I dressed in my workout shorts and a plain white tank top, my usual workout outfit and wondered what the hell I was going to do with my thick blonde hair. A ponytail was ideal, but with my hands still sensitive so I didn’t want to try it.
Kingston was out of the shower by the time I finished getting dressed. He came out of the bathroom in just his boxers and I struggled not to enjoy the view. He swiped his pants off the end of my bed and pulled them on.
“Are you working out today?”
I gulped, struggling for normalcy. “Yeah, I figured that was the plan.”
“Great,” he muttered, buckling his belt. He looked up, irritation evident in his eyes, but when his gaze met mine, something changed. “Do you want me to do your hair?”
It was the last thing I expected him to say. “What?”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice sure. He walked toward me. “I can French braid it so it’s not in your face when we hit the gym.”
“Umm, sure,” I agreed.
Minutes later, I sat in one of the chairs from my small dining set, with Kingston behind me. He was completely focused, not speaking to me, although every so often, he would mutter something unintelligible, which I guess was aimed at my hair, not me. I would have laughed if he wasn’t so intense. I wondered where he learned to braid as I sat there.
“All done,” he said finally, after what felt like hours. A glance at my stove clock let me know it had only been ten minutes.
I got up and walked to the bathroom, ready to see his handiwork and demand a do-over if I hated it. I flipped the light switch and stared at myself in the mirror. I lightly ran my hands over the perfect braid, surprised at how well it was done.
“You approve?” Kingston asked. He was leaning against the bathroom door frame, arms crossed.
“It’s amazing,” I said.
He smiled. “You sound surprised.”
“I am.”
A laugh escaped him. “You’re always so honest. It’s a breath of fresh air. I learned how to braid at a young age. I have two younger sisters who demanded I learn. I practiced on them a lot.”
Hearing him talk about his sisters was endearing. In that moment, I knew I had to tell him about being pushed.
“Can I tell you something?” I asked, facing him.
“Of course.”
“Yesterday, I didn’t trip and fall while we were running. I was pushed.”
His expression turned fierce. “What do you mean you were pushed? By who?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. He was wearing a ski mask so I didn’t see his face.”
“Tell me everything you remember,” he demanded, pulling me into the bedroom.
Seven
After several minutes of him questioning me about the incident, he finally sat back, rubbing his hands over his face.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“Just don’t hide things like that from me again, okay?”
“I won’t,” I promised, not quite sure if I was telling the truth. I wanted to be able to trust him, but the thought that he was hiding something nagged me in the back of my mind again, making me nervous.
“You’re not fighting in two weeks,” he announced suddenly, standing up.
I all but jumped off the bed. “I don’t think so.”
“Max, you don’t understand how dangerous it is for you. Someone made a threat on your life. That means you need to lie low for a while.” His voice was calm; he was the voice of reason.
I wanted nothing to do with that. “I haven’t worked my ass off the last few years to quit now. I’m not backing down.”
“If anything happens to you, he’ll kill me,” Kingston muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Who?” I asked, my thoughts distracted.
His head snapped up, surprised I heard him. “No one.” He ran his hand through his hair. “You can fight.”
His eyes glared at me for a moment and then he walked out of the room. Ten seconds later, I heard the audible click of my front door. He was gone.
I had to sit back down on my bed to catch my breath. My suspicions weren’t wrong about Kingston; he was hiding something. I blinked a few times, trying to get my head wrapped around what was going on. I knew I should work out, but the last thing I wanted was to see him. I needed to get some space, to figure what the hell I was supposed to do.
My phone went off from somewhere in the apartment and I rushed to find it. I opened up the text.
Wynter: Got time for breakfast before you hit the gym today?
I smiled as I read her message. Somehow, she always knew how to brighten my day, even when I never told her I needed to have it brightened. I wrote her a quick yes.
When I walked into our favorite breakfast diner twenty minutes later, Wynter was already waiting for me at our booth in the back. She waved when she saw me and I walked over.
“Uh-oh,” she said as I sat down across from her. “Things didn’t go so well with Romeo, I take it?” She sipped her coffee and watched me, waiting patiently for my explanation.
I let out a heavy sigh once the waitress brought me a cup of coffee. “I don’t even know where to start.”
She gave me a reassuring smile. “Take your time.”
“Well, first of all, Kingston is hot as fuck,” I started. She laughed, nearly choking on her coffee. “I mean, I’ve never had a lover as attentive or demanding as he is. He pushes my limits and brings me more pleasure than I’ve ever experienced. Ever.”
“Well, that’s not a bad thing,” she commented.
“No, and it wouldn’t be if he weren’t hiding something from me.”
She raised her brow. “Hiding something?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but it’s a feeling I got, and then, when I told him about what really happened yesterday, he mumbled something about how he’d be upset if I let something happen to you. I asked him what he meant and he acted like he never said it and told me to go ahead and fight. I don’t get it.”
“Who do you think he could have been talking about?”
I closed my eyes. “I have no idea, and I’m not sure I want to know,” I said, letting my mind wander through the possibilities.
