by Goode, Ella
Blurb
Erika grew up with a set of expectations that she could never meet. She wasn't smart enough for her dad and she wasn't a good enough dancer for her mom. At college, she's retreated into a shell—dancing at night and avoiding people. The one person she can't escape is a local boxer named Tank. He's determined to show her that everything she's dreamed of can be hers if she would only see herself through his eyes.
Tank believed boxing and babes didn't mix until he met Erika. He can't get enough of the the shy girl who rules his every thought, but she's wary of relationships. This is one fight he can't lose.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Also by Ella Goode
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1
Tank
“Your phone’s ringing.” Morry slides the mobile across the mat until it hits my feet.
“So?” I hate talking on the phone. There’s a reason we have text messaging, and more people need to get behind that.
“It’s that Audley guy. The one who did us a favor when the gym was hacked and held hostage. Remember?”
“Yeah,” I grumble. As non-boxers go, Zeke Audley’s not a bad guy. He takes care of himself even though he’s not an athlete like his brother. That’s respectable. I bite through the last of the stubborn tape on my hands before bending down to swipe the device off the floor just as it stops ringing. I toss the small thing between my bruised hands and debate whether I should call him back. He’s going to ask me to do something and I know I’m not going to like it.
“Not returning the call is a bad idea,” Morry tells me.
“How so?”
“Bad karma. If you don’t call him, you’ll probably trip jumping down from the ring and then you won’t be able to make the Saturday match.”
“The Saturday match is a crock. I could have one broken leg and still beat that guy. You need to get me better matches.”
“I’m working on it, but boxing is hard these days. Too many yahoos are getting into mixed martial arts.” Morry makes a face.
With a sigh, I get to my feet and signal for Morry to hold down the bottom rope of the ring. She’s right. “That won’t be me.” I step through the ropes and hop to the ground. There are fewer boxers and fewer purses, but I don’t like MMA. It’s for skinny kids who can’t take a punch, not for guys like me who are six foot six inches and weigh two eighty. Besides, even if it wasn’t for my size, I wouldn’t do MMA. Boxing saved me and I’m not turning my back on it.
“Just return the call. It’s good manners,” Morry calls after me.
I give a wave of my hand as I walk toward the locker. Morry was the one who taught me to box when I was a pissant of a ten-year-old getting in fights every day at school. When my foster mom first brought me to Morry’s gym, I was convinced that the woman couldn’t teach me anything. What does a woman know about boxing and fighting?
More than I’d ever imagined.
I guess when I say that boxing saved me, I should be more specific. Morry, the trainer, introduced me to boxing and that’s what kept me out of prison. If she told me I should murder the next guy who walked in the gym door, I would do it without asking questions. Talking to someone on the phone isn’t as bad as killing someone so I should easily be able to do this. I press the redial button and hold the device up to my ear.
“Tank, hey, thanks for returning my call.”
“What can I do for you?”
“What makes you think I want something from you?”
“Last time I talked to you was like six months ago and you said, don’t be dumbasses about your tech security and you won’t get hacked.”
“Well, was I wrong?”
“No.”
“Great. And I’m not wrong about this. My girlfriend’s roommate needs someone to walk her home.”
I squeeze the bridge of my nose so tight, I nearly burst the capillaries in my eyes. “You need someone taken out? I’m your man. You want someone’s kneecaps busted? I can do that in seconds. I’ll even burn down a house if you need it, but be some random’s escort? No. Ask me to do something else.”
“It’s just one walk.”
“No.”
Audley sighs. “Look, I know you have problems with women, but I promise this one is not a psycho. She is not going to climb into your apartment and try to steal your sperm like the last one.”
I take the phone away from my ear and stare at the screen for a moment before replacing it. “I’m afraid to ask how you know that shit.”
“She posted about her plans on her Insta story. But, like I said, this girl is shyer than a rabbit and probably as easily frightened as one. She’s not going to come on to you at all. Anyway, thanks for agreeing,” Audley says in a tone so cheerful I want to reach through the cellphone and smack the smile off his smug face. “I’ll text you the location. It should only take you about ten minutes. We are at a frat house which isn’t too far from the gym.”
He hangs up before I can think of some excuse or find a replacement. I stare at the phone screen in frustration. Of all the shit things he wants me to do, it has to involve a girl. It’s not that I hate women. I don’t. It’s just…they always want shit. They take one look at me and think I can do stuff for them and I don’t want to. I just want to box, make enough money to feed my cat, and make sure Morry has a good retirement. I don’t want to take them out on dates, buy them food, go shopping with them, give them babies. Fuck, the last one is so freaking wrong. That girl was not right in her head. I thought moving to a condo on the second floor would prevent that kind of shit from happening.
“What’s the favor?” Morry asks, coming up behind me and plucking the phone from my hand.
“Why’d you take my phone?” I scowl.
“Because you were about to crush it and you’ve already destroyed three this year. What did Audley want?”
