“The only girl in town you haven’t slept with?” She pulls her knees up to her chest and pushes me hard. I stumble backwards, and I can feel Natalie slipping away from me, retreating back into herself. “And I’m your stepsister too. A fucking novelty. The boys at the gym must really like that one.”
“Natalie, no—”
“Then what is this, you and me? Friends? Friends with benefits? Something more?”
“I haven’t thought that far ahead, Nat. I find it’s best not to overthink these things.” I step towards her again, but she pushes me away, this time with her foot.
“You don’t think that far ahead. That’s your problem. What? Tonight we fuck, then you sneak out in the middle of the night? You’re back at the gym in the morning, training for another fight? Do I drive back to Chapel Hill by myself and wait another year to see you? Do you follow me there—no job, no degree, Frank’s debts on your back?”
“Natalie—”
“Is this a casual hookup? Or something else?”
“Nat, we’ve always wanted—”
“Stop with that ‘we’ shit, Josh. You don’t know what I wanted way back when, and you sure as hell don’t know what I want right now.” She slides off the hutch and adjusts her dress. With sharp, assured movements, she pushes me out of the dining room and towards the front door. I raise my hands up, fumbling, swaying, unsteady.
“Nat, shit, I didn’t mean to upset you. It could be a casual thing. I’m happy to make it one and done, Natty.”
“Fuck you, Josh. I know one thing for sure, there’s nothing casual about you fucking me on the night after my daddy’s funeral. You’re my stepbrother. You were my best friend for years. There’s nothing casual about any of this.”
“Technically our parents divorced, and your dad just passed on, so I could be any random guy on the street.” I smile and cock my head to one side. Inside, there’s a voice trying to watch out for me, telling me to shut the fuck up, that Natalie’s the finest woman I’ve ever known, that chances like this one don’t come along every day. But that voice is overpowered by my own cockblocking idiocy. Her sweet round face shows growing anger, eyebrows knitting together, lips pursing tight. “You take everything way too seriously.”
Bam.
Natalie makes a loud, frustrated noise and shoves me so hard that the screen door almost rattles off its hinges when I slam into it. My body is on the edge, wired, cock still at half-mast from the whiff of Natalie’s hair and the momentary taste of her lips.
“I’m twenty-one, Joshie. I’m not taking things too seriously. And I’m not serious about finding a man right now. I’m going to fucking medical school. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get to ask you what your intentions are. Fact is, you ain’t some random guy off the street. You and me? We got a history we can’t erase.”
“Nat, I wasn’t thinking—”
“You never are.” She leans in and smells me, not sensually. Not like she’s taking in a lover’s scent. “Are you drunk? I mean, I know there were people drinking here. There always are, with anything having to do with Daddy. But hell, Josh, you smell like you’re both hungover and drunk. What the hell? And you try to kiss me like this? While I’m vulnerable and distraught?”
“You’ve never been vulnerable for a second, Nat. That’s what I like about you.” I smile, and I know it’s not genuine like I mean it to be. Women talk about that resting bitch face thing, but I’m wondering why men don’t complain about resting asshole face. Or resting douche face. I’ve seen plenty of terrible cases in my time. I gulp and try to wipe the grin from my face. Natalie softens for a moment and brings her hand to my face.
“I’m glad you see me that way. But that’s not who I really am. If we do this—I don’t want it to be like this. I want it to be something we both want—”
“I do want this, Nat.”
“Tonight, you do. I’m leaving town after this, Josh. What do you want then?”
“I—I don’t know—”
“Then I suggest you go on and figure out—go down to Frank’s Gym and find a fight to get into or—”
“That ain’t what I want, Natty.” I open my mouth to say more, but the frustration is clear on Natalie’s face. I think about her words, roll them over in my mind.
“Then prove it,” she says.
“What?”
“Prove. It. Come back here tomorrow and help me sort through all of Daddy’s things. Help me pack up for school. Don’t disappear into thin air tomorrow. Then maybe I’d consider kissing you again.”
“I’m not looking for some kind of relationship.” I cross my arms, defending myself against what she’s saying. My heart pounds even as I’m speaking, and there’s a small but insistent voice trying to tell me not to be such a gigantic dick. “You don’t get to put parameters on me.”
She laughs. “You’ve hurt me again and again. And it’s not in the context of any relationship. For me to put myself out on the line, you gotta prove that you got basic human decency, that I’m more than a warm hole to stick your dick in for a few seconds.” Her words sound harsh, but there’s affection in her voice. It’s the way we talk to each other, and maybe that’s a good thing, and maybe that’s a bad thing.
“It would be more than a few seconds, Natty. Much more.” She punches me on the arm, hard.
“Get out. Come back tomorrow morning, and help me. Then we’ll see what happens. I don’t need a hook-up. I need help.”
