No Coincidence

by Tiffany Patterson

  Smiling, he nodded before taking a long sip of the dark beer he ordered.

  In spite of myself, I watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed. Again, it was damn near erotic to watch.

  He sat the now half-empty glass down and leaned in closer, placing one hand on the side of the stool I sat on, while the other rested against the bar. His face was mere inches from mine.

  “Damn straight,” he responded. The breath he let out skirted across the skin of my neck and goosebumps rose along my collarbone. His eyes dipped and then narrowed, and I knew he had noticed my body’s reaction to his closeness.

  Slowly those irises of his lifted to meet mine again.

  “You’re here alone, aren’t you?”

  I nodded. Why? I had no fucking clue. I’m generally a cautious woman. I don’t go around telling men I just met that I was out alone. But for some odd reason I wanted him to know I wasn’t there with anyone else.

  “I’m Connor,” he finally introduced.

  “R— Pilar,” I blurted out, giving him the name I used when I didn’t want someone to know my real name or get too close. It wasn’t a total fabrication since that was my middle name. I cleared my throat. “Pilar.” I stuck out my hand.

  He reached for it.

  Big hands.

  My eyes dropped to the ground.

  Big feet.

  I was a fully grown woman. Had been sexually active for a number of years prior to my decision to remain celibate. I’d been tricked more than once by the big hands and big feet belief. Not every man with large hands and feet had the size to match in his pants, if you know what I mean. However, I just knew that wasn’t the case with Connor.

  He had … what were the younger millennials calling it these days?

  Big. Dick. Energy.

  It wasn’t just confidence, or even cockiness, which, trust me, he had in spades. It was in his damn aura. His shando! He could handle his own in any situation.

  “My hotel is right across the street.”

  Those seven little words had my nipples pebbling against the designer bra I wore. I’d been celibate for two years, three months, and thirteen days up until that point. And to be completely honest, the desire to be with a man hadn’t truly bothered me. I began my celibacy journey because I wanted more than sex from a man, but somehow all the ones I’d come across seem to just want that one thing. Sure, nights were lonely, but I had a toy that I kept in the nightstand next to my bed that always helped get me through the rough spots. And unlike most men I’d encountered in my life, my toy never let me down. All he required was that I kept his batteries fresh. It was little to ask for so much pleasure in return.

  Yet, as I sat across from Connor, watching him finish off that beer while his free hand still rested against my bar stool, I knew that even my trusty toy that I traveled with wouldn’t be enough to satisfy the urges he was stirring inside of me. Still, I couldn’t make it easy on him either.

  “What makes you think I give a damn where your hotel room is, Connor?”

  A smile that rose all the way to his eyes again had my insides tingling. My inner voice was already beginning to tell me to shut the hell up before I talked myself out of some amazing orgasms that night.

  “For one, the way you keep biting that lower lip of yours is a pretty decent indication.” He punctuated his commented by raising his hand and tugging as my chin, causing my lower lip to pop out from between my teeth, proving his point. “Secondly, your flared nostrils and that beating vein in your neck practically scream, ‘Come fuck me, Connor.’”

  My eyes bulged. I couldn’t believe his vulgarity … or maybe I could but just couldn’t believe how much more it turned me on.

  “Don’t worry, a stór, I’ll fuck you to sleep. I can tell by the look in your eyes, it's been a long time since you’ve had a man do that for you.”

  My jaw clamped shut because I wanted to refute his statement but couldn’t. It had been a long time since anyone has fucked me good enough to put me to sleep. And I’m talking about long before I decided to close up shop down there for a while.

  “You … you’re …” I struggled to find the word that identified exactly what my thoughts of him were.

  “Incorrigible? Sexy? Dangerous? A little crazy?”

  “All of the above,” I responded.

  He chuckled, and that truly sealed the deal. But again, I couldn’t make it that damn easy.

  “How do I even know you’ll be worth my time?”

