Resistance

by K Larsen

  “Why does it mean I’m scared or have some sort of issue just because I don't want the same things you want?” she grinds out angrily.

  “It doesn't!” I shout back, flabbergasted. I have no idea how I was just making out with the hottest thing on the planet and now we’re fighting. She huffs and leans back on her elbows. Staring off into the distance, her lips move just barely.

  “What are you doing?” I question. Her gaze snaps to mine and she brings her fingers to her lips. She looks slightly embarrassed.

  “Counting,” she says quietly. “It helps me stay calm when I’m anxious.”

  “Counting…” I repeat. She nods her head and then starts laughing, hard.

  “What the hell is so funny?” I ask. Maybe she’s crazy. Really crazy.

  “I just...God dammit, Sawyer! I like you. I don’t know how to do this, though. I keep everyone out on purpose. I’m not really a good person to be around,” she explains rather cryptically.

  “Explain that,” I demand.

  “I...fuck,” she says and blows out a breath. “Just trust me, please. I don’t have much to offer. If it weren't for Greta I wouldn't even be here with you right now. I was going to bail but she talked me out of it at the gym last night.”

  “I like Greta.” I smirk. She smiles back. That’s a good start I guess.

  “She’s like me. Detached. It’s why we work together as friends. She doesn’t ask questions and I don't either. I really know very little about her except that she likes ice cream as much as I do and she also does MMA training. That’s rare in a woman,” she explains. I decide to let our previous conversation go for now. She’s talking about herself and I’m going to run with it.

  “You train for MMA?” I ask, stunned. That would explain the rock-hard body but shit, if she decides she hates me she could probably kill me with little effort.

  “Not for the MMA. I don’t fight. I just train with the guys. I like being able to defend myself.” She shrugs. Defend herself from what?

  “Ummm…kinda don’t know what the hell to say to you right now,” I throw at her. She giggles and grabs my hand.

  “I like that about you. You just tell it like it is,” she says with a lingering smile.

  “I thought that was what I liked about you,” I counter.

  “Oh?” she says and arches an eyebrow at me.

  “True story,” I state. She throws her head back and laughs. I think I might be willing to do close to anything to see her do that again and again. Her laugh is mesmerizing. I’m convinced it really does hold the secret of life. She stops and enjoys the view for a moment. A light breeze blows long strands of black hair across her face as she looks around. There is one strand blowing across her lips and I reach up to tuck it behind her ear. A tiny smile forms on her lips and one eyebrow rises.

  “I will let you be my friend one condition,” she says, smiling. “If I ever feel like it could be more, I’ll make the first move. You don’t get to lay a finger or lip on me until then.” I groan as she finishes. This is going to be torture. “You can’t kiss me. Friends don’t kiss.”

  “Okay,” I answer.

  “You can’t do things like tuck hair behind my ear; that was romance.”

  “Okay,” I repeat.

  “In fact, I don’t think you should touch me much really at all because, um, well...it affects me,” she says.

  “Okay.”

  “Are you just going to agree with anything I say?” she teases.

  “Probably. I like you. Being here with you makes me feel good.” Her face goes soft. She looks up at me through her lashes and gives a timid smile.

  “Okay then,” she blows out.

  “Can I get a blow job before we agree to this?” I joke. She moves like lightning and pushes me onto my back. The rock is hard and unforgiving underneath me. Holy shit. What is happening? Please don’t kick my ass. Please. It was just a joke.

  “I think that the arrangement can start tomorrow,” she purrs as she unzips her jacket and tosses it aside. I can feel my eyes bugging out of my head now, like my head is going to explode. She’s stripping down to nothing on top of a fucking rock out in the open.

  Holy hell, I’m the luckiest man on the entire planet. That’s the last thought I have as she undoes my pants and yanks them down my legs in one swift motion. She leaves my boots on and I don’t think to take them off. I struggle to remove my boxers fast enough to keep up with her. She crawls, up my legs, stopping at my cock, which is standing painfully at attention. One long lick from base to tip makes me shudder but when I watch her pouty lips wrap around the head of my dick I think I black out from pleasure. This chick is crazy and slightly reckless. Maybe too wild for me. The thought leaves my brain as quickly as it entered when she cups my balls with her free hand. Her black hair drapes around my crotch, tickling my thighs as she bobs her head up and down. When she groans, the vibration is almost too much to handle. Her hand tightens and she sucks harder. Shit. I’m going to come.

