by JB Salsbury
“Sleep. We’ll just sleep.”
“Really? So . . . you still want me to stay even if we don’t have sex?”
I’m tired. I really want to fall asleep with Honor in my arms. I do not have the energy to get into a fight about why the fuck she’d think a man wouldn’t want a beautiful woman like her in his bed for anything other than sex.
So I bite my tongue.
Hard.
Her eyes grow bigger than they already are. “Sorry, I don’t mean to question your feelings. I’m just”—she blows out a breath— “surprised.”
“Right.” I grab her hand and walk her out of the kitchen, hitting the lights as I go. “We’ll work on that.” I hit the security code on the alarm before dragging her upstairs to my room. From the hallway, I can already hear snoring from both Blake’s and Jonah’s rooms, and I have every intention of following suit.
Shutting us in my room, I rummage through a drawer for a T-shirt and boxers then toss them to Honor. “Here, put these on. I’m going to go get ready.”
I leave her for the bathroom, feeling a little proud of myself for the shocked look I left on her face.
I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.
Her only relationship was purely sexual.
I remind myself to ask around for Perry so I can kick his puny ass.
She has no idea what it feels like to be with someone who wants her for who she is, not just what her body can offer.
I slap some toothpaste on my brush and shove it in my smiling mouth.
Oh, Honor . . . I’m going to love her so hard she won’t know what hit her.
Eleven
Honor
I’m putting the final touches on a gorgeous egg-white-and-spinach frittata when the thumping of heavy feet on the stairs calls me from my cooking.
Caleb pops around the corner, looking well rested and ready for the day. He’s wearing a red T-shirt, which is stretched tight at his biceps and shoulders and has UFL in black on his wide chest. He spots me and grins. “Mornin’, beautiful.”
It’s been five days since I wore the Tweety Bird shirt, and things between Caleb and me couldn’t be better. I cook meals, take care of whatever needs to be done for Roy, feed and pet my cats, and end every night in Caleb’s arms.
“Mornin’. How’d you sleep?”
He steps close, and his soft shorts brush my thighs as he pulls me in for a hug. “Great.” He gives me a squeeze before releasing me. “You’ve been busy.”
His hair is damp and he smells like soap.
“Yeah, I figured you boys would wake up hungry.” I plate the frittata and the two pounds of breakfast ham I fried up this morning.
Caleb scoops some powder into his shaker cup. “It looks amazing.” He adds water and shakes it up while handing me a plate. “You too, babe.”
I take the plate, smiling.
He props a hip on the counter. “Hey, do you have plans today?”
“The landscaping at one of Roy’s houses needs to be tended to. I’ll be pulling weeds most of the day.” I groan and drop down on a stool at the bar.
“You think those weeds can wait?”
“Maybe.” I fork a bite of frittata into my mouth.
“I have some errands to run in town, and I wondered if you’d want to go with me.” He motions to the front door with his shaker cup. “Security will be with us the entire time, but I thought I could . . . take you to lunch?”
I wipe my lips with the cloth napkin, something I’d never have at breakfast at home. “A lunch date?”
“Yeah. We’ve been holed up here long enough. Be nice to get out. What do you say?”
I take another bite, trying to hide my grin and failing. “The weeds can definitely wait.”
~~~
I check my reflection one last time before I leave. Teddy brushes up against my boot. “I hope that’s a sign of approval, Ted.” I twist one way then the other, hoping I’m not about to make a complete fool out of myself.
I haven’t been shopping in years, and with only a couple of hours to get ready, I had no time to run out and race through the racks at Goodwill.
Without a steady paycheck, I never have enough money for new clothes, but I manage to find what I need at the second-hand shops.
A couple of years ago, when Roy was feeling especially nice, he gave me a bonus at Christmas. I found this beautiful floral sundress that still had the tag on it. I suppose some woman bought it for herself and just never got around to wearing it before she passed it on to Goodwill.
It’s long and the color of homemade vanilla ice cream with earth-tone flowers all over it. It has a string of buttons that run from the bottom hem to the top, and when I leave some undone, it creates a sexy slit up to my thighs. “If the wind blows too hard, this could get embarrassing.”
Without the proper sandals for the dress, I pair it with a pair of brown cowboy boots. My hair is down and wavy, and I may have used a heavier hand on my eyeliner and mascara today. Granddad always said my eyes were my best feature.
Satisfied I can’t do any better than this, I grab my old leather satchel and head over to Caleb’s.
The sun warms my arms as I cross the street, and my pulse speeds up a bit with the anticipation of seeing Caleb again—I spin toward a popping sound.
A man in a T-shirt and jeans is leaning up against the porch railing of Caleb’s house. And he has a rifle.
His eyes are cast toward the sky, and I calculate if it would be quicker to turn around and race home or try to scurry by him into the house. Right when I think it would be faster to get to Caleb’s, his sunglasses level on me.
“You must be Honor.”
I try my hardest to act unfazed by his weapon. “Who are you?”
He takes a step forward and I flinch. He frowns and holds up his weapon. “It’s only a BB gun.”
A BB gun? Phew. But why?
