Trainer

by Marata Eros

  “So Trainer is my brother.”

  I frown. I hadn't gotten the sense Trainer had family, except for the “mama” he referenced a few times.

  “We're club. Motorcycle club.”

  I'm not a big TV watcher, but everyone's heard about Sons of Anarchy.

  Of course I'd seen Trainer's bike and the vest with the colorful patches, but I hadn't put the pieces of this particular puzzle together. Probably too deep in lust.

  “Okay.” I touch my slightly sore throat then fold my arms again. “So tell me why you're hiding in my house and strangling me.”

  He winces. “Had to calm your shit down so we could talk.”

  “Could you have knocked on the door maybe?”

  He shakes his head, eyebrows hiked. “Don't figure you'd let me in, would ya?”

  Silence. Absolutely not.

  He nods as if my silence was just what he expected. “My name's Noose.”

  “You know who I am, I suppose.”

  He nods, tapping his temple. “Know a fuckton now.”

  Great.

  “How do you feel about Trainer?”

  I've been trying like hell not to examine my feelings about him because I know if I get too introspective, I'm going to come up with something really uncomfortable about myself.

  Meeting him was like one of those rehearsed, love-at-first-sight things that I’ve heard about and never believed. And I sure didn’t believe it could ever happen to me. I didn't love Trainer on first sight.

  Not first.

  But probably second.

  “I've known him a week,” I answer cautiously. Do I really owe this guy anything? He breaks into my house, chokes me, and what—expects me to just spill my guts?

  My eyes roam his vest, finding it to be nearly identical to Trainer's. I’ve got a feeling they're not handing those out at the local department store.

  Noose puts the cigarette out on the thick tread of his boot and carefully sets it on the wide metal top piece of the balcony rail.

  “That's not what I asked ya. I know how long you guys have known each other.”

  He begins to stalk toward me, and I do what any reasonable person does.

  I back the hell up until my ass hits the door.

  Noose stops about two feet from my position and looks me over from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.

  I blush under that unyielding scrutiny.

  “Like what you see?” I snap.

  He shakes his head. “Got an old lady. Don't need other tail.”

  I blink. Do people actually talk like this?

  “Trying to figure out what Trainer sees in you.”

  Well, that's fucking flattering. Stick a fork in me, I'm done. “Get out.” There's brusque, then there's just plain rude.

  Noose puts a palm on the door.

  Right beside my head.

  “Nope, I told you who I am. Now you're gonna listen.”

  He turns away from me, and I fight the urge to kick him in the ass and run like hell.

  As though he has an uncanny sixth sense, Noose turns, fixing eyes like flint on me.

  “Trainer isn't like the other brothers. He's unique. Can't read. Guess that's why he's going to you.”

  I'm not allowed to discuss my students, so I say nothing.

  “He's not a dumb dude.”

  We stare at each other. “I know that,” I snap.

  “Good,” he replies in an abrupt word. “ʼCause I don't need some bitch tearing his beating heart outta his chest and grinding her stiletto in it.”

  Appalled, I let my mouth pop open.

  Noose chuckles. “You should really learn to control your face. Read ya like a book.”

  Spluttering, I say, “I've got nothing to hide.”

  “I know—looked into ya.”

  My mouth remains open. “What?” I yell.

  He winces, putting a finger in his ear. “Shit, settle.”

  “No.” My hands shake. “I'm not a bitch, and I don't play people, you—you jerk!”

  Noose looks amused instead of insulted.

  “I don't know what's going to happen with me and Trainer, but you can't warn, scare me, or whatever other plan you had.”

  Noose nods. “Good. Because your lily-white background might not work with Trainer. You know he's doing this reading gig to get gussied up to look dandy if this court thing goes through for the attitude adjustment he gave those assholes last year?”

  After a second-long pause, I say, “Yes. Trainer mentioned that.”

  Noose perches his denim-encased butt on the back of my floral couch and rests his palms on his thighs. “I'm asking you to do your job and not crush his heart. He's been through some shit.”

