by D. C. Ruins
"Hey, man," he said to the cat quietly, scratching him on the top of his head between his ears. Rocky's eyes squeezed shut and he leaned into Heath's hand in ecstasy, his tail curling at the tip. For a moment, the only noise was his loud purring.
"Looks like Rocky's claimed you for his own, now," Drew observed, moving toward the sofa and sitting down, tucking her feet underneath her.
"What do you mean?" Heath asked, his fingers moving to scratch the side of Rocky's face. The cat swiped his cheeks against Heath's hand then stepped closer, bunting him in the chest softly before stretching up to swipe either side of his face against Heath's jacket.
"He's marking you," Drew said. Heath glanced up at her, cocking an eyebrow.
"He's not gonna piss on me or something is he?" he demanded.
Drew laughed out loud. "No," she reassured him. "I mean…I don't think so. Maybe. He's never been around a boy before."
"Not even your dad?" Heath asked.
"He doesn't like cats, so whenever he comes over I have to put Rocky in the bathroom until he leaves," Drew explained.
"Yeah, he doesn't strike me a cat person," Heath commented. "Or an animal person, really."
"He's not," Drew confirmed. "I wanted to get a small dog too but he refused. He said whenever I'd like to move out and start paying rent I can do whatever I want." She laughed.
"I dunno," Heath said. "Not paying rent might be worth not getting a dog for a while."
Drew shrugged and smirked. "Maybe." Her eyes flickered to the cardboard bowls on the coffee table. "Which one is mine?"
Heath smiled and leaned forward, picking up a bowl and handing it over. Drew took it eagerly and peered down at it as she popped the clear plastic dome lid off. She saw two shades of brown-colored, slightly melted frozen yogurt with a variety of junky toppings, just like she liked.
"What have we here?" she murmured, accepting the plastic orange spoon he offered her as well. She took a bite of each. She tasted her favorite flavor, peanut butter cup, and took a second small bite of the other, letting the rich, savory and sweet flavor flow over her tongue. "Salted caramel?" she asked.
Heath nodded. "I tried that pie you gave me," he said. "And it was really good. I was thinking about what you said about salty/sweet flavors and thought you might like that."
"I do," she replied. She glanced at him from under her lashes. "A lot." He leaned back against the sofa cushion and studied her, shifting the toothpick in his mouth around. Her face started to heat up and she glanced back down at her yogurt. "What did you get?" she asked, clearing her throat. "Something boring, I'm sure."
He laughed and reached for his bowl. "Yeah. Sorry to disappoint."
Drew clicked on her television and scrolled through the channels as they ate their snacks. As she breezed past ESPN, she doubled back, seeing the word "Smackdown" flash across the screen. Heath glanced up at the screen as the report said that now, due to state MMA regulations, the number of fighters had been doubled in respect to the size of the purse. Drew glanced at Heath.
"What's this mean for you?" she asked, then realized that was probably a stupid question, and said so. "Sorry. I don't know the first thing about MMA."
"No, it's okay," Heath said, setting his empty bowl back on the coffee table. "It just means that my chances of winning have statistically plummeted." He shrugged. "And it'll be a long weekend."
"Oh," Drew said. "I got it." She swirled her yogurt around. "But plummeted, though? Really? You're really good."
Heath half-smiled, still watching the screen. "Thanks," he said. "I said statistically. That's where all my training comes in." He glanced over at her. "In that sense, my odds are the same as everyone else's, roughly. Could be better or worse, depending on how they've trained and their overall skill and talent."
Drew nodded thoughtfully at his words, pulling her spoon slowly out of her mouth. She pointed it at him. "What's your song gonna be?"
Heath blinked in surprise. "What?"
"The song you walk out to. They all have one. I remember that you never did, except for when the Marines sang their hymn to you."
Heath shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted. "I haven't thought about that at all. Probably nothing."
"No way," Drew said in disbelief. "You have to have something. You can't have nothing!"
"Why?" Heath asked, seeming very amused by her. "What difference does it make?"