  A grin formed on his lips. The type the Grinch makes when he knows he’s just succeeded in his plans to foil Christmas.

  An instant later those same lips were barreling down on mine, connecting us physically for the first time since this encounter began. He hadn’t asked, hadn’t tried to move in slow or even romance me into this kiss. I asked a question and he responded.

  And oh boy what a response!

  I’d forgotten that kissing was an art form. Very few men, at least in my experience, were versed in how to do it the right way. Connor wasn’t one of those men. Though this kiss had begun rather abruptly, it was patient and rushed all at the same time. His lips were soft yet unyielding. His tongue was just the right mix of prying and exploring. He ran his tongue against the corner of my lips, causing me to shiver. Then his tongue moved to lick the top of the inside of my mouth. My panties became the recipient of a waterfall. And that was when I felt Connor’s hand on my ass. Somehow we’d both moved from our positions on the stools, to standing.

  By some miracle, I realized that we were standing there making out right in front of the bar for the bartender, customers, and God to see. I pulled back.

  It took me a moment to steady my breathing, and for words to actually form in my brain.

  “I-I think we should go. Now,” I managed to get out.

  For a man of his size, Connor moved fast as hell. Tossing the bartender’s tip on the bar, he then grabbed the small, black clutch I’d had sitting on the bar and placed it in my hands. Then wrapping a long arm around the small of my back as we exited the bar.

  He was right, his hotel was directly across the street. And I had spent that night yelling his name at the top of my lungs before an orgasm-induced exhaustion forced me to sleep.

  ****

  Connor

  Resha Pilar McDonald.

  I’d found out her last name. All it took was a simple Google search. I opted for that instead of going directly to Josh to ask him. I didn’t need his shit. And it turned out, she ran a successful plus size fashion blog, had thousands of followers across her social media pages, and hosted a podcast with her cousin, Destiny. I easily found all of that out with one simple Google search. And yup, she lived right here in Williamsport.

  The woman who’d interrupted my sleep many nights from our one encounter had the damn audacity to be living in my city the whole time.

  “Nice work!”

  I grunted as I heard my brother’s voice echoed on the walls around us. I ignored him, continuing with my double unders to finish out this round of jump roping. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mark wheel around one of the concrete pillars of the basement of this building to move in front of me.

  “Working out pretty intense, bro.”

  Again, I said nothing as the timer of the workout app I was using on my phone went off, signaling the end of that round. Instantly, I dropped the jump rope, and picked up the gloves by my feet, placing them on and moving to stand in front of the hanging punching bag. Once the timer bell chimed again, I began a series of right and left jabs against the bag, pivoting on my toes, to circle the bag in its entirety.

  “Planning on getting in a fight tonight? It’s been a while.”

  My focus was acutely on the punching bag, though I clearly heard Mark.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, how long are you going to keep this shit up, Connor?”

  Hearing the distress in his voice, I paused and briefly looked at him. “You still fighting?”

  He nodded.
“Yes.”

  I grunted and continued punching the bag without another word. The timer sounded again, and I tossed the gloves on the floor and moved to my jump rope again, lifting it to begin another round until the timer went off.

  “You know you can’t keep ignoring me.”

  I grunted.

  “I’m your little brother. Your only brother.”

  Nothing.

  “You’re here early before the fights begin. Are you doing two a days now?” Mark inquired, not seeming to get the picture that I wasn’t in the mood to talk.

  “What the hell, Connor?” he finally uttered again, sounding frustrated.

  “Ah, don’t fret over his grumpy ass. He’s having woman troubles.”

  Ah fuck! I cursed in my head as Buddy emerged from behind the door of the changing room. There was an entrance into the building that only a few people were aware of or had access to. Buddy, the guy who trained most of the guys who came to our Underground fighting group, was one of the few. He also was a pain in my ass when he wanted to be, having been my own trainer throughout my professional career as a professional mixed-martial arts fighter.