“You think he means your dad?” she asked, voicing exactly what I was thinking.
My eyes flew open. “Is it possible? I thought I was crazy to even think it.”
“I’m not sure. If I were you, I wouldn’t dismiss it, but I wouldn’t hope for it too hard, either.”
“Yeah, I know. I’ve spent years wishing he would come back or write a letter or something. I just wanted to hear from him.”
“I know, Max. And I don’t blame you. But for right now, focus on Kingston. Personally, I think he’s going super-hot alpha male on you,” she said with a grin.
I shook my head. “You read too many romance novels.”
“Well, that’s true. But it’s part of my job,” she argued.
Wynter was a freelance editor. She worked with tons of clients who wrote books and she was always in a dream world. She was good at what she did, though.
“I’m not sure if I should work out today or not,” I admitted to her, bringing the conversation back on topic.
“Do you want to fight?”
“Of course,” I said.
“Then it seems like you need to go work out,” she suggested. “But, if you don’t want to go back just yet, I’m down for a shopping trip.” Her voice was beyond hopeful.
I smiled at her. “I think a shopping trip is just what the doctor ordered.”
We took the train to the mall, chatting along the way. Wynter needed to get a dress for some masquerade ball she was going to next month, so we decided to hit up the prom store first. As she tried on an insane number of dresses, I voted and vetoed several, giving her my honest opinion, even when she didn’t want it.
“I like this one,” she said as she stepped out in front of the mirror.
“
Ew,” I said, making gagging noises. It was the most god-awful shade of pink. “It looks like a five year old’s princess party just threw up all over you.”
“I’m so glad I brought you,” she said with a glare in my direction.
If the dress wasn’t Pepto-Bismal-pink, it wouldn’t have been so bad, but the color just ruined the whole thing. We’d been in the shop for two hours and I was sick of doing girlie things, but I didn’t want to complain.
My phone rang and we both looked at it on the seat next to mine. “It’s Kingston,” I told her as I spotted his name on the caller id.
I shook my head and decided to go ahead and answer it. “Hello?”
“Where the hell are you?” he yelled into my ear.
I cringed. “I’m out. I thought you didn’t want me to fight?”
“You and I both know I’m not going to be able to keep you from fighting, Max,” he started. The way he said my name caused goose bumps to appear on my arms. “So get your ass to the gym. Now.” He hung up.
“What the hell?”
“What did he say?” Wynter asked.
I set my phone down. “He told me to get to the gym.”
“I guess our shopping trip is over,” she said, sounding defeated.
“Guess so.” I didn’t really want to work out, but I definitely didn’t want to keep shopping. The gym was a better option than the dress shop.
Eight
Twelve days passed. Twelve excruciating, frustrating, and busy days. Aside from working out twice a day, Kingston had me on a strict diet, plus a running regime. Exhaustion didn’t even begin to cover the ridiculous fatigue I felt. I wanted to sleep for days, but every morning, I was up at five to work out.
I missed food the most. As a fighter, I was fairly lucky; I managed to get by eating whatever I wanted without fluctuating my weight too much, but Kingston insisted that I diet in order to maintain a perfect weight for my weight class. He also instituted a no alcohol policy. Almost two weeks without a beer or a glass of wine had me in a permanent bad mood.
What impressed me was his ability to stay away from me. Sure, we spent almost every waking moment together, working out, eating, and him mostly telling me what to do, but he never once made a move, and I was far too tired to even think about jumping him. He explained that I needed to focus on the fight, not any kind of romance or sex.
I agreed with him, to a point, but that didn’t mean I didn’t appreciate his fine form whenever he got too hot and took his shirt off in the gym. He was gorgeous, every muscled inch of him. I almost had to wipe drool off my chin on more than one occasion.
Wynter hated my new schedule, since it meant I couldn’t do anything social with her. But I kept up with her raging texts and shared most of them with Kingston, so he knew just how upset she was over my sudden social withdrawal. His response was to laugh at her antics. I didn’t blame him; Wynter was overly dramatic.
It was my last workout before my first fight. Nervousness settled in my bones as I warmed up. Kingston wasn’t at the gym yet, but I was usually early, so I wasn’t surprised. Half an hour later, I was a little concerned. I asked all the guys around the gym if they’d seen or heard from him, but no one had. I paced the small area in front of the punching bag, worried that maybe whoever wanted to hurt me had taken it out on him.
I never should have let him train me.
He stumbled through the door a few minutes later, wearing a heavy leather jacket. He passed by me and went straight into the men’s locker room. I didn’t hesitate to follow him.
“Where have you been?” I asked, more pissed than worried now that he showed up.
He glared at me as he carefully took off his jacket. His plain white tee was covered in blood.
“What the hell! Is that blood?” I asked, even though I already knew.
Kingston lifted his shirt, gingerly pulling the cotton material away from his wound, which looked like a gun shot.
“What’s going on?” I demanded, catching his gaze in the reflection of the mirror.
“Don’t worry about it,” he suggested, wincing as the cotton pulled on his skin where the blood had already dried.