"It makes all the difference!" Drew exclaimed. "Are you kidding me? Certain songs touch different emotions in you, get you riled up or calm you down. There's a reason why runners listen to songs with high-energy melodies and beats, or why people who want to calm down listen to jazz or classical, or something like that."
He smiled at her vehemence. "All right," he said. "What song do you think I should have?"
"Well, I don't know," she said, exasperated. "Only you know that. But you have to find one."
He laughed, folding his arms over his chest. "Okay. I'll work on it. But I'm only doing this for you."
She smiled widely. "Thanks, I appreciate that." She paused. "It should probably be some super hard rock song or like angry rap or something."
He lifted a hand. "You wanna pick it out?"
"No, no," she hastened to say. "Just saying. That seems to suit you the most."
He smiled at her and she shrugged, and they both resumed watching television. Drew leaned her head on a sofa pillow, noting there were at least three cushions between them on her sectional couch.
"How's your dance comin' along?" he asked after a moment. She lifted her head.
"Good," she said. "It's all finished. I just have to work out the kinks now."
"Kinks?"
"Yeah," she replied. "All the imperfections, just tightening everything up and fine-tuning it all. And I decided on my footwear and my costume."
"Footwear?" he repeated. "I mean, wouldn't you just wear –" His eyes lit on her pointe shoes slung over her hall closet door handle. "Those?"
She glanced over at them. "I was going to, but I decided on something different."
"What's your costume look like?"
"Well, it doesn't exist yet," she explained. "But you'll just have to wait and see."
"Wait and see," he repeated. "Does that mean I'm invited?"
She half-smiled and glanced down at the cushion shyly, playing with a loose thread. "Would you want to come?"
"Of course," he said automatically. "What song did you pick?"
She smiled again. "I'm not sure if I should reveal that or not," she said. "You know, to maintain the integrity of the dance and all."
Heath chuckled. "Whatever that means," he said teasingly.
At that moment, a local commercial came on, advertising the performance of Giselle in two nights. Drew's face fell, though she tried not to let it. She'd almost—almost—forgotten that the performance was just around the corner, and disappointment washed through her anew.
Heath was watching her face. "Still no luck with tickets? Scalpers, eBay, nothin'?"
She half-smiled for his benefit. "No. No luck. It's okay. I've seen it before and I have it on DVD." She tried to sound neutral but her voice came out sad and wistful.
Heath glanced at her again. "Well, how about this," he began, and Drew gave him her full attention, her brows lifted with curiosity. "Thursday night, me and you, we go somewhere, hang out, take your mind off it."
Drew's smile widened. "That's really sweet of you," she said. "Really. But it's okay. I'm just being dramatic about it."
"Okay," Heath said. "So how about we just hang out together because we want to?"
Drew bit back a grin. "You mean like a date?"
"Would that be so bad?"
Are you fucking kidding me? she thought. "No. That would not be bad at all."
"All right, then," he said. "How about dinner and a movie? I've been wantin' to check out that place downtown, Elements."
Drew's head snapped up alertly. "That's my favorite restaurant."
He
ath raised his scarred eyebrow at her mildly. "Oh, yeah? Cool. So you know it's good, then."
"Very good," she replied. Also very expensive and fancy, she thought. She wanted to tell him she'd be fine with pizza and beer somewhere but didn't want to offend him; she hoped he didn't think she was high maintenance or anything.
"So, is it a date then?" he asked softly. "Can you get off work in time for dinner at, say, six?"
"Early dinner," she commented, but smiled. "Yes. I can. That should be fine."
"Good," he said, and seemed to relax a little. "There's something else I wanted to talk to you about."
"What's that?"
"Connor and his wife, Lana, are having this thing at their house on Sunday," he started. "Like a barbecue. They, uh—they want me to bring you."
Drew lifted her eyebrow again. "And you don't want to?" she teased darkly.
"No, no," Heath said. "I do. I just—I don't want you to be, like, uncomfortable or anything."