  Her hand reaches out to the bag of pastries as she licks my penis clean. Arching up she crawls slowly up my abdominals, Danish in tow.

  “So, I kinda have a thing for desserts.” She purrs. She pushes the Danish into my mouth slowly, allowing me to take a bite. Leaning in she licks the frosting off the corners of my mouth. I dip my finger into the middle of the frosting and rub it across her lips before kissing her deeply. Her hips rock against me. I want to please her but she stops when I move my hands from her arms. Pulling back, breaking our kiss, she smirks and rubs Danish frosting from the back of my ear down my neck. I’m about to protest when her mouth comes to my ear and slowly starts licking the frosting trail clean. Desserts are definitely cool with me. Definitely.

  I barely make it back to Bloodlines in time for my appointment, let alone with enough time to hear Clara’s “talk.” Pepper seems wild. A wild driver and just...wild. A blow job on a mountain top? That’s something I hadn’t experienced before. I think I like that about her, but part of me wonders if maybe it’s too much. No one can sustain a real relationship on just wild. I don’t want to burn out. I’m torn between wanting to hold onto the reckless feeling she gives and knowing the responsible option is what’s best. She’s a thrill ride. I like that, yet I know I’m drawn to broken women. I want this to last awhile. I didn’t get to kiss her goodbye. As soon as we finished our public fuck-fest it was back to friends-only territory. Going from hot to cold was insanely difficult. The only silver lining was that I finally got her number.

  “Dude. I thought you bailed on me!” Carmine squawks at me as I enter the shop.

  “Uh, sorry. Got held up,” I say distractedly.

  “With who? Clara told us you were on a date. Really, bro? A brunch date?” he chatters on. I run my hands through my hair and notice something sticky. Shit. I push into the bathroom without answering Carmine and look in the mirror. Frosting. I knew using Danish pastries as body frosting was a bad idea. Grabbing a wad of toilet paper and wetting it, I try to wash off any evidence of our kinky roll on the rock.

  “So?” Carmine pushes, voice elevated so I can hear him.

  “Yeah. She’s...different. I like her,” I hedge, exiting the bathroom.

  “Clara says she rides.”

  “Sportster,” I fill in.

  “Damn. She gotta sister?” he says and chuckles.

  “Nope. Sorry, man,” I answer. I clean the area I’ll be working on and settle into the task at hand. Hoot comes in forty minutes after I start on Carmine’s leg piece and Clara and I settle into our little world of tattoos. Music blaring, needles buzzing, and money coming in.

  “So tell me more about this chick,” Carmine says as I’m nearing the end of his work for today.

  “Name’s Pepper. Says she has no family. She’s pretty tight-lipped,” I explain.

  “Pepper huh?”

  “What kinda name is Pepper?” Clara chimes in.

  “Yeah.” Hoot laughs.

  “Shut up, Hoot, your name isn’t any
better,” I call out.

  “It’s not my given name, though. Hers is.”

  “Maybe not,” Clara says.

  “What are you on about?” I ask her, trying to stay focused on the tattoo.

  “I went back and looked up the paperwork she filled out. She put her name as Magnolia. I knew I was right,” Clara declares, looking pleased with herself.

  “Magnolia?” Carmine all but shouts. Jesus, what’s with him? I pull the gun away from him so I don’t screw up my work.

  “Yeah,” Clara laughs. “I guess that’s not much better than Pepper, really.”

  “Cut the shit, guys. It’s her name. It’s cute. I like it,” I defend in her absence.

  “Describe her, bro.” Carmine is boring a hole through my head with his eyes. What the hell is his issue? Maybe she had a one-night stand with him once, too? I push the thought aside. That is one thing I don’t ever want to picture.

  “Gorgeous black hair. Golden skin. Hard, tight little body. Big tatt that Clara did on her back.” I know my voice sounds dreamy and I feel like a schmuck for it. Carmine’s eyes glass over a little and his expression is hard.

