All In (Caldwell Brothers Book 5)

by Colleen Charles

  I roll my eyes, thinking of the big man. “I don’t know. But Nixon’s not going to assign another guinea pig to this class, so I guess he’ll be back sometime.”

  Taryn nods. “Good. I’m looking forward to it. Can I be the first student to have a crack at him?”

  I’m not glad he’s coming back, but I force a smile as I remember him bellyflopping into the water hazard of my ninja course like a giant carp. “Don’t worry.” I pat her sweaty shoulder. “We’re going to whip you ladies into shape – man or no man. You’ll get a crack at him, no doubt.”

  Haylee tosses her sweaty hair through the air and nods. She looks beat, but happy and pleased with herself. “Joslyn, I’ve been meaning to ask you – have you ever thought of teaching a children’s class?”

  “Not really. I’m not sure if I’m trained for that,” I reply, reaching for my own water bottle and taking a long drink. “Why?”

  Haylee clears her throat. “My daughter, Atlee, is only eight, but I don’t think that’s too young for her to start learning the basics.” She bites her lip, lost in thought. “She told me that she was being teased at school, and I wondered if maybe taking a self-defense class would help her. Not that I ever think violence is the answer, but it’s more about the self-confidence. I can’t deny I’m feeling safer since this class started.”

  A shiver runs down my spine, and I press my lips together as my mind drifts back to that horrific day so long ago. What might have been different had I been able to defend myself against my kidnappers?

  “Right. Well, it’s definitely not outside the range of possibility – and you’re right, I don’t think it’s ever too early for girls to learn how to defend themselves. I’ll look into it. It’s possible that someone I know could start a class, or maybe I could learn myself.”

  Haylee looks relieved. “Thanks. I’ll tell Ford.”

  “If I ever have kids, I’d sure want them to learn self-defense,” Taryn says. “This world is a dangerous place, especially for women.”

  “It is,” I agree.

  Unpleasant memories crawl into my brain, and I shake my head, hoping to toss them off with the beads of sweat flying from my curls. But no matter how tightly I ball my hands into fists, the uneasy feeling remains.

  “So, see you next week,” Taryn says with a flirty wave, unaware that she and Haylee have brought me back to my darkest mental place. “Have a good one, Joslyn.”

  “You too.” I wave as I watch Haylee, Taryn, and Marcella walk out of my studio. They’ve already moved on to a new topic – dresses for some kind of benefit – and I wish that I could move on too.

  But the memories haunt me, and somehow, I have a feeling they’re not going to release their grip on my psyche. It’s crazy. I feel exhausted and worn from teaching my class, but my mind races, leaving melancholy in its wake. Normally, when I feel like this, I go for a run. But the Vegas heat is oppressive in the late afternoon, and I know I won’t last long laboring underneath the bright sun.

  Still, I know I have to do something if I want to shake off this funk before dinner. I’m supposed to meet my dad at our favorite diner. Gritting my teeth, I walk over to my bag and dig around for my cell phone. Rolling my eyes, I dial Troy’s number and hold the phone up to my ear.

  “Hello?” It’s more of a grunt than a greeting. Just hearing this meathead’s voice sets my teeth on edge, but it also makes my nipples tingle. For a moment I think about hanging up.

  No. If we have to work together, we’re going to have to learn to get along. Right fucking now.

  “Hello? Who is this?” Troy grunts. “Jack, is that you?”

  “No, it’s your worst nightmare.”

  “Joslyn?”

  “Ding ding ding,” I say in a dry tone. “Winner, winner, chicken dinner. I had an idea.”

  “What?” Now Troy sounds wary. “Lemme guess – you want me to come back to your gym and be a human punching bag?”

  “Hey,” I snap. “Don’t talk about my girls like that. They’re all trying really hard. Harder than you,” I add. “And no – at least, not yet. I think we should go running together.”

  “Joslyn, it’s over one hundred degrees outside,” Troy says as if I’ve lost my mind. “Are you kidding me?”

  I slap my hand to my forehead and groan. “No. Jesus Christ, Troy. Not now! You really are thick, aren’t you?”

  Troy doesn’t reply, but I think I heard the squeak of his molars grinding together.