"Why would I?" Drew asked curiously. "Your brother seems like a nice guy. I have to think his wife is like that too. And I'd like to meet your nieces."
"It's my dad," he said in a rush. "You know. I told you he used to whale on me and Connor when we were kids, and, well, we're moving past that. But he used to beat up my mom, and I don't want you to –" He shrugged. "You know, because of what you went through. I don't want you to think about anything or look at my dad and wonder –"
Drew abruptly rose from her seat and moved closer to him, dropping down on the couch next to him and placed her hand on his forearm.
"Heath," she said calmly, tilting her head. "Stop. You're…so nice to worry about me like that. Really. I've never had anyone like that outside my family and Bunz to care so much about my mental comfort. Seriously. But I'm okay. I mean, I'm getting there. I would love to meet your whole family including your father." She looked into his eyes, so he could see her sincerity. "Okay? I'll really be okay, I promise. And if I'm not, I'll tell you. Okay?"
He sighed and looked into her eyes. "Okay. I—sorry," he said with a shrug. "I just—I've never known anyone who's gone through what you have so I don't really know what I should be doing or not be doing. I just want to make sure you'll be okay—all the time. I know you're…vulnerable."
"Vulnerable," she agreed. "Damaged, even." She squeezed his forearm gently. "But I'm not broken."
He looked down at her hand on his arm, and finally reached over, a little hesitantly, and wrapped his own hand around it, pulling it off his arm and squeezing it between his own two hands before letting it go.
"I know you're not," he said firmly.
"So we have a date on Thursday," Drew said teasingly, wanting to lighten the mood. "And I'm getting to see what Sunday dinner at your family's house looks like."
"It should be a little quieter," he teased. "You guys are…loud."
Drew tossed her head back and laughed. "Yes, we are," she admitted. She grinned cheekily. "That's part of our charm, though."
"That, and death threats," Heath said agreeably. "Sure."
"You liked it," she said, shoving his shoulder a little. "So is that why you wanted to come over here? To bring me yogurt and ask me on two dates?"
Heath shrugged. "That, and I just wanted to see you."
"You did?" she asked, hating herself for both the happy eagerness in her voice and her corresponding smile.
In response, he reached out and brushed a finger over one of her dimples. "I like those," he admitted. "I like seeing them. I can tell when you're giving me a little bullshit smile and when you really mean it." He stroked her cheek. "They're deeper when you smile for real."
Her cheeks flamed, but she couldn't look away or stop smiling.
After a moment, Heath sighed and dropped his hand, glancing at his watch. Drew looked at the clock and saw that it was almost ten.
"I gotta get back," he said reluctantly. "I need to finish some paperwork and then I'm sparring with Rex after we close."
"Okay," Drew said as he rose. She allowed him to take her by the hands and pull her to her feet. "Thank you for—everything," she said. "Yogurt. The Thursday dinner invitation. The Sunday dinner invitation. You had me at the yogurt, though, just so you know."
"I did?" Heath asked teasingly, still holding her hands. "I'll have to remember that. All it takes is some frozen yogurt and she's putty in my hands."
Drew chuckled and rolled her eyes. She looked at their hands still clasped together, and intertwined her fingers with his gently. She watched his hand close around hers, firmly and securely, and inhaled deeply, realizing she could smell him. There was a crisp, clean smell about him that seemed to be his natural fragrance, mingling nicely with the light scent of his spicy cologne. She lifted her eyes to his and saw that he was watching her face closely. She swallowed, working up her nerve, then slowly pressed up on her toes, lifting her face toward his. She didn't wait for him to meet her; she leaned into him and let the fingers of her other hand slip from his and graze the side and back of his neck softly and she brought her lips to his, letting her eyes close.