  “You said she rides a Sportster?” he asks a little harshly. His eyes are lit up and intense.

  “Yeah. Shit man, what is it?” I push.

  “Nothing,” he says but then shakes his head and softens his features. “She just sounds hot, man. You’re one lucky fuckin’ dude.”

  “Does no one give a shit that she lied about her name?!” Clara cries out in irritation.

  “No!” all three of us shout back. Lots of people lie when they get tattoos. Names, age. It really doesn't matter. It was a long time ago.

  “You guys suck,” she deadpans. The three of us fall into a fit of laughter that really pisses Clara off.

  Chapter 8

  Work It Out

  I waited two entire days before attempting to contact Pepper. I get the feeling it wouldn’t take much to scare her off and I'm not going to take any chances. I'd really hoped she would contact me first. Anything. A text, a call, a stop into the shop, but no, there’s been nothing but radio silence. I'd paced around the house for thirty minutes before Allie just told me to suck it up and text her already.

  "Why are boys so dumb?" Allie asks with a huff, crossing her arms over her tiny chest. I bite back the smile and laugh that want to happen and ask what she means. "It just seems like adults make everything so hard," she starts. "If you want to talk to someone, just talk to them. Aren't you and Mom always telling me to just be honest and follow my gut?" she asks, exasperated. This kid has infinite amounts of wisdom that she doesn't even realize.

  "We are, but what does that have to do with anything?"

  "If your gut wants to call, then call. It's like you’re just..."

  I wait patiently as she struggles to find her words. "It's like you don’t trust yourself to do the right thing," she finishes.

  "Adults ARE complicated, and maybe I don’t trust myself," I state, watching her sloppily put a giant bite of pancake into her mouth.

  "That’s stupid," she mumbles through a mouthful of food.

  "It is, isn’t it?" I say. She nods her head while swallowing and grabs the last strip of bacon from the plate. My jaw drops and my hand shoots out, grabbing the bacon from her small grasp.

  "See!" she laughs. "You didn’t hesitate on that."

  "Life’s easy when it's whether or not you want bacon," I say back to her.

  "Stupid," she grumbles and sticks her hand out to me. I bite off half the bacon strip and hand her the other half.

  "At least you're a good sharer," she says and smiles.

  "Oh, Allie, please share your infinite wisdom with me; if I were going to text Pepper, what should I say?"

  "Easy. You say, 'Hi, what are you doing today?'" she rattles off. It's not lost on me that I'm asking my eleven-year-old for girl advice. I think I've hit a new low.

  "Easy, huh?" I grumble.

  "Easy," she repeats.

  I think that maybe Allie is right. Maybe this could all be easy. Maybe I am making this harder than it's supposed to be. I swipe the screen on my phone and open my text messages while Allie clears the table and rinses our dishes.

  “Hi. What are you doing today?”

  I hit send and instantly wish I could take it back. That has to be the lamest text in the history of men hitting on women. When did I lose my game? Do I have no swagger left in me? I just let an eleven-year-old girl dictate my next move. I groan to myself and toss the phone on the table.

  Three hours later, as I'm meeting Clara at the shop to send Allie home for the day, my phone dings with a new text. I feel like a schoolgirl. My heart races and I'm deliriously hopeful that the message is from Pepper.

  “Gym in an hour. You?”

  Not exactly flirty or exciting as far as responses go, but what did I expect? I'd lamely asked her what she was doing today.

  “Want company?”

  I type back and hit send before I chicken out. I'm a little scared to join her at the gym. I work out three times a week but mixed martial arts training sounds a little more intense than what I normally embark on.

  "So, Tuesday night. Sawyer, are you even listening to me?" Clara's voice admonishes. What? Crap. I missed everything she said. When did she even start talking? Allie raises her eyebrows at me mischievously and tries to stifle her growing smile.

  "What’s Tuesday?" I ask. Clara's nostrils flare.

  "What's with you? Tuesday, Allie's chorus concert," she says pointedly.

  "RIGHT!" I bellow. "Of course I'll be there," I answer.

  "Great. So we'll see you then," she states dryly.

  "Yup." I turn to Allie and hold my arms out. She rushes into them, squeezing me tightly.

