by JB Salsbury
I poke the cat sleeping on my neck like a living scarf. “Is this normal? Why won’t he wake up?” I poke at him again.
“Oh, he’s awake. He’s just not interested in moving.” She laughs more.
“Which one is he again?”
“Audie.”
“Interesting name.”
“I named him after Audie Murphy, the most decorated American veteran of World War II.”
“War hero or not . . .” I pluck the animal from my neck. “My neck is off limits.”
I set him down, and he stretches then collapses at my hip.
“See. I told you he likes you.” She runs her hand along a gray sleeping cat.
“Do they always sleep in your bed?”
She shrugs. “Mostly. Although Teddy prefers the couch.”
“Teddy . . . wait, as in Teddy Roosevelt.”
“The one and only.”
“Ulysses. So, you name all your cats after war heroes and presidents?”
“Nope. Just war heroes. Both Roosevelt and Grant were war heroes before they became presidents. Harriet is named after the first black female Naval Officer in World War II, not Harriet Tubman, although that works too.”
“You should probably know your nerdiness turns me on.”
“Does it?” She shimmies forward and kisses the tip of my nose. “Let me go take out my contacts and put my glasses on, then.”
I grip her biceps and toss her to her back, crawling up on top of her as cats scatter off the bed. “You do that and I’ll be forced to use you for all my cardio training.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?”
Our naked torsos pressed together light a spark that starts to simmer between us.
“You’re gonna be the death of me.” I drop my forehead to hers. “I gotta go or I’ll never leave.”
“I’ll come over and make breakfast.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.” She runs her fingers through my hair. “Let me do my job.”
“Only if every meal you prepare you eat with me.”
She chews on her bottom lip, and I’d bet my balls she’s wondering what that fucker Roy will do if he finds out.
“Honor.” I growl warningly.
“Okay.” She nods. “Fine.”
“Thank you.” I kiss her soft warm lips and peel myself away to go in search of my clothes. When I pull my jeans from off the floor, my cell phone falls out. Looks like I missed a ton of calls from Cameron, but I shove it back in my pocket, deciding I’ll wait until I leave to get back to him.
Honor is curled up under the sheets with the gray cat at her feet and the black cat licking his back leg on the pillow I slept on last night. She watches me as I tug my shirt over my head and lean over and kiss her temple. “I’ll see you later?”
“You will,” she says through a yawn.
“Try to get a little more sleep. You need it after last night.”
She nods and closes her eyes, and it settles something inside me to leave her warm and sated in her bed. The floorboards squeak on my way to the door, and I wonder how old this house is. It smells a little like moldy wood, and although it’s clean and tidy, the furniture is from a different era.
I pull my phone out of my pocket as soon as I close her front door behind me and start scrolling through all the missed calls. The sun is just barely rising in Georgia, and it looks like Cam called at midnight Las Vegas time and again at four o’clock in the morning and then every fifteen minutes after.
“What the fuck is up his ass?”
I hit the road and look both ways before I cross then jog the two-lane strip of asphalt to the driveway of my rental house. I’m gearing up to hit Cam’s number in my contacts when I catch movement from the corner of my eye. Looking up expecting an animal, I see a man with a long-lens peeking out from behind the trunk of a big red maple.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Knowing he’s probably taking a hundred frames per second, I shove my middle finger in the air. “Sell that to the tabloids, you little bitch.”
Shaking my head, I unlock the door and duck inside. Didn’t take long for word to travel after last night’s ice cream outing. I’m sure that’s what has Cam’s panties in a bunch.
I hit the bathroom, change into my running gear, and then shake up some protein while I punch Cam’s contact on my phone.
The lake is slick and glassy, not a whisper of wind, and I move to the deck and drop into a seat.
“Caleb, what the fuck?” Cam’s growled greeting is nothing out of the ordinary.
“Good morning to you too, princess.”
“You in Hope Town to fuck or fight?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” My phone vibrates in my hand, a signal that I’ve received a new text.