“Okay, okay. I get it. I’ll come back and help you, I swear it.”
“All right, Joshie.” She brushes a lock of hair away from my forehead, and her fingers are soft and cool against my forehead. Her eyes are skeptical, but her lips curl into a smile, and that pouty mouth opens something up inside of me. Even after a year, even after I swooped in, thoughtless, on the day of her father’s funeral, she musters a smile, and all that’s bad fades away.
“You want me to leave now?”
“Yeah, now. If you stay any longer, I might…” I want to hear what she has to say next. Even in my slightly drunken state, I can tell that she wants me. Her thighs are pressed against mine, even though her arms are crossed. There’s still a slight part to those full, heart-shaped lips, and the way she’s breathing even sounds like sex. I lean into her again, trying for a kiss, but she turns her head. Instead, she puts her hand on my shoulder. “Just come back. Show me you can. And we’ll see what happens tomorrow night. I want you, Josh, but right now I need something different.”
When I look at her, something in my chest fills with warmth—a warmth that no other woman has ever made me feel. It’s why I’m standing here right now, I guess. It’s why I stayed to help her clean up, though I realize I didn’t do anything but get in the way—that and try to fuck her. I gulp. I don’t let myself get into situations like this. This isn’t me. Natalie’s always made me feel something like this, which is why I always pushed her away, held her at arm’s length. But now, after her daddy’s death, after my mother’s disappearance, we’re left standing face to face. There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of my gut, like I’m on a boat, swaying back and forth as a storm is about to start. That feeling—it makes me want to push her out of my way. At the same time, I want to kiss her again, taste her against my lips, let my fingers trail down lower and look into her eyes when I make her come for me. If I start, though, I won’t be able to stop.
You’re just drunk and making shit up, I tell myself. But maybe you’re sober enough to get out of here. Best to get us both out of the storm before it starts. It occurs to me that this feels dangerous for Natalie too. I gulp and nod and step back with an overwhelming feeling of needing to get the hell out, as fast as possible.
“Okay Nat. I think you’re right.” I back up slowly to the door, and she’s watching me the whole time. Her gaze shows disappointment, like I’m not quite doing what I’m supposed to do. “I’ll be going now.”
“See you tomorrow?”
“Yeah, yeah. Totally. You can count on me.” I se
e doubt already forming on her face. It hurts, but I already know I won’t be back. It ain’t right. I’m not a man who does this complicated emotional bullshit, and I could have stayed away from all of it—this whole uncomfortable situation—if I’d just steered clear of her daddy’s funeral.
I turn and walk out the door, marching my ass out to the old ’67 Camaro that I bought after my first big fight. I turn back, and I see Natalie watching me. Her gaze meets mine, and my heart pounds, adrenaline coursing through my veins. Her beauty strikes me hard. She kinda looks like a mess from kissing me, from almost letting me feel her up. I didn’t plan to kiss her. I’ve thought about it a million times in my life, but today I fell into it. Natalie can be impulsive too, like me, but she’s more thoughtful about when she lets her impulses act up. Looking over her body one more time, I wonder if I’m more scared of the fact that she wanted to give into me, or the fact that she ultimately wouldn’t.
What have you done, Josh? You’ve gotten your thoughts so tangled that you don’t know anything.
I watch her for a minute, maybe more. Her eyes stay glued to mine the whole time. Finally, I just wave and turn away without looking back again. I get into the old Camaro and start it up, then head out to the causeway that connects Manteo to Nags Head. Instead of stopping at my old apartment, I grab a couple of six packs of beer from a Brew Thru and head north on Highway 12 until I’m at the very end of the Outer Banks. I sit on the beach all night, drinking and trying not to think about Natalie, until I fall asleep sometime near dawn.
When I wake, the sun is blazing down on me, and there are twelve messages from Natalie on my phone. I click it off and put it aside.
I know I won’t be seeing her for a long time, maybe years.
When I see her again, maybe the conversation will be different.
A man can fucking hope, anyway.
CHAPTER ONE
Present Day
Go in quick for the first round. Shuffle to the side, avoid his punches so he thinks you’re afraid. Take one punch and then another. That’s the way it goes down.
Right hook, left hook. Make it look like a pattern. Knock him down for a second, run a tight ground game, and choke him out in the last.
I practice my formula on the punching bag in the corner. I’ve been training for weeks, and my body is tensed as tight as a hot coil, ready to spring into action. Tonight’s the real thing. Well, as close to the real thing as I get in the underground fighting world.
Think about going pro, Joshie. You’ll get there. You just gotta get through this fight first.