Much like she had the first time, Heath stood very still, as though he were allowing her to be in charge and set the pace. He kissed her back very softly, and when she felt his lips press back against hers, it made her heart begin to pound and her grip on the back of his neck tightened unconsciously. He pulled her hand around his back while his free hand slid up her hip to the small of her back, pressing her closer against him. She felt his lips part slightly and close briefly around her bottom lip, pulling gently at it. She ran her hand up his heavily muscled back and wrapped her arm around his neck, and for the second time, gathered her nerve. She let her tongue creep past her lips and brushed it against his bottom lip. She felt him pause for a moment, as though he were silently wondering if she'd meant to do that, so she did it again. She felt both of his hands tighten on her waist and a moment later, felt the soft caress of his tongue as the tip of it met hers and stroked it gently. Her synapses exploded at the sensation; just the slight touch made her head swim. Her fingers gripped the hair at the back of his neck and she pulled herself impossibly closer, now intent on nothing else but feeling his tongue against hers again. The force of her eagerness made him take a small step back with one leg to maintain his balance, but he never broke away from her and slid one hand under her hair to grip the base of her skull lightly; it almost felt like he was massaging the base of her scalp and it felt wonderful.
She slipped her tongue past her lips again, and further between his, and felt his mouth open slightly for her. A moment later, she felt that wonderful soft, moist warmth of his tongue as he slid it languidly around hers, a little further along its length this time than before. A strange, warm, prickling heat spread through her at the sensation. In the next moment, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt his lips close gently around her tongue and pull. She was so surprised at the intensity of the flare of pleasure she felt from it, she let out a soft gasp. Instantly, he pulled away.
"What is it?" he asked softly. "You good?"
"Good, yes," she breathed, her eyes locked onto his mouth as she leaned in again. She felt him smile against her lips at her insistence before moving his lips over hers slowly in a curious and deeply pleasurable way, a mixture of brushing and pressing and pulling, before he coaxed her lips apart again and teased the tip of her tongue with his, before resuming his place more deeply within her mouth. She wasn't sure how long they slowly and leisurely feasted on each other's mouths; she was losing track of time rapidly and found that she couldn't have cared less than she did in that moment.
Aside from the wonderful things he was doing with his lips and tongue, his hands were alternating stroking and squeezing her, one hand in her hair and one at the small of her back. He stroked her back soothingly, slowly, before squeezing gently at her waist and then starting over. The hand in her hair massaged and tugged, her sensitive scalp tingling at his touch.
Slowly, as though he was trying to
not startle her again, he gradually closed his lips around her tongue once more and suckled gently, the pulling sensation odd but pleasant. His lips pulled down the length of her tongue, releasing it at the very tip, before his lips immediately latched onto her bottom lip. He gave her another slow, moist, brushing, pressing, pulling kiss before his teeth nipped gently at her lip and he pulled away.
"I have to go," he murmured, leaning down to brush his cheek against hers, the words reverberating in her ear and his warm breath on her skin making her shiver.
"I know," she whispered back. "Sorry. I didn't mean to—sidetrack you."
He pressed his face lightly into the side of her neck for a brief moment and chuckled, the sound sending ripples across her skin. He pulled away and smoothed her hair away from her face. "Yeah, you did."
He kept her hand in his as he moved to the door. He unlatched her three locks and pulled it open. Once he was over the threshold, he turned to look back at her. His eyes scanned her face, which she knew was still flushed. He reached out and touched her face where her dimples were, then pulled her toward him for one more kiss.
"Good night," he murmured against her lips. "Call you later."
"Bye," she said softly. She didn't want to close the door on him, but she knew he would wait until he heard her lock up. She smiled shyly at him, suddenly unable to meet his eyes or stop smiling, and shut the door gently. She locked up, and listened as his footsteps moved down the hall. She dropped on the couch, stretching out, and her fingers moved to her lips as she closed her eyes.
Chapter Eighteen
Sweat poured down Heath's face as he unconsciously chomped down on his mouth guard, shuffling his feet quickly as his eyes locked onto his opponent. They circled each other in the ring, their movements different as their fighting styles were different, but all the same, they each possessed similar traits. Each moved with his head low, favoring his right side, eyes shifting almost in a mirrored fashion. Their legs took a similar stride length, their feet moved quickly, their fists rose into the same loose guard position. It was like they were brothers.