“I just sent them to you. Open ’em up.”
I pull the phone from my face, and sure enough, there’s a new text from Cam. I put him on speaker and see he sent me several links. I hit the first one, and a gossip website opens with a photo of me and Honor holding hands in the parking lot of the ice cream shop.
“So what? I went out for ice cream with an old friend.”
“Keep going.”
I scroll down and see a photo of us sitting at the table. Whoop-dee-doo, what’s the big fucking deal? I scroll more and there’s one of me helping her back into the truck. More and . . . oh shit, there’s one of us sitting in the truck right outside the house. I scroll down to the end, and the photos that pass play out like a flip-o-cartoon book until I get to the last one.
“Shit.”
“I’m gonna assume what I’m looking at is not you trying to choke this poor woman with your tongue as you push her in through that doorway, right?”
“So, I hooked up with an old flame. I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“He doesn’t see what the big deal is,” Cam mumbles to himself. “The big deal, asshole, is the paps now know where you live.”
“I can handle the paps, Cam.”
“Oh yeah, tough guy? Can she? They’re not interested in you anymore. They’ll dig up her past and splatter it all over the Internet, not to mention crawl straight up her ass whenever she’s in public.”
Fuck.
“Something tells me you didn’t discuss this with her before you stupidly led them right to her front fucking door.”
I rub my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. “No.”
“No. What did I tell you about using the personal security?”
“Alright, Cam, I get it. I fucked up.”
“Fix this.”
“How?”
“Figure it out.”
The phone line goes dead and I drop my head back. What was I thinking? How can I make this right? Fix this for Honor?
Cam’s right. I pulled her into this mess without even thinking of how it might affect her.
I finally got her to trust me. This could ruin everything.
~*~
Honor
The sun is high overhead by the time I make it over to Caleb’s.
My plan was to grab another thirty minutes sleep after he left this morning, but when I woke up, it was nearly ten o’clock. I knew he wouldn’t mind finding his own breakfast, and although I wanted to rush over to his place, I had to shower, feed the cats, and grab a snack myself.
I jog up the steps to his door and let myself in. “Caleb? Are you home?”
The house is quiet, and I imagine he’s probably in the garage, training. There’s a single bowl in the sink with a spoon and a big plastic cup that I’ve seen him use for his shakes. I rinse them and put them in the dishwasher and then start pulling out the fixings I need to prepare lunch.
I pile my still-damp hair on top of my head and fry up a pound of bacon then slice up two vine-ripened tomatoes while the bacon drains. I’m rinsing the lettuce when two big hands grab my hips from behind.
Screeching in surprise, I drop the lettuce and whirl around to a laughing Caleb.
>
“Where in the hell did you come from?”
His expression sobers and heats with desire. “The front door.”
“For a big guy, you move like a kitten.” My stomach tumbles as his gaze bores into mine, reminding me of the way he looked last night as he moved inside me.
He grips the front of my shirt and pulls me closer only to stop midway, blinking. “Wait.” He squints at the tee; then his widened eyes meet mine. “Is this my shirt?”
I shrug. “Maybe.” I can’t help but grin at the awe reflected in his expression. So, I kept the shirt he gave me when I was sixteen. Sue me.
“This is my shirt.” He spins me around, looks at the back, then spins me back to face him. “You little thief.”
“You told me I could keep it.” I playfully slap his hands away. “It’s mine now.”
“Yeah?” He steps close, backing me up until my butt hits the cabinets. “I want it back.”
“I’m not giving it back. It’s soft. I like sleepin’ in it.”
His breath catches and he leans down. His hairline is damp with sweat, and his skin smells salty and makes my mouth water. “You won’t have to give it back.” He nuzzles the sensitive area between my ear and my shoulder. “I’m takin’ it.”
I suck in a breath when his big hands dip under the fabric to my bare stomach. The rough pads of his fingers glide up to the underside of my breasts where he rasps his thumbs across my bra-covered nipples. I reach back to brace myself against the counter, fearing I’ll fall if I don’t hold myself up.