  I'm not betraying Trainer's confidence by acknowledging information he told me during our more intimate moments together. However, advertising what I know would be a betrayal. So I say, “A lot of my students come from less-than-ideal circumstances.” There, that's broad.

  Noose nods then waits.

  I let the silence go on without volunteering anything.

  Finally, after a full minute of scrutiny, he says, “Good. Now about this lawyer boyfriend ya got.”

  I shake my head. “No. We're through.” My face gets hot, and I put my hands against my cheeks. “I broke it off with him.” This is beyond awkward.

  “Ah-huh. Don't like the guy.”

  I jerk my chin back, remembering Trainer saying the same thing. “I don't see what Allen has to do with Trainer.”

  “He out of the picture, like a clean break?”

  “Yes, he took our break-up really well.” My brows knot. “Wait a second—why am I explaining this to you?”

  Noose grins, oozing a crude sort of charm from every pore. “Just that kinda guy, I guess. Father confessor.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Can't find anything on him. He's like a void in society.” Noose tears fingers through his hair, messes it up, and reties it. “Had my ear to the ground, and Allen Fitzgerald should have left more of a trail.” Noose shrugs. “I guess it's no big if you cut the guy's nuts off.”

  I snort. “There was no surgery. It was a coffee and a ‘let's just be friendsʼ conversation. If you must know.” My eyebrow arches.

  Noose nods, cupping his chin. “I must.” He gives an infuriating smirk. “So you teach Trainer. You fuck Trainer. You don't hurt Trainer.” His voice drops dangerously low. “And you definitely don't get back with that fancy mouthpiece, Allen Fitzgerald.”

  Our gazes hold.

  “You don't fool me, Noose,” I finally say.

  “Not trying to.”

  “You're smart and manipulative.”

  He shrugs. “Yeah.”

  “Doesn't that bother you?”

  Noose doesn't even pretend to give it thought. “Which part?” He laughs, then his face grows serious, eyes like sleet. “No. Do anything for a brother. But Trainer's special.”

  Standing, he heads for the door.

  Now it's me pursuing the guy who broke into my condo. “Why?”

  Noose turns, hand on the doorknob. “Because I know what he's been through. And I know he's got nobody but us.”

  “That's not true,” I say. “He's got me.”

  Noose nods, eyes hooded as they search my face. “Figured.” He opens the door and steps into the hallway. “And that scares the shit outta me.”

  Not exactly a vote of confidence.

  Noose checks out my door and lifts his upper lip in disdain. “Get some fucking real locks. These blow. You're a sitting duck in here.”

  His boots thunder down the stairs, leaving me alone. With my thoughts.

  Chapter 17

  Krista

  “Oh. My. God—I'm going to have to say no on this one, Krista.”

  I was afraid Sam would nix Trainer.

  “I think I'm a little in love with him,” I admit quietly, eyes on my knotted fingers.

  Sam stares at me over the rim of her coffee cup filled with gross bl
ack coffee. “Or maybe it could be that stupendous appendage swinging between his legs.” Her eyebrows pop, and a smirk takes up permanent residence.

  I choke on my creamy coffee, slapping a hand over my mouth, and say between my fingers, “I never thought I'd say this.”

  Sam arches her eyebrow.

  “Size does matter,” we say at the exact moment.

  Giggling reigns supreme.

  “Okay, okay…” Sam slaps her thigh, picking off a piece of lint as she does. “Seriously? We're so juvenile.”

  I flop back against one of the worn swivel chairs that faces the tall windows overlooking the forest. “Of that, there is no doubt.” I whip up my finger. “In fact, there's substantial proof.”

  “So let me recap.” Sam sets her mug on one of the square beveled glass pieces inset in the coffee table. “Trainer spent the better part of a day and a half making you come?” Her eyebrows shoot up.

  My face gets hot, and my hands go to my face. Damn. “Denial is not a strong suit of mine.”

  “Only because you can't get away with it,” Sam counters with a knowing smile.

  “True.” I laugh. “Go on.”