  “Woman troubles?” Mark inquired, wearing a smirk on his face. It reminded me of myself whenever I had the one up on somebody.

  “Both of you need to mind your fucking business,” I growled, tossing the jump rope to the ground and turning the workout app off, since my workout was completed. Grabbing the water bottle I’d brought, I squirted water into my mouth as I fought to catch my breath. The sweat running down my back, arms, chest, and face spoke of the ninety minute session I just endured. And to answer Mark’s question from earlier, yes, this had been my second workout of the day.

  And unfortunately, Buddy was accurate when he attributed my extra workout session to woman troubles. But it would be a cold day in hell before I admitted any of that to these fuckers.

  “What’s her name?” Mark asked as he wheeled himself next to me.

  I wanted to put him in a headlock to get rid of that stupid grin he wore on his face.

  “I wouldn’t try it if I were you, O’Brien. This kid may be a cripple but you’ve been out of the ring a while and he’s faster than he looks,” Buddy teased with as little tact as possible.

  Even Mark laughed. Everyone knew Buddy didn’t mince words, nor did he seem to care about sparing anyone’s feelings. Truth be told, him calling Mark a cripple was a term of endearment in Buddy-speak. Anyone else and I would’ve put them on their ass.

  “Who you got me going against tonight?” Mark asked.

  “I was thinking Brick.”

  “Fuck no!” I yelled, glaring at Buddy.

  Buddy barely reacted to my outburst while Mark let out a deep sigh.

  “We can’t keep going through this shit, Connor. I’m fighting and that’s that. If Buddy puts me in the ring with Brick, so be it. The bigger they are, the harder they f—”

  “Fuck that, Brick is twice his size even with a pair of functioning legs. He’s faster than he looks and he’s mean when he wants to be.”

  “Exactly, the kid’s ready for him.”

  “I’m not a damned kid,” Mark squealed, reminding me of when he was ten years old and used to beg me to take him to my workout sessions just so he could be around other fighters. When I told him that he was too young, he would respond with that exact phrasing.

  “He’ll be fine, O’Brien. Don’t get your panties in a twist. Right, kid?”

  “Fuck you, Buddy. I ain’t a damn kid.”

  Shaking my head, I grabbed my gloves, water bottle, phone, and jump rope to head for the changing room to shower. I wouldn’t be staying around for tonight’s fight if Mark was getting in the ring. I was liable to jump in the ring and beat any bastard black and blue who dared to even graze the top of my kid brother’s hair.

  “Hey, wait up, I need to speak with you.”

  I sighed but slowed down and turned to face Mark, lifting an eyebrow.

  “I really came here early to talk to you about your underperforming social media pages.”

  “Not this shit again.”

  “Yes, this shit again. As your social media manager—because you absolutely refuse to hire a real one—I have to keep you updated on what’s happening. Look, you know I believe in your product and what you’re selling, but between my own full-time job, fighting, and having a social life of my own, I think it’s necessary to tell you, that you really need to hire someone for this. Your products aren’t getting the attention they deserve because your social media presence is lacking.”

  “What are you talking about? My protein shakes alone brought in just over one million in revenue last year. The supplements brought in another five hundred thousand.”

  “Yeah, and you could’ve doubled or even tripled that amount had you had the right marketing in place.”

  Frustrated, I pushed a hand through my long hair, noting how sweaty it was. I owned and operated a number of businesses. However, my focus, as of late, had been on my dietary supplements and protein shake company, TKO Supplements. Our most popular product line was our TKO protein powders and shakes. We’d been growing steadily over the past three years.

  “It’s time you became the face of TKO.”

  “Hell no.” I shook my head adamantly at Mark’s ridiculous suggestion. This wasn’t the first time he brought it up.

  “Come on, Connor. People know you. They’ll trust TKO even more with your face at the forefront because they know your reputation for fighting, and more importantly, for winning. All the pictures on TKO’s social media pages right now are just images of the protein powders, the labels, and whatnot. Put your face in it, or take pictures of you drinking the stuff after a tough workout session and I bet you orders will pick up instantly.”