  "Love ya, kiddo. See you Tuesday."

  "Love you too," she says, tilting her head up. I lean down, giving her a big sloppy kiss, which she squeals and wipes off with her shirt sleeve.

  Straddling the bike, I start her up as I watch Clara and Allie pull away safely. My phone dings, then vibrates, in my pocket.

  “Sure, if you can keep up. World's Gym, Christiansburg.”

  Shit. I have the distinct feeling I've bitten off more than I can chew. But maybe she'll feel bad for me, though, and rub my muscles down later on. Her perfect lips and strong but soft hands wreak havoc on my mind before I tuck my phone back into my pocket and head home to change.

  I make it in record time. Pulling up to the gym I notice that it's a little defunct-looking. The concrete building has no windows besides the glass front door and it's not in the best part of town. This is where she chooses to work out? Strange. Clicking the button on my key fob, I lock the doors to the truck. It's not exactly fun riding home on a motorcycle sweaty and tired.

  I don't see Pepper’s bike here either so I'm not sure she’s here yet, but instead of waiting around like a chump I decide I should just go inside.

  Smelly. Gross, old-gym smell.

  It's musty and smells like sweat. The rancid odors assault me the second the front door closes behind me. I make a sour face and look around. I see a roped ring, heavy bags, speed bags, and some weights. This isn’t the kind of gym I'd expected. There are no cardio machines, no fancy front desk, no hot chicks milling about. This is like a bad, run-down boxer’s gym from a B-list movie starring Marky Mark. Interesting.

  I let my gaze wander until it lands on a spread of mats to the right of the ring. Two women are sparring. They move effortlessly around each other. The punches they're throwing are powerful and skilled. The kicks, shit, the kicks are insane. Both women seem to move like water across the mats. One blow in particular sends the other’s head snapping backward with a sick, cracking sound. They both wear headgear and gloves but that had to hurt. I cringe and watch as the one who took the hit rights herself and attacks back.

  "They're something," a deep voice says and distracts me. I glance left and find myself eye to eye with a thoroughly jacked up dude.

 
"Yeah," I answer.

  "Pepper and Greta could take down half the guys here if they tried," he muses.

  "What?" I find myself saying. I realize as I look back to the mats that Pepper is indeed one of the women. Her hair is tied up behind her and despite the mouth guard, if I'd looked hard enough, I would have noticed it was her. The tank she has on showcases her crazily ripped arms and shoulders and the loose mesh gym shorts show off her toned thighs. Everything clings to her slick, sweaty body.

  "I've never had two women in here before they showed up. But shit, they are badass," the dude says. "I'm Jim. Owner," he introduces himself. I take his hand and shake it firmly.

  "Sawyer. I came to meet Pepper," I say. He flashes me a devious smile.

  "Good luck," he says before he chuckles and wanders off. I turn my attention back to the mats as I edge closer to them. Greta throws a sick combination of punches and kicks that sends Pepper reeling backwards, landing on her ass on the mat. She smirks at Greta before jumping up again. I catch her eye and wave at the same moment Greta throws a jab. Shit. Pepper’s head snaps back and she lands on her knees with a thud. I hurry the last few steps to them.

  "Shit! Are you all right?" I call out, worried. Greta spins around to face me. Her eyes are icy blue and deadly. I hold up my hands in surrender. It seems like the right thing to do.

  "She's fine. Buzz off," she snaps. My jaw drops and I stand, stunned, unable to think of a retort. Honestly, women don’t usually talk to me like that. I’ve even been known to make them stutter and flustered. This one, though, she’s totally immune, it seems. Figures. She’s every man’s wet dream. Perky breasts, long, golden blonde hair, frosty blue eyes, and a figure to kill for.

  "Greta, easy, that’s Sawyer," Pepper says and chuckles as her friend offers her a hand up. Greta's eyes take me in, giving me a once-over from head to toe. It makes me fidget. She's not warm or friendly. I get the impression that she'd rather kick my ass then fuck it. I shudder at the thought.

  "Sorry. I thought maybe you were another one of those gym rats trying to get in our pants," she drops flatly. "Although, I guess you are..." She winks and hits me with a blinding smile. It doesn't exactly seem genuine.