“You don’t”—my eyes slide closed as he licks at my neck— “really want it. It”—he tugs my earlobe between his teeth— “won’t fit you . . .” Oh my gosh, how does he know all the right buttons to push? “Anymore.”
He slips it up and over my head so that I’m standing in only my shorts and bra. “I don’t really want it. I just want you out of it.” He pulls my bra cups down to expose my nipples, and I moan when he—
“Well, fuck me.”
Caleb whirls around, using his body as a human shield against the very deep and manly voice behind him.
“Cam was right,” a raspy voice says. “Caleb, you dirty little slut.”
My face flames when I realize those are two distinctly different masculine voices. And although their words are insulting, they’re almost . . . affectionate.
“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.” Caleb’s voice rings with happiness and familiarity. He hands me my shirt as discreetly as he can while maintaining his protective stance. “I can’t believe he sent you two assholes. You guys ever heard of knocking?”
“Believe it, dickshit. And your door was open. You tell your woman her modesty is safe; we didn’t see anything.”
Caleb turns around, his smile so blinding it’s impossible not to smile along with him. “You good?”
“Yeah.” I lean around Caleb to try to peek at the men. “Who are they?”
He grabs my hand and pulls me to his side and toward the men. I stumble and instinctively lean back when I finally set my sights on our visitors.
One of them is huge, and I’m not just talking wide. He’s tall, probably a half foot taller than Caleb. His black hair is short on the sides and longer and messy on top, the color a sharp contrast to his striking hazel eyes. He has a beard, but it’s not big and bushy, more like he just hasn’t shaved in a few weeks. His arms are covered in tattoos that are every single color of the rainbow and disappear under the stretched cotton of his T-shirt sleeves.
“Honor, this is my friend and UFL Heavyweight Champion Jonah Slade.” Caleb nods to the giant.
“Nice to meet you.” I shove my hand out to shake his, half afraid he’ll crush my bones in his grip.
His touch is surprisingly gentle as he takes my hand, which leads me to believe he’s got a woman at home who has taught him how to be considerate of those weaker than him. “Thank you for looking after this loser for us.” He grins and—holy shit! Dimples—two deep divots that show even through the blanket of dark hair on his face.
I have to look away as a blush crawls up my neck to my cheeks.
“And this piece of shit is UFL god Blake Daniels.” Caleb directs my attention to the other man.
He’s also taller than Caleb but shorter than Jonah. His dirty blond hair is cropped short but long enough to fan out in every different direction on the top of his head. He has killer green eyes that are watching me as if he can read my thoughts. He grins slowly and in such a way that I check to make sure my shirt isn’t backwards and inside out. “Blake is fine. I only ask that you call me ‘the UFL god’ in front of strangers.” He winks, shoving one big hand my way. His forearm is a roadmap of veins and muscle and sinew. “So, this is the mystery girl.”
I shake his hand, again surprised by how gentle he is, and shrug. “I don’t know about that. I’m no Deborah Sampson.” I laugh awkwardly as all the men stare at me with lowered brows.
“Who?” Jonah’s lips twitch as he tries desperately not to laugh at how stupid I am.
I fidget, picking at my nails. “Revolutionary war. She, uh”—I swallow and wish I could just rewind ten seconds and leave my stupid mouth shut— “enlisted as a man, using her brother’s name. I, uh . . . I’m sorry.”
Blake grins, folds those enormous arms over his chest, and tilts his head. “No kidding. She ever get caught?”
“Actually yeah, um . . .” I peek over at Caleb, who seems genuinely interested in my answer as well as slightly amused. “She was discovered by a doctor who was treating her for an injury.”
Blake chuckles. “That must’ve been some surprise.” He cocks an eyebrow and swings an exaggerated gaze to Caleb. “I see why you insisted on training in Hope Town, brother.”
I expect Caleb to get embarrassed by what his friend is implying—that he might have chosen to come to Hope Town for me, the awkward, stumbling, all around socially unacceptable, Bug.