“Bodyguard service for some woman.” Just saying the words puts a sour taste in my mouth.
Morry releases a howl of laughter. “Oh no, contact with a woman. How will you survive?” She slaps me on the back. “Go shower and change. I’ll pack up your stuff.” My trainer shuffles off toward my gym bag. “Use a lot of soap. You stink.”
“Like I care.” I slam into the locker room and strip off my shorts and jock, tossing them onto the metal bench in front of the row of five lockers. I have one foot on the tile floor of the shower when it hits me. I should not shower. Definitely not. The last thing I want to do is look good or smell nice. That’s what causes problems. I should smell like a sewer and look worse. Gleefully, I back up and pull open my locker. Inside, I have a couple pairs of sweatpants and shirts. I pull on the clothes, slick back my hair and don my glasses.
I take a quick look at the polished steel plate hanging over the sink areas and decide I look grubby enough. I raise an armpit and shake my head. “Phew. Morry’s right. I do stink.”
That puts a smile on my face. I wait in the locker room until the noises in the gym quiet down. A quick peek out the door tells me that Morry has returned to her office. Good. If she catches me, she’ll force me into the shower and ruin my plans to repel this girl.
I jog over to the frat house, eager to get this chore done. The place smells like spilled beer and vomit. I don’t know why
anyone wants to go to these hellscape events. I glare at the crowd, looking for the Audleys, and ignore the long-fingered hands that grab at different parts of my body. There’s more than one fleeting brush of a palm over my ass. It’s too bad I can’t body slam a girl into a door. If I did that once, I think no one would touch me again. In the next room, I spot the tall, identical heads of the Audley twins. I push a couple of hands off my chest and plow forward. By the time I reach them, there’s only one Audley left.
“I’m here,” I announce. “And you’re going to owe me at least two weeks’ worth of IT support for this. Consider it hazard pay.”
“Actually, I kind of think you’ll be paying me when you see Erika.” He steps to the side and I nearly collapse. I hear him tell me her name, but everything but her fades away.
Behind him is a tiny, doll-like girl. She looks like one of those figurines that danced in the jewelry box that sat on the dresser of my foster mom, Patty. Or maybe one of those cake toppers—sweet, edible, gorgeous. Lust like I’ve never felt surges through me, along with a huge need to protect. I hadn’t realized I could feel like this about a girl. I almost want to go back and apologize to the one woman who broke into my apartment because if she felt about me how I’m feeling about Erika, her past actions make sense. As I stare down at the crown of the dark-haired girl’s head, the only thing I can think of is how I want to lift her into my arms and carry her to some fortress where I’ll bolt the castle gates shut so that no one can get inside to see her but me.
“Tank, this is Erika. Erika, this is Tank. He’s going to walk you home.”
I’d talk, but I can’t. My tongue doesn’t work. Neither does my brain. Apparently, my legs don’t either. I’ve taken root in the ground. Erika bobs her small head.
I probably would’ve stayed like that—petrifying into a tree trunk—if a dickwad hadn’t tried to push by her without saying “excuse me.” I snap to attention, shove the guy across the room and tuck Erika under my arm.
“We’ll be going,” I inform Audley.
He grins like the smug bastard he is. “I’ll text my bill to you tomorrow.”
“Asshole,” I mutter, but without any heat because damn if he doesn’t deserve some kind of finder’s fee. Erika’s a treasure. No. Scratch that. Erika’s my treasure.
2
Erika
Tank drapes his big arm over my shoulder as he guides me from the house. It’s not as heavy as I thought it would be, but I can only guess he’s not letting all of the weight drop onto me. Still he manages to keep me in a firm hold. The man is a human shield. He’s not physically pushing anyone out of the way because they are too close to me, but the crowd has automatically given him a wide berth. It’s like they know better and no one wants to get hurt. The crowd just divides and gives him room due to his gigantic size. Tank looks like he could launch a guy clear across a room with barely a brush. Based on the crowd’s reaction to him, it would be my guess that it’s happened before. The only thing I can do is stare up at what has to be one of the biggest men I’ve ever come face to face with.
“Big” is an understatement. I normally feel small next to most people, but now it’s almost comical. I tuck a piece of my hair back into my messy bun. I’ve always been self-conscious of my hair. It’s been thick since I was a little girl. My mom kept cutting it off until I begged her to finally let me grow it out. I always felt like a boy when it was short, and it didn’t help that I had a small build. I had no idea how hard it would be to maintain.
It finally grew into a giant mass of hair that felt like it weighed more than me at one point. I couldn't bear to cut it after having begged my mom to let it grow for so long. Lucky for me I’ve grown into it. Still, having been teased about it when I was younger, I always pull it up. Then I started dancing. Hair gets in the way when you dance, so I almost always have it in a ponytail.
