuring out pretty quickly what she’s referring to. “You saying I’m too big for my car?”

  “No, I mean it’s a hot car and you’re like, you know . . .” She holds her hands out and shrugs as if it’s an obvious connection. “It’s a great match, but aren’t you a little cramped in here?”

  I never really thought about it. Being six-foot-five, I’m cramped everywhere. But now that she mentions it . . . “Yeah, a little. But like you said, it’s a hot car.”

  She nods and her laughter dies. “It’s like these jeans. They might cut off all circulation to my brain and squeeze my ass so tight that it goes numb.” She grins and makes a sweeping motion down her body with her hand. “But they’re hot.”

  “Can’t argue that.” I fire up the engine and move the car through the lot to the main road, ignoring the sudden swelling between my legs at the mention of her jeans. “Where to?”

  “Oh, take a left here.” She settles back in her seat. “So president of the UFL. What’s that like?”

  “Headache, but it’s gettin’ easier.”

  “What did you do before you took over for that asshole Gibbs?”

  “Fight promotions.” I suck at the tell-me-about-your-life conversations. I have no desire to shed my skin and bare my soul, but a non-answer would make me a dick, and for one very particular and very naked reason, I want this girl to like me.

  “I wouldn’t have thought that.” She gazes at the lights passing by her window. “I would’ve thought you were a fighter.”

  A suffocating weight settles in the small space between us. It’s a painful subject, but it’s only painful for me. “I was once.”

  A tiny gasp and she turns toward me with her whole body. “I knew it! Did you fight for—oh, crap, turn here.” She points and I make the turn. “Did you fight for the UFL too?”

  “Yeah, but that was a long time ago.”

  “Psht. How long ago? You can’t be that old.”

  Halted at a stoplight, I turn to her. “Fourteen years.”

  Her eyes go wide on me. “Really. How old are you?”

  I’m not ashamed of my age, but something about her surprise makes me think I should be. “Thirty-eight.”

  “Damn.” She whistles and tugs her tight top down over a sliver of exposed skin. “You’re a lot older than I am.”

  Somehow I never stopped to think about how old she is. I mean she’s in a bar, so at least she’s legal. “A lot as in . . .?”

  “What, me? Oh I’m uh . . . twenty-four.”

  Fuck. She’s closer to Ryder’s age than mine. Reality hits me like a bucket of ice water on my nuts. What the fuck am I thinking?

  This is what happens when I let myself go and forget that I don’t have the luxury of floating the way the wind blows. My gaze darts to the small notebook that sits in the center console. That’s where I need to stay: regimented, scheduled, and focused.

  When I let loose, I end up having dirty thoughts about a twenty-four-year-old girl who is also now in my car. In my defense, she looks much more mature in all the right places.

  “Take the second right and my house is on the left.” She points her directions. “I bet you were a heavyweight, huh?”

  I nod, grateful for the subject change, but not interested in continuing this share-fest. Especially when I know where it might lead.

  “There it is.” She points to a small duplex on the corner. It’s modest, and we seem to be in a decent part of town, but I can see right away that a few of her windows are open. Not that it’s my business to care.

  The click of her seatbelt rings in my ears, signaling it’s time to part. I pull into the driveway but don’t get out.

  She fidgets with her keys. “I appreciate the ride.”

  “No problem.”

  “And um, thanks for all that stuff about leaving my drink.”

  I shake my head. “Hold up. Did you just say thank you? Did I hear that right?”

  She grins and tilts her head. “Yes. You were right.” Her big eyes meet mine and she leans in. “Thank you.”

  Okay, she needs to stop with this sweet bullshit immediately or else . . . or else what?

  “No more accepting drinks from strangers.” I try to keep eye contact, but when I do, the heat in her gaze draws me closer. Leaning one elbow on the center console, I’m sucked into her stare. In the dark, the dashboard lights bathe her hair and skin in a soft blue glow. Fuck, she’s even more beautiful than I thought. “Go on now, Eve.” Why the hell did that sound like a warning?

  “Mmm.” Her eyes flash with need.