  Sam smiles, ticking off point two of about one hundred twelve on a bird bone of a finger. “Then you get home, and a hulking guy sort of chokes you while putting you on notice?”

  I nod, remembering the strange encounter. “Well, kind of.”

  “I'm scared. What scares me most is how weirdly calm you are about all of it. Please, convince me.”

  “Okay—so it makes me feel better about existing to know there's actually another human being out there that sees Trainer. Who he really is. Who he was meant to be.”

  Sam frowns, pouting her lip—a sure sign she doesn't get it. “So… choking guy?”

  “Noose.”

  “Oh, great—nice. A guy that chokes a girl against a door and has the name Noose. Makes perfect sense.”

  I put my face in my hands. “I know it sounds bad.”

  “Yup,” Sam agrees instantly.

  “Shit.”

  “That's what I've been saying all along.”

  I meet her light-brown eyes. The navy ring stands out in stark definition. “But you had to be there.”

  “When he was choking you?”

  “God.” I study my screaming red Chuck Taylors for a second then look back at Sam. “I have a good feeling about Trainer.”

  “Well, he's a feel-good kinda guy,” Sam says sarcastically. Her eyes sweep my face, and she must see something there because she leaves the couch. Sinking to her haunches in front of me, she takes my hands. “Listen, you look so crestfallen, but I don't care about anything but your well-being.”

  “You sound like my mom.”

  “Good—damn. You need some sense.”

  Sam stands. “This is a full-pot-of-fresh-coffee night. No Keurig.” Sam strolls to the u-shaped kitchen, grabs coffee beans from the freezer, and pours a portion into the grinder. I listen as the shrill grinding takes up the sound in the open-concept living room and kitchen. When she's done, she pours the grounds into the pot and kicks it to on.

  At the bar that separates the two spaces, I pull out a comfy chair and sit.

  Sam faces me behind the counter. I park my chin on top of my fists.

  “Listen, at least you dumped Allen.”

  A prickling unease starts up in my chest. The tightness resolves to an almost-electric tingling. Not in a good way.

  Sam sees my expression. “What?” The coffee finishes brewing, and she turns to fill our cups. She takes time to put just the right amount of cream and an obscene amount of raw sugar in mine.

  Sam slides the mug across the three-foot-deep bar. I grab the thick ceramic, letting it warm my suddenly cold fingers. “Allen said all the right things. He really wanted to still try.”

  “But him being gorgeous and rich is not enough?” Sam winks.

  “No, he's—I don't know. Most women would be all over that. What Allen has to offer. And I don't know if he is personally wealthy, but I have the feeling his family is swimming in money.”

  “Then there's the question of Allen's one critical inadequacy.” A gale of laughter erupts from Sam.

  I roll my eyes. “I don't care about dick size, really.”

  “Really?” Sam says.

  Grinning, I say, “Really. Trainer is so great at all the non-penetration things—so loving and tender—it's just a great bonus.”

  Sam walks over to the four-seater kitchen nook table and sinks into one of the seats facing me. “Wow, does he have a twin?”

  I shake my head. “He's so unique, like Noose said.”

  “So Allen's history.” Sam pretends to wipe sweat off her forehead.

  “I guess.”

  Sam leans forward, resting her mug on a slender knee. “You sound unconvinced.”

  I shake my head. “I don't know… he seemed so reluctant to let me go, like we were unfinished somehow.”

  “Slow learner. Especially for an attorney.” She waves her hand. “Anyway, whatevers. So just teach Trainer. Don't screw him too. It's just going to complicate things. And find out if this Noose is legit. If Trainer knows him, and he really is part of this biker gang, then there's another layer of complication to consider. Beyond the obvious one of him being a student.”

  “Adult student,” I say, slightly defensive.

  “Very, very adult.”

  We laugh.

  “This is a tough call. I mean, you've only had a couple of serious boyfriends.” Sam huffs a breath out, moving a long wisp of spiraling hair behind her ear. “I'd still like to kick my own ass that I introduced you to Allen.”