  “I mean in the mornings. You know – before it gets too hot outside.”

  “Uh, okay.” Troy clears his throat. “I have to be at the Armónico by ten.”

  “We’ll start at four-thirty.” My pulse quickens at his answering groan. Good. He should get his ass out of bed at a reasonable hour. How can a person get anything important accomplished if they won’t greet the day? “And run five miles. That shouldn’t take long.” I wonder whether or not Troy will be able to keep pace with me. Probably not. Either way, it will be fun to leave him coughing in a cloud of my dust. “It might help.”

  “Help what?”

  I can feel hot irritation swelling in my chest, but I resist the urge to go off on Troy and call him every insult in the book.

  “Help our relationship.” I keep it diplomatic in spite of itching to go ballistic on him. “Because we have to work together. So, we may as well try to get a sense of each other. I find shared physical activity to be the best way to do that.”

  “Right,” Troy says. “Fine.”

  “So, come over tomorrow morning. You think you can remember how to get to my house?”

  Troy sighs. “Yes. I think I can remember.”

  I hang up the phone and slide it back into my bag, wondering how the fuck I’m supposed to go on working with this lunkhead of a human being. What was Nixon thinking? I shake my head as I turn out the lights and lock up Tribe of Amazons. Troy is the last man on earth I would have handpicked for my class.

  But he’s the first man I’d handpick to fuck me silly.

  ***

  The next morning, I get up at three-thirty. I wish that I could sleep longer, but the prospect of running with Troy has me feeling almost…nervous. I wonder just how awkward it’s going to be. I’m torn in how I feel about him, and even though he’s Nixon’s right-hand man, I have a feeling he knows exactly how I feel. Usually, when I lack respect for a person, I just avoid them. Nixon Caldwell’s made that impossible. Even more irritating, I’m not positive that he’s got any incentive to change, aside from showing Nixon that we can work successfully together. If you’re not growing, you’re stagnating.

  With a sigh, I pull on my favorite pair of Lululemon leggings and a bright pink sports bra that shows off my tan…and my abs. After twisting my hair into a high bun and pinning down the curly tendrils, I spray on a light coat of sunscreen and rub some lip balm over my chapped lips. I strap my iPhone to my arm just as there’s a knock on the door.

  I glance down at my watch – it’s four-thirty on the dot. Well, at least he’s punctual. I roll my eyes as I stomp over to the door and pull it open.

  Troy stands there, the last of the moonlight gleaming off his ball cap. For a moment, I forget everything I’ve ever thought about him. Darkening my doorway, he certainly doesn’t look like a stupid pussy. He looks like a gorgeous, well-sculpted man. Fuckable. A shiver runs down my spine.

  “Ready to go?” Troy’s dull, slow voice breaks me out of my moment of weakness, and I shake my head.

  “I just have to get my shoes.” I sit down at the kitchen table and reach for my Asics running shoes. Like most athletes, I own a plethora of footwear, each pair used for something special.

  “You’re late.” Troy’s voice contains a hint of smug satisfaction that chases away the lust lingering in my mind and body.

  “This is my house,” I snap. “I can’t be late.”

  Troy doesn’t reply, but I have a feeling he relishes this moment. As soon as my shoes are tightly laced, I leap up and bounce lightly fr
om side to side on the balls of my feet.

  “Come on.”

  “What?” Troy glances around. “No water?”

  I pause. Part of me wants to head back inside and grab my Camelbak, but I don’t want to look inept in front of Troy. I pull my willfulness around me like a badge of honor and soldier on.

  “No,” I say definitively. “We’ll just get coffee afterwards.”

  Troy rolls his eyes. “That’s a recipe for dehydration.”

  “Hey. This was my idea, remember? No improvising.”

  Troy salutes me, and I feel another wave of irritation pumping through my veins. Good, I think as I tuck my house key into my sports bra and pull the door closed behind me. I need some motivation this morning.

  Troy and I break into a run. I set the pace – deliberately fast – and soon, my lungs burn with a fire I can’t tamp down, and snot drips down my face. We don’t talk as we run side by side through the desert hills behind my house. After just a few minutes, I’m covered in so much sweat that my Fitbit slides around on my wrist, and my iPhone armband expands to a grossly tight pressure.