He moves closer and pushes his sunglasses up, only to hit me with green eyes the color of spring grass. “Nate Reid, I’m Axel Reid’s boy.”
“Oh, hi.” I shake his hand. “I’m sorry. I . . . the gun kinda freaked me out. I didn’t think things were that bad that security needed weapons.”
He pops his sunglasses back over his eyes and pushes his thick dark hair off his forehead. “I don’t actually work for my dad; I’m just helpin’ him out with those.” He lifts his chin to the sky.
I follow his gaze and see a tiny dot hovering in the sky above us. “What is that?”
He cocks his BB gun and aims. “Drones.” A quick pop and the thing drop-dives into the trees. “Gotcha, you little fucker.”
“Is that legal?”
He props the weapon on his shoulder. “Nope.”
“So, shouldn’t we call the police?”
His lips turn up at the ends. “Where’s the fun in that?”
I hear the front door open, looking up just in time to see Caleb step out onto the porch, and good God he looks amazing. Only a man like Caleb can make jeans and a T-shirt look sexy. He sees me immediately and grins.
I throw him a weak wave and shift in my boots as his eyes take me in. He jumps down the steps and moves toward me with the swift and soundless prowl of a man who is comfortable in his skin.
He looks at Nate. “How many’d you get?”
“Four so far.” His eyes turn back to the skies. “Something tells me they’re just getting warmed up.”
Caleb’s eyes warm when they slide to me. “Honor, you look . . .”
“Fucking hot.”
Caleb scowls at Nate, who just shrugs.
“What? You were struggling; I helped you out.” He pats Caleb’s gut twice. “You’re welcome, big guy.” And walks away.
I’m covering my mouth to keep from laughing.
“He’s right, ya know?” Caleb shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, which hug his thighs and package really, really well. God, I need a fan. “You are fucking hot.”
“You, uh . . .” Stop staring at his chest!
I drag my eyes up his thick, corded neck to his eyes, which are shaded by a black baseball cap. “You too.”
“You ready to go?”
I nod.
He steps closer. “May I kiss you first?”
We’re standing in the middle of Caleb’s driveway, and I know there are photographers hiding in the trees and in the sky, and I don’t give a flying shit.
“If you don’t, I’ll kiss you.”
His eyes flare from beneath his hat, and my insides flame with heat. “Come here, then.”
I step close and his hand splays against my lower back. It’s big, powerful, and claiming. When I push up on my toes, he tilts his head so I can work around the bill of his cap. Our lips linger just an inch apart, our hurried breath ghosting across each other’s lips before we finally close the minute space between us.
His mouth is hot and tastes like something sweet, Gatorade maybe. Too soon he pulls back, and his eyes are still closed before he blinks them open. “I’ll never get enough of kissin’ you.”
He nods at something just over my shoulder, and I turn to see Cohen leaning against a black Yukon.
“You ready?” Caleb squeezes my hand.
“Yep.” But my insides are screaming.
~*~
Caleb
These Corps Security guys are the shit.
Honor and I managed to eat an entire meal without being interrupted once. The servers at the busy Hope Town restaurant were professional, and management sat us at a private table in the back rather than right up front where we’d be on display.
We were able to talk about our childhoods, her telling stories of fishing with her granddad and me stories of traveling around the country to wrestle.
After I pay the bill, Cohen meets us at our table. “There’s a crowd forming out front.”
“No shit?” I grab Honor’s hand and keep her close as we walk through the kitchen to the back door and into the alley where both my truck and his are waiting.
He tosses me my keys that I wondered why he wanted to hold onto when we got here. “There’s only so much we can do; those fuckers wanna find you, they will.”
“Fans are okay. I just don’t want any paps barking in our faces.” I open the door for Honor and breathe in relief once she’s safely inside.
“Where to next?”
“I need to pick up a—”
“Caleb! Caleb, wait!” A middle-aged guy with a receding hairline comes jogging down the alley with a recorder in hand and a long-lens camera around his neck. “How are you feeling about your fight this weekend?”
“No questions!” Cohen stands in front of me.
I step around him. “Nah, man, it’s okay. I’ll take this one.”
He agrees with a jerk of his chin but stays close, scanning our surroundings.
The reporter skids to a stop right in front of me and shoves a recorder in my face. “Are you prepared for your fight with Graham? You know you’re the underdog.”
Oh, I know. I planned it that way. “I’ve been training with the best of the best. I’m confident I’ll be able to hold my own against Graham.” More than confident. There’s no way in hell I’m losing this fight.
“How do you feel about Graham suggesting you should retire while you’re still breathing?”
I laugh at that one. That fucking guy and his mouth. “He’s always making threats his fighting can’t back up. Do I look worried?”
“He says you’ll be taken from the cage in a body bag.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. Men who can’t fight make threats. He wants to end me in the octagon; I’d love to see him try.”
“Graham was quoted, ‘Have the coroner on standby—’”
“He threatened your life?!” The shrill female voice comes from behind me just before the sound of boots hitting the concrete.
Shit. I turn around and try to catch Honor’s eyes in a non-verbal get your ass back in the truck, but those icy blues are laser beams directed at the pap with the camera.