  I lift a shoulder. “Why? I mean, he's just what you said: gorgeous with money. He really does and says the right things.” Except for things that matter. I roll my bottom lip between my teeth.

  “You've thought of something.”

  I nod. “You know what the real problem with Allen is? It's like he wasn’t really present when we were together.”

  Sam gives me a hard look. “That's deep.”

  “Yes. I'm not much for self-examination or anything.”

  “But you're practically psychic.”

  I give a little self-conscious laugh. “Intuitive is more like it.”

  Sam nods slowly. “Maybe, but remember when we were little and our parents still had landline telephones?”

  “Yeah!” I laugh, getting an instant visual of the big lump of square plastic.

  “And you could guess who was calling.”

  I forgot about that.

  “And how when we got our licenses, you'd know what song was playing on the radio before I turned it on?”

  “Yeah.” I'm not smiling now. “Not all the time, Sam.”

  “Mostly.” She flips her hand, glancing a finger off the mug in her other hand and almost tipping over her coffee. “Oops—” She catches a drop off the rim and sucks it from her finger. “Don't freak. I'm not saying you need to join the Psychic Friends Network or something. I'm just saying, when God was handing out the goodies, you were first in line for intuition.”

  “So I should listen to my gut?”

  “Essentially, yes.” Sam gives a trademark small twist of lips, her version of a smirk. “Besides, you've never sung your praises as a teacher. You've always said your instincts made you see the issue for the student, and how it could be fixed.”

  Sam jerks her shoulders up as if to say, “Duh.”

  “That's all true, but I don't know how my skill at getting to the root of why somebody can't learn is going to help me know if someone's bad news.”

  “Trust your feelings. You feel weird about Allen—don't get back together with him, no matter what bullshit he pulls.”

  After Trainer, I don't think I could have another man's hands on my body. “Don't worry about that. Pfft.” I repress a shudder.

  Sam winks, “That bad, eh?”

  What can I say? “It was pretty easy to break up when faced with returnin
g and having only what Allen wanted in bed.”

  Taking a swig of cold coffee, she grimaces and winces. “Yuck—shit, this is like ice.”

  “We're too busy hashing through everything to drink our coffee.”

  “Important girl talk.”

  “Yeah,” I answer softly. I know what day is coming up this week. I bring out the pink elephant like a circus trainer. “So I want to come with you to visit them.”

  Sam doesn't miss a beat. “I'm fine.” She lifts her mug, remembers her coffee’s too cold, and sets it on the kitchen table again.

  “I know. I still want to come with.”

  She turns her head, swiping at her eyes, refusing to look at me. “It's been five years.”

  “I know.”

  “I love your parents, Krista,” Sam confesses.

  “But it's not the same.” I believe down to my soul that she thinks about her parents every day.

  She throws her arm out, stiff.

  I stand, taking the hand she offers. “I miss them.”

  “I do too.”

  Sam gives me a sharp look, her eyes more amber in the dying light of the day that slants in, making her irises blaze, shimmering with tears yet shed.

  “You do—why?”

  “Because they made you, my friend. And because of them, I have you.”

  Sam stands, dwarfing me with her height. “I love you, you sensitive, emotional, gorgeous thing. Love you.”

  We hug tight over the counter, bellies pressing against the edge, like we're drowning.

  “You're so fucking needy, Krista.”

  We both know it’s a lie.

  But I don't need to deliver the truth.

  *

  Sam's head is at one end of the eight-foot couch, and mine's at the other. Our legs are side by side.

  “I'm going to explode.”

  Sam's head pops off the armrest. “If you didn't eat your body weight in pizza! As a matter of fact, you should be a fat sow by now.”

  “Metabolism still works, I guess.” I feel a lethargic smile spread my lips.

  Sam knocks my legs off the couch.

  “Hey, ya bitch!” I jerk up, rubbing my eyes.

  She waggles her eyebrows. “Woke you up, though.”

  “I didn't want to be woken up,” I pout.

  “But if I asked if you wanted dessert…?”