  I groan and drop my head, but only for an instant before my body demands I keep looking. “Go inside.” Or I’ll kiss you or fuck you. Most likely both.

  “I don’t want to.” The sound of her denim-clad legs rubbing together slices through the car straight to my dick.

  This can’t happen. She’s young, most likely inexperienced, and naive. Damn, looking at her now, my excuses seem pointless. I need to convince her to leave the car. Push her away.

  “I thought you were having a sexual-identity crisis.”

  I expect her to get mad or embarrassed. Instead, the tip of her tongue darts out to suck her upper lip between her teeth before she releases it. “I think I’ve been cured.”

  Fucking hell. Her upfront style of seduction is such a turn on; this car has gone from cramped to painfully uncomfortable. I shift in my seat, hoping to give my hard-on some room, but it’s pointless.

  If she had any idea how close I am to burying myself so deep inside her tight little body, she’d watch what she says.

  This is stupid. Impulsive. Selfish.

  Fuck it.

  “You sure you want this?” I reach out, fork my fingers into her hair, and groan when she lets the weight of her head fall into my hand. Just that tiny tilt of her head says it all. She’s giving herself over to me. “Come here.”

  Her eyes flare with need, and she leans in while I guide her lips to mine. The first brush of flesh on flesh, so fucking sweet, makes my body ache for more. I tighten my grip in her hair and her lips part. Perfect.

  Our tongues glide together hot, slick, and so fucking wet it ignites a fire to strip her naked. Who knew this mouth spewing sass and saying fuck could taste so damn sweet.

  The leather seats creak as she pushes her torso closer, reaching over the center console. Her chest heaves, and her hot breath licks against my lips in frenzied bursts. Her hand runs up my thigh to my zipper. Eager, she wants this as badly as I do.

  I break the kiss with a gentle but firm tug to her hair. “Inside.”

  Her heavy-lidded eyes fix on mine, swollen lips parted. “Fuck . . . yeah.”

  All breath and desire and damn if my dick isn’t pushing painfully to get at her.

  She drops back to her seat, pops the door open, and before she can close it, I’m out and round
ing the front of the car. At the door, she fumbles with the keys, and I press in behind her. I drag her hair off her neck and nip at the tender flesh below her ear.

  “Cameron.” Her body goes limp against my chest.

  “Open up.” I flex my hips, grinding against the top of her ass.

  A few more fumbles with the key and we’re plunged inside the darkness of her living room. I kick the door shut and the sound spins Eve to face me.

  “Where’s your room, doll?” I take a step toward her, almost expecting her to retreat, but instead she comes at me.

  She hops and I catch her by the ass just as her lips crash against mine. Her tongue invades, hands bury into my hair, and legs tighten around my waist. She rolls her hips, rubbing herself against my hard-on. I growl into her mouth and turn to press her back into a nearby wall. My hips move on their own, thrusting but unsatisfied with the friction alone. Fuck, I need more.

  I shove my hand up her shirt, ripping and pulling against the flimsy fabric. She leans back so I can get her shirt and bra off. I pin her hips to the wall with mine, and with her legs still wrapped around me, I squint into the darkness.

  “Aw fuck, baby.” My eyes devour her naked torso: long sleek hair falls over her shoulders to frame full breasts and creamy skin that call for my mouth. I cup one, running my thumb over the tip and warm at her responding shiver. “You’re perfect.”

  A tiny gasp falls from her lips. “Thank you.”

  I lean forward and close my lips around her nipple.

  She groans and pumps her hips against mine as much as she can for being wedged between me and the wall. “Bedroom.”

  Oh, hell yeah.

  I push back, and her arms and legs clamp around me. “Where?”

  “Back hallway, door on the right.”

  With her round ass in my hands, I follow directions until we’re in a dark room, but the white comforter on the bed stands out like a big X that screams “fuck here.” I toss her to the bed and unbutton my shirt while she peels off her jeans. “All of it. I want you bare.”

  She shimmies her panties down to her ankles then kicks them across the room. I pull a condom from my wallet and drop my pants. Her eyes go wide as I roll the latex on.