I push into my massive bodyguard just a touch, thinking that he won’t notice. I want to know what his giant form feels like. I tell myself it’s because I find his body interesting. The man is built and I know he’s an athlete. You don’t find the Audley twins’ bodies interesting. My brain gives me a small reality check, but I ignore it. My heart races in my chest—the opposite of the calm, stoic look he has on his face—as I take a peek up at the man that I’m now pressed into. He smells of fresh lemons and honey. I’m not sure what I thought he would smell of, but that wasn't it. I want to push into him more and brush my nose against the simple black shirt he has on to see if it’s coming from there or if it’s him.
My stomach growls at the smell of food. Tank looks down at me. He pauses for a moment. I jerk my gaze from him, but my face flushes with heat.
“Hungry?” The one word comes out gruff and deep. I think it’s a question, but maybe he’s making fun of me.
“I could always eat,” I admit. I steal another peek at him when we start moving again and I see he’s smirking. I think it’s a smirk. His lip twitches.
“Me too,” he grunts. He sounds more like a bear than a tank. “Bear” is a more fitting nickname for him. I never understood why people give out nicknames anyway.
I don’t want to tell him that he’s going the wrong way because I know the other direction will take us closer to my home. I’m enjoying the feel of him pressed against me so much that I don’t want it to end. I decide to stop and point him in the right direction. “I’m that way,” I inform him. It’s probably for the best since he’s doing the Audley twins a solid taking me home. I don’t want him to be inconvenienced any more than he is already.
“Food?” I glance up at his stoic expression. How can someone look hard and soft all at once? He’s all severe edges and lines. His eyes are dark too. They look even darker now that we’re outside, yet they hold a softness to them when he looks at me. His features are so hard but handsome at the same time. I stare at him, trying to take all of him in. I can tell that his nose has been broken. It adds to his appeal and oddly makes him more attractive.
I let out a yelp of surprise when I stumble over my own two feet. I’ve been hanging around my best friend Liv too long. Her clumsiness is wearing off on me. I’m now pressed deeper into Tank. I grab at him to get my balance. Okay, maybe I grab a little extra because I’m curious. I only get a few seconds of exploration before he’s reaching down to right me without saying a word. He doesn’t even acknowledge my little misstep. He only shifts us and continues walking.
I fight a gasp when my mind finally puts together the simple math of where my hands had their small exploration. I realize what some of that hardness I felt was. Oh. My. God. I look anywhere but at him. My face feels hot all over again. He’s turned on and the heat is not only hitting my face. Now it moves though my body.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, making me think he can’t say more than one-syllable words. I’m not sure I want him to right now.
I’m going to die of embarrassment. I wish the earth would open and swallow me whole. I try to create some distance between us, but his arm scoots me closer to him again. I chance a look up at him and I think I see a smile.
I laugh. “Are you really sorry?” I find myself saying.
“No,” he clips. He really doesn’t sound sorry now. It’s hard to get a read on him with his one-word responses. His face flashes from stoic to a smirk in a flash. Well, Tank’s version of what he thinks a smirk is.
“You say more than one or two words at a time?” I give a smirk of my own when I glance over and up at him. I find myself relaxing around him. I don’t know why, but since it dawned on me that he was turned on by me, I feel more at ease. Maybe because I’m not the only one feeling something happening here. It isn't something I’m used to. Based on Tank’s reactions, I can tell that he isn't either. If I’m reading him right, that is.
“Sometimes.” This time I get a smile. I do a victory dance inside. I wonder how many people have actually gotten him to smile before now.
“Two syllables this time. Let's not get crazy.” He lets out a bark o
f laughter so loud I feel it roll through his powerful body into mine. My body tingles in response. I’m feeling things I didn't know I could.
“Why do they call you Tank?” I hurriedly ask, trying not only to refocus myself but my body, too.
“I hit like a tank,” he answers with a shrug.
“I’m shocked,” I deadpan, earning me another bark of laughter. I grab that laugh up, too, wanting more.
“What’s your real name?” I ask when we reach the diner. He opens the door for me but has to let go of me as he does so. I suddenly hate booths as the waiter leads us toward one.
“Not gonna happen.” Tank points to a table. My eyes go from him to the booth, putting together that he’s never going to fit. Again, that warmth floods me. Why is that turning me on, too?
“Sorry, Tank,” the man says and drops the menus down on the table for us. He glances to me then shakes his head before heading back to his station, leaving me confused.
“Don’t mind him. They’re used to me eating alone.” He supplies the answer to my unspoken question. I look back to Tank, who has moved a chair out for me.
“Thanks.” I slip into it. He takes the other. It’s not across from me but to my left, his back to the wall.
I study him. That relaxed feeling I had a moment ago fades. I’m not sure what to say next. Everything that comes to mind is super lame, or maybe it only sounds lame in my head. Luckily the waiter saves me by coming back to give us some water and take our order.
When he walks away, vague panic starts to rise again.
“Theodore Tanksley.”
“Huh?” I reach for my water.