I’m stunned for a moment when Caleb pulls me to his front, wraps me up in both arms, and kisses the top of my head. “Glad you see that. Now keep your fucking thoughts to yourself, asshole.”
With that, Caleb releases me and tackles Blake in a back-pounding man-hug. “It’s great to see you, man. Been too long.” He releases the guy then turns to Jonah and does the same. “You too, dickhead. Happy as hell to see you.”
Jonah pushes Caleb away, but he’s smiling. “We’re not gonna send you into the octagon with Graham without training with us. You’ll get killed.”
Caleb leans casually against the counter, but pulls me close to hold my hand. “I don’t know. I’ve been turning out some pretty good fighters in England. You two might learn something.”
Blake laughs and walks around the living room, taking a moment to stare out the big window to the lake before turning back to us. “We don’t have a ton of time. Sooner we get started the better.”
“I’m fucking starving,” Jonah says, eyeing the pound of cooked bacon.
“Oh, I can make you guys lunch.” I pull away from Caleb only to get reeled back in.
His lips land at my ear. “I can do it.”
Jonah overhears and recoils. “Since when do you know how to make anything other than a peanut butter sandwich?”
I stifle a laugh.
“Hey, I can make . . .” Caleb looks around the kitchen. “What were you fixin’?”
“Bacon, spinach, and avocado sandwiches.”
“Good Lord, that sounds good.” Blake rubs his abdomen, and I pretend not to catch the flash of firm skin shown when his T-shirt rides up a little too high.
Don’t ogle the athletes, Honor! “Why don’t I make the food while you boys catch up.” I press a kiss to Caleb’s jaw.
He looks worried and whispers, “Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
“I just . . .” He moves deeper into the kitchen, and Jonah must sense the need for privacy as he joins Blake at the window. “I don’t want you to feel like you work for me, especially after last night.”
“I don’t work for you; I work for Roy.” He doesn’t seem to like the sound of that. “Besides, I love cooking, and I really like cooking for you.”
His gaze moves around the kitchen, and then it comes back to me. “Alright, but only if you eat with us.”
“Okay.”
“And you let me clean up afterward.”
“Deal.” I shoo him out of the kitchen, really wanting to kiss him but trying to be respectful in front of company. “Now go join your friends. It’ll be ready in about ten minutes.”
He growls and pulls me to his body, wrapping me up in the power of his strong arms. “You’re too perfect, Honor.” He dips down and presses his lips to mine, coaxing my tongue out for a taste. I’m dizzy by the time he breaks the kiss, and his eyes glaze over as he looks down at me. “You keep this up, I may never let you go.”
Never let me go . . .
Seven
Caleb
The sun has already set by the time Blake, Jonah, and I are headed back from the garage to the main house. I feel like I’ve been hit with a semi-truck, which is close to what’s been going on for the last four hours.
Jonah and Blake didn’t take it easy on me.
“Your stand up is strong, but I think we need to work on breaking some of Graham’s favorite submissions,” Jonah says.
Blake kicks at the rocks and nods. “I agree with Vajonah—ouch!” He rubs the spot where Jonah punched his arm. “No hitting!”
“I have some of Graham’s film on my phone. We can check it out after dinner and work on a strategy—shit, speaking of vaginas . . .” Blake flanks my left while Jonah towers at my right.
I look around Jonah to see two photographers camping out in the trees. “They’re like a rash.”
We walk right up to them; the sound of thousands of frames firing off from their cameras gets louder as we approach.
“What’s up, pap smears?” Blake opens his arms. “Who wants to be put in a headlock first?”
“You’re on private property, guys.” Jonah’s rumbling voice has them both putting down their cameras and reaching for hand-held recorders.
“Caleb, what can you tell us about the woman we saw you with last night? Are you two serious?” He shoves the thing in my face, and I move to knock his arm away only to have Jonah snag me at the elbow and shake his head. “People are talking; you may as well set them straight.”