  Glancing over at Troy, I realize that he’s barely broken a sweat, even at the impossible pace. He wears a muscle tank and a pair of Spandex shorts that hug the muscular globes of his ass. To be honest, I have to admit that he looks delicious.

  What the fuck, Joslyn? I force myself to stare straight ahead. What’s wrong with you? My stubborn annoyance pushes me ahead even faster, and I practically sprint through the sand and rock. The desert dust clings to the sweat on my body, and soon, I drop straight into my body and out of my head. I remember everything I love about running: the pain, the hard work, the feeling that almost mimics a marijuana high. This is perfect. I close my eyes as I leap over a large stretch of rock and land triumphantly on the other side.

  Moments like this make me believe in a higher power.

  “Joslyn,” Troy calls. “Hey, wait a minute.”

  I huff out a breath, irritated that he just interrupted my perfect runner’s high, but I gradually slow down. My calves burn as I turn around, and I stretch, leaning over and placing my palms on the desert sand until my thighs ache.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing.” Troy frowns and takes his phone from his own armband. “I think it’s dead.” He shakes it a couple of times.

  “So?”

  “I can’t run without music. Besides, I need to take a piss.” Somewhere along the line, he lost his ball cap. He shoves his phone back in his pocket before sauntering over to a cactus.

  Men are so gross. I roll my eyes. Like animals.

  Troy’s sudden yell makes me whirl around and jump. Thankfully, he already pulled his shorts up, but he darts backwards from the cactus. “No, no, no!” he murmurs under his breath. “No fucking way!”

  “Troy.” I approach with caution, wondering if he’s having some kind of mental breakdown. “What is going on? Is it a rattler? Don’t you know you should never corner a poisonous snake?”

  Troy shakes, his entire hulking body trembling with something akin to fear. “Fucking spider,” he finally spits out, shaking his head. “There’s a big-ass spider over there! Hairy with fangs! Tarantula!”

  I put my hands on my hips and narrow my eyes. “Seriously? A fucking spider made you scream like a girl?”

  Troy glares at me. “Hey. One time when I was a kid, my father…” He breaks, his eyes growing glassy as the memory takes over.

  Compassion hits me. “Your father what?”

  He shakes his head. “Nothing. I just hate those damn things with a passion. The only good spider is a dead spider.”

  I sigh, but can’t help the smirk that tugs up the corners of my lips. “Want me to kill it for you?”

  “No.” Troy’s nostrils flare. “Let’s just go.”

  I groan to myself as Troy breaks into a fast run. The only thing left to do is trot after him.

  Once a pussy, always a pussy. I shake my head. And I guess that’s just how he rolls.

  Chapter Ten

  Troy

  “I can’t believe we only did an eight-minute mile,” Joslyn whines as we walk into Starbucks. “God, we were dragging our asses. I should have known better than to ask you to be my workout partner.”

  “I can normally do seven.” I walk behind her, admiring the roundness of her perfect ass. I can picture bending her over the nearest table. “You were lagging.”

  “You were probably doing six after the Charlotte’s Web incident,” Joslyn says with a smirk.

  I shudder, thinking back to the spider’s skinny tentacles prancing over my grade-school aged flesh. I still have nightmares, and I don’t think it’s a joke. “Don’t remind me,” I mutter.

  Joslyn gives me an odd look, and I stare back at her. I hate that she had to see me wimp out like that – I can tell she doesn’t respect me. And as a man…there’s nothing worse. But this is an unimpressible woman, and I’m sick as fuck of trying anyway.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” As Joslyn feeds me her trademark superior smirk, I cross my arms in front of me in my surliest pose. “So, is your mom gonna pick you up from school today, or what?”

  “Give it a rest,” I mumble as I join the back of the line. The sun has started to rise, and the Vegas heat creeps in behind it. I’m soaked in sweat from our run, but I don’t feel satisfied like I normally do after working out. And somehow, judging by the look on Joslyn’s face, I have a feeling she’s experiencing the same thing.