I blinked at him. “Dammit, King! You can’t just come in here covered in blood and not tell me what you’ve been doing!”
He gave me a grave look. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” I scoffed. “I’ll take you to a hospital.”
“No!” he shouted, turning to look at me. “No one can know I was shot, Max.”
I didn’t agree, but I knew there was no way to convince him otherwise. “What can I do?”
He looked relieved. “Go get the first aid kit from Freddie’s office and make sure no one comes in here. I’ve got to get this cleaned up.”
I nodded, barely able to look away from where he was shot, just under his arm. I managed to get the first aid kit without drawing too much attention to King and I locked the door once I was back in the locker room.
“Got it,” I said, announcing my presence.
He looked up at me, his face nearly white. “I’ve lost a lot of blood. The first thing we need to do is get it cleaned up and wrapped to stop the blood.” He lifted his arm and I took a step closer, examining his wound. “It only grazed me, so there shouldn’t be any bullets pieces embedded in the skin, but you’ll need to look, just to be sure.”
The idea of poking his bloody flesh wasn’t one I relished, but I knew I had to do it if I wanted him to heal. I took a deep breath, desperate to calm my rapidly beating heart. He poured rubbing alcohol over a pair of tweezers and handed them to me with a nod.
I thought I might pass out. I’d never seen so much blood, let alone gone rummaging through torn up flesh for metal pieces of a bullet. After ten minutes, I hadn’t found anything.
“I think we’re good,” he muttered with a grimace.
Thank God. “I’m sorry,” I told him.
“Why on earth would you be sorry?” His eyes met mine.
“I know I hurt you.”
He smiled crookedly at me. “Yeah, but it was better than me trying to look myself. Thank you.”
I didn’t expect or even want an apology. What I truly wanted was an explanation. Instead of voicing my opinion, though, I kept silent.
“Now we get to bandage it up.”
I wasn’t sure how we were going to do that, but Kingston was self-sufficient and made a perfect sized bandage and had me apply it to the wound. Then we wrapped his chest with an ace bandage so it stayed. He was sore, but it looked like he had a bruised or broken rib. It was better than explaining to everyone that he’d been shot.
I wasn’t done with my inquisition, but he wasn’t up for it. “You need to rest.”
“Are you going to play nurse to me?” he asked, his eyes filled with need. After nearly two weeks of working together and no sex, we were both a little on edge.
“Not a chance,” I replied, hoping to keep my distance until I figured out what the hell he was into. “But I’ll take care of you. No benefits.”
He laughed and then winced at the pain the movement brought him. “Sounds good. Got any pain killers?”
I shook my head and then we left the locker room. We walked all the way to my apartment before Kingston passed out. He barely made it to the couch, and I felt like I was carrying him the last mile.
Once he was safely on the couch, I brought him a few ibuprofen and a glass of water. He roused just enough to suck them down and then he was out, sleep taking over. I worried I made a wrong decision, that I should have just taken him to the hospital, but I didn’t get much time to think about it, as the buzzer from downstairs went off.
“Yeah?” I answered.
“It’s Wynter. Let me up.”
Shit! “I can’t, Wyn. I’m not feeling great,” I lied, hoping she believed me.
No such luck. “Let me up right now, Max! I went by the gym and they told me you and Romeo were headed to your place.”
There was no way she would g
ive up; I knew her well enough to know that harsh truth. So instead of trying to get her to go away, I buzzed her up. I sat at my small dining table and waited impatiently for her.
She burst through the front door. “What the hell is going on?”
I stared at her and then looked pointedly at Kingston on my couch.
She lowered her voice when she saw him. “What’s going on?”
I got up and went into my room, hoping we could talk in private. I shut the door behind us. “I don’t even know what’s happening.”
“Start at the beginning,” she suggested.
So I did. I told her everything that happened that morning, including Kingston refusing to go to a hospital.
She sat on my bed when I finished and didn’t speak for a full two minutes. Finally, she swallowed. “So no one at the gym knows he was shot?”
I shook my head. “No, I don’t think so. I was very careful. None of the guys there really ask a lot of questions when it comes to me, anyway.”
“Well, that’s true. So what now?”
I sat next to her on my bed. “I have no idea.”
“You should stay away from him, Max,” she suggested.
“Probably,” I agreed.
* * * * *
Long after Wynter went home after making me promise to get him the hell out of my apartment, Kingston woke up. He was groggy and it took him a minute before he realized where he was. I brought him a glass of water.
“Thanks,” he murmured, taking a sup. “How long was I out?”
“All day,” I answered, sitting on the coffee table in front of him. “And now you’re going to tell me exactly what’s going on.”
He shook his head slowly. “I can’t do that, Max. Hell, you’re in danger just by having me here.”
My irritation turned to anger. “No. You don’t get to say things like that and not explain yourself, Kingston! Tell me what’s going on right now.” I wasn’t in the mood to be jerked around.
He leaned back against the couch, staring at me. “If I tell you, you have to promise me that you aren’t going to freak out.”
Fight Like A Girl (Part One) Page 5