I can’t believe I’ve signed onto yet another fight with fucking Frank. He’s used and abused his fighters in all the years I’ve known him—and no one more than me. Tonight’s just another in a long series of shitty, horrible fights where I throw down an opponent in front of an audience of drunken idiots. I think back to the first fight I lost—I didn’t have a trainer like Ash back then. It was Frank, all Frank. And he’d taken me back to the locker room and punched me so hard that it took my breath away. I was sixteen. Just like a lot of the kids fighting for the club right now.
I shake off the memory and look to the side of the gym. My opponent walks in, head shaved bare, tribal tattoos adorning his shoulders.
I know my opponent tonight is bigger than I am, a middleweight from out of town named Cade. His record is twelve wins this season, two losses. But I’m not weak from having to make weight. I’ve bulked up, and he probably spent yesterday trying to lose five pounds in a sweatsuit. Today, I’ll consider my weight class an advantage.
Welterweight champion of the Outer Banks, last fight of the tourist season. That’ll be me. Last year, I would have been happy to get this opportunity to fight at Frank’s club. But last year, I was still working the steps, still saving money. I needed Frank’s Gym as much as it needed me. But this fight is only one of many loose ends to tie up, a game I’m playing to come out on top.
The courses, the forms, the money. But the other loose ends involve people. Natalie. Frank.
Natalie.
She’s back, and I didn’t know it until three days ago. Just the thought of her takes over my mind, my body, throwing me into a world of distraction. I try to keep reminding myself that I don’t need a woman caught up in this mix. Frank is fucking dangerous, and I’ve got secrets that neither he nor my trainer know.
But I know I’ll be drawn back to Natalie, even if it’s a terrible fucking idea.
Her full pink lips the night I kissed her, her face when I left her behind. Text messages and emails asking if I’m still alive... Those have died off in the past year.
Hitting the punching bag with two knee strikes and an uppercut, I wonder if she found someone new, someone who wouldn’t hurt her. The thought makes that place in my gut twist again, this time with jealousy.
That’s why I left, wasn’t it? The fear of destroying her, possessing her, taking her under with me. I left to fix my life and get the drinking under control. I’ve done that now, more or less.
Mostly less, since Frank’s been breathing down my neck and trying to figure out what I’m doing.
I pause, crack my neck, shake out my arms to loosen up. Reminding myself that this is a fight night, that people will be arriving soon, I punch and shuffle to the side again, trying to push her face from my mind.
Jab, uppercut, get him from the side. Let him think you don’t know what you’re doing, that he’s going to break you. Make it believable for the people watching, the writhing mass of tourists in their seats.
I know the way the game is played. I’ve known it for a long time, since I got kicked out of my house at sixteen. Back then, Frank wasn’t as mean as he is now. That sounds almost impossible when I think about it. Frank had me convinced—and hundreds of others over the years—that we were the golden boys of the Outer Banks, that we’d rise in the ranks and take over the damn town, that we’d go pro and book fights in New York.
Fifteen minutes tonight. That’s all it is. You got this, Josh. You own this cage.
I shake my head and warm up with a few more punches to the bag. The people are starting to pour in now—townies and tourists alike, all coming for a taste of blood. If there’s one thing Frank’s good at, it’s providing blood—booking dirty fights, getting fighters as young as sixteen hooked on steroids, hiding razor blades in our gloves. A cut to the forehead bleeds and bleeds. The audience goes fucking nuts and throws money into bets, thirsty for more.
From the first row of chairs around the chain-link cage, Katy smiles at me and blows a kiss. Girl’s pretty, with red-blond hair and a tall, lanky body that looks slick while she’s holding up the cards. But I wrote her off long ago. I know I fucked her at some point, but I barely remember it now. It’s one of those memories that slips away from me until I see her carrying the cards and booking the bets on nights like this. She works for Frank sometimes, works hard for fighters on other nights. Always hits on me, though I don’t take the bait anymore. She’s not the one I want. None of these girls are.
Katy smiles broadly again and squeezes her tits together. I turn my gaze back to the punching bag without acknowledging her. Word is that she’s staying with Frank, so I know whose side she’s on right now.
“Hey Long Shot,” she yells. “Good luck tonight!” I nod back to her, but I keep punching the bag, listening to the sounds of the audience as they pour in. From the swell of voices and the chatter swirling around, I can tell that the other fighter has arrived. I turn to see him walking through a doorway on the other side of the gym.
Shit, that’s a big dude. The middleweight towers over the men standing next to him. His chest looks like it might be twice as broad as mine, and his muscles are ropy, twitching, ready to fight. His head is shaved and covered with tattoos, and his trainer looks almost just as mean as he does. Frank claps Cade the fucking monster on his shoulder, and then Frank’s beady dark eyes dart over to me for just a moment. Frank’s wearing his button-down shirt tonight, his black hair slic
ked back and his shoes polished bright. It’s occurred to me before that he looks like a fucking mobster, and tonight is no different.
Long Shot: An MMA Stepbrother Romance Page 2