  “Welcome to Starbucks, what can I get you?” The barista’s chipper voice grates on my last nerve at this early hour, and I glance up at the massive board over her head, searching for anything normal and not too frou-frou. Normally, I just grab a coffee at the casino. Strong and black.

  Joslyn steps up and clears her throat. “Yeah, I’ll take a grande cappuccino with skim and extra foam,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “Wait, does that have carbs?”

  The barista’s smile falters. “Ma’am, all of our nutritional information is on our website.”

  Joslyn doesn’t reply, and the barista turns to me. “And for you?”

  “Uh…”

  “He’ll have a unicorn Frappuccino, extra sprinkles. Heavy on the unicorn. Oh, and can you please make sure it doesn’t contain any spider parts.”

  “No, I won’t,” I say sharply, cutting Joslyn off. When will this damn woman ever quit? “Just a tall dark roast. No syrup or sugar added. Carb free.”

  “Look at you, Mr. Healthy,” Joslyn mutters under her breath. I ignore her, which seems to be my most effective strategy as far as she’s concerned, and pull the money clip from my pocket.

  “That’ll be nine-fifty,” the barista says, glancing nervously from Joslyn to me. “And can I have a name?”

  “Mine’s Joslyn.” She reaches into her sports bra. I try to ignore the thought of what’s lurking behind the Spandex as she pulls out a sweaty, crumpled ten-dollar bill and passes it over. “And just write ‘princess’ on the dark roast.”

  “My name is Troy,” I snap as Joslyn hands over the ten-dollar bill. Does she think I can’t buy her a cup of coffee? I slap another ten on the counter. “I’m buying.”

  The barista blushes, looking at both tens on the counter. “Want me to split it?”

  I push the ten toward her. “No. Use this.”

  She takes it from my hand and gives me two quarters in return, which I toss into the tip jar, adding a couple ones from the money clip. The barista smiles her thanks. “Your drinks will be ready soon.”

  “You wait here,” Joslyn says in her typical bossy voice. “I’m going outside to stretch. Sudden cramp in my calf. It’s driving me nuts.”

  You’re driving me fucking nuts.

  I salute her with a sarcastic flick of my wrist, wondering if she’s former military. She sure as hell acts like she’s seen live combat, and now deals with the resulting PTSD without the benefit of a qualified psychiatrist.

  “Right.” I give her a blan
k stare. “I’m just here to serve you.”

  Joslyn tosses her head as if she knew it all along, and saunters out of the Starbucks. I exhale a long breath as I walk over to the seating area and glance down. There are tons of ads for everything under the sun posted on the bulletin board – nude aquatic yoga classes, plastic surgeons offering two-for-one deals on breast implants, even a class in learning how to count cards. Yep, this is Vegas all right, I think as I scan the reading material. Sometimes I wonder why I stay here. But I can’t leave Nixon – at least, not now. I have to prove myself to him, or else feel like an abject failure.

  Despite the early hour, caffeine seekers pour into the Starbucks. I throw the occasional glance out the window at Joslyn – true to her word, she stretches her calf muscle against the brick exterior of the building. When I see her from behind, my balls ache with lust. It’s easy to forget about her bitchy disposition when I see her sculpted ass shaking and swaying in the early-morning sunlight as my cock throbs to split her wide open.

  Plus, her shredded abdomen calls my name. Troy…lick my indentations. Please. The calipers would detect zero body fat. And yet, somehow, she manages to retain a little curvature under that clingy sports bra. Suddenly, I’m filled with the urge to go outside, scoop her up in my arms, and drag her into an alley for a passionate quickie. With that fine sheen of sweat, she’d slide up and down on my cock like a slip and slide. I can’t believe how much I want to make her squeal – it’s almost a little scary. And why her, of all women?

  I don’t need Joslyn – I could fuck any woman I wanted in Vegas. Women chase after me daily. One even ran across the casino floor the other day, but I disappeared into the executive elevator just as her talon-tipped fingers reached for me. Joslyn’s a problem. My problem. All of a sudden, I don’t want any woman. I want Joslyn – her tangle of black curls perfect for yanking, her intense eyes, that hard body begging for a real man to show her how to soften into her feminine.