  “I’m not doing it.”

  “Fucking stubborn ass,” he grunted.

  “Watch your mouth.”

  “And what the hell are you going to do about it?”

  I narrowed my eyes at my brother as he sat there boldly staring up at me from his wheelchair, daring me to make a move.

  “Little shit.”

  His laughter hit my back as I turned and stormed into the changing room to shower and head home for the night. Usually, I stayed for the Underground fights, but not if Mark was getting in the ring. I didn’t need to watch that shit. And Buddy and every man involved in this fighting club knew that if my kid brother got hurt, there was nowhere on this Earth the person who did it could hide to escape my wrath.

  ****

  Instead of heading straight home, I chose to head to a twenty-four hour grocer to pick up something to eat. All I had at my place was bottle of protein shakes and I knew that wouldn’t be enough to satisfy me for the night. Not the way my stomach was growling after such an intense workout.

  Inclining my head, I acknowledged the older Asian woman who ran the store along with her husband. She gave me a curt nod as she always did when I entered.

  Making my way to the back of the store where they kept their daily prepared meals, I grabbed a chicken salad sandwich, bag of chips, an apple, and a bottle of water. Once I got to the register, I added one of the banana muffins that were wrapped in Saran wrapped to my order and waited for the woman to put all my items in a plastic bag and hand me my change before exiting. I only lived a few blocks from the store, but since I’d driven from the building where the Underground fought, across town, I started in the direction of where I parked my Kawasaki which was about a half a block down the city street.

  “Ahh! Help!” a feminine voice shrieked as I walked past an alley close to where my bike was parked.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I recognized that voice.

  “Leave me alone!” she yelled again.

  That was when I turned my head, and thanks to the streetlight I could make out a larger figure standing over a woman, raise his hand and punch her across the face. My bag was thrown to the ground and I sprinted down the alley to reach the pair.


  “Get the fuck off of her!” I growled at the same time I reached for the man by the back of his neck and practically threw him into the brick wall of the building behind me. Yet, hearing his shriek of pain wasn’t enough satisfaction. I grabbed the bastard by his shoulder, spinning him around and quickly landing my own fist against the side of his face. The familiar sound of bone crunching echoed in that dark alley. I would’ve kept going but the dumbfuck had a jaw made of glass and was instantly knocked out cold after one hit.

  I turned to the woman, who was still standing there, breathing heavily. The lighting gave me a clear view of one dark brown eye that was filled with fear. The other was covered with her hand.

  “Resha,” I breathed out, going to her. “What the hell happened? Are you okay?” My hands went to her waist to hold her steady because she appeared as if she was on the verge of passing out.

  “What’s going on down there?” someone yelled.

  I looked down the alley to see two people standing there. “Call 911. She’s just been attacked!” I ordered, and the man quickly pulled out a phone and began calling. I vaguely heard his telling the operator our location and the situation.

  Staring down at Resha, I saw she appeared terrified. “You’re okay,” I consoled, pulling her close to me. Her lush body fell against mine as if she desperately needed the comfort.

  “H-He tried to rob me,” Resha was explaining ten minutes later to the police officers.

  “Is questioning her again necessary? She’s already explained this to the female officer who arrived first and she needs to be taken to the hospital.” My level of patience was running out, especially as I watched how swollen Resha’s face had gotten in the last ten minutes.

  “Okay, we’ll let you get some medical attention and we’ll be in touch if there are any follow-up questions.”

  I didn’t bother thanking the officers, as I placed my arm around Resha and walked her to the paramedics.

  “What are you doing? They already checked me out.”

  “I know, but you need to be taken to the hospital, and I’ve only got my bike with me tonight. I don’t think it’s safe to have you ride on the back of my motorcycle. Not until we know for certain you don’t have a concussion. So, I’m going to follow the medics to Memorial.”