Cohen steps in her way. “Honor, no.”
She shoves him to the side with more power than I’d expect from a girl her size. “This Graham guy threatened Caleb’s life?” She shoves her beautiful face into the camera lens, trying to get at the dude.
I gently pull at her elbow, only to have her push me away.
I see it when it happens: the moment the man realizes who is standing right before him. I watch as his eyes light with a sick excitement because of the opportunity that’s just presented itself.
She’s Honor Cartwright.
My girlfriend.
And she’s a stiff breeze away from being pushed too far.
“Babe, let’s go.” I reach for her again, only to have her skirt past me.
“Honor Cartwright,” the pap says, his sights off me and firmly on her.
The sound of commotion comes from behind me as more reporters, paps, and fans close in.
“How does it feel being linked with one of the most talked-about fighters in the world?” He shoves the recorder in her face while snapping photos simultaneously.
Honor’s spine stiffens as if she’s just realized now she’s under the microscope.
“Guys.” Cohen closes in. “Just walk away, get in the truck, and I’ll take care of this.”
A microphone is shoved into her face. “How old were you when you were taken from your biological parents?”
“When was the last time you spoke to your mother? Were you taken away from her because of her involvement in prostitution?”
“Excuse me?”
Shit. I hook my arm around Honor’s waist from behind and start walking backwards to the truck.
Another one closes in. I can’t get her to the door as fast as they fire off questions.
“Have you been to visit her since she was sentenced to thirty years for armed robbery and prostitution?”
“What are you talking about?” Her voice hitches, and fuck me, if I thought it was safe to put her down, I’d do it just to free up my hands long enough to crush these assholes’ windpipes.
Cohen has the truck door open when I get there, and I put her in her seat. Her face is pale, and I move to shut the door when a flash goes off too close.
“Honor! Are you aware that Hubert Cartwright isn’t your biological grandfather?”
She gasps and covers her mouth just as I slam the door and whirl on the fuckheads. I open my mouth to defend her, to order every single one of these pricks’ recorders and cameras to be destroyed in front of me, but Cohen gets my attention.
“Walk away,” he murmurs. “You lose your shit here, you’re giving them the show they want.”
I stare at all of them. My fury boils in my veins. I want blood.
“Back off!” A fan shoves one of the reporters, just as upset by the pap’s questions as I am. The media’s just hoping to catch something they can put on the five o’clock news, and the paps are all salivating like hungry dogs. Cohen’s right. No matter what I do, I can’t win this. If a fan gets hurt, I’ll never forgive myself. I need to walk away. They won’t get paid for a photo of my retreating back.
Losing my shit will earn them millions.
I jog around the truck and climb in. Honor’s quiet, her hands balled in her lap and her gaze fixed to the dash. It takes a little maneuvering and slow driving to get out of the alley without running someone over. I chew on the idea of taking out one of these vultures-with-a-camera accidentally on purpose.
The second we’re in the clear, my muscles relieve their tension, and I reach over to take Honor’s hand. Her palm is clammy, and she stares out the side window as Hope Town flies by.
“Honor, I’m sorry about that. Are you okay?”
“How did they know?”
I trace circles on her wrist with my thumb. “They don’t. They’re the worst kind of people. Bottom feeders. They’ll do anything to get a reaction.”
She turns toward me with a pained look on her face. “What if they’re right?”
She cups her head in her hands. “No. I’m sure what they said about my mom is true. My granddad was my mom’s stepfather. I don’t know anyone I’m even blood related to, how fucked up is that?”
“Honor . . .” God, she sounds so desperate. So alone.
“That had to be so embarrassing for you. I’m sorry. I should’ve stayed in the truck.”
I want to yell, Fuck yeah you should’ve because then I wouldn’t have had to watch those assholes fork out a piece of your soul, but instead I bite the inside of my mouth.
“I just . . . I heard what that guy was saying about your opponent threatening to kill you, and I couldn’t stay put. It’s not okay to make those kinds of threats.”
“It’s not real, baby. It’s what Graham does. It doesn’t bother me, but what does bother me is them messing with you. That’s where I draw the line.”
She doesn’t respond, just stares blankly out the window as the view from the window turns from town to trees.
“Don’t do this, Honor. Don’t let them get to you.”
She makes a small noise to say that she hears me, but it’s obvious her mind is all over the place. My guess is what the paps were saying about her mom is probably true. And although I believe Honor deserves to know the truth about her parents, it should’ve happened because she wanted the information, not because it was thrown into her face in front of multiple cameras. I mull over all the ways I should’ve protected her, kick myself for underestimating the lengths they’d go to, to get to me.
It’s a quiet ride back to the lake house. I park the pickup next to a silver Lexus. “Shit.”
Honor’s body tenses up as her gaze lands on the car.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” I make sure I have all my things, and Honor grabs her purse.
“Probably heard about what just happened and came to twist the knife.” She chuckles, but I’m not laughing.
We hop out of the truck and head inside to find Jonah and Blake on the back deck with that fuckface Roy and one other guy. I don’t realize who it is until I’m sliding open the door and stepping out. All four men turn toward Honor and me.