The Opposite Effect

by Shandi Boyes

  I'm ashamed to admit before Diesel started training with Hank, I haven’t seen him since the day of Derrick’s funeral. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to; I just didn’t know what to say to Hank. Derrick was Hank’s world, and no measly words I could have offered him would have changed that fact. Although now, while scanning my eyes over the old, desolate gym we are working out at, I wish I’d taken the time to make sure Hank was doing okay. Four years ago, this gym was the number one spot for wannabe fighters. Hank’s training services were in high demand. Now, the equipment is outdated, the gym is devoid of clients, and Hank’s once full-of-life eyes are bleak. I had heard his marriage was on the rocks after Derrick’s passing, but I didn’t realize things had gotten this bad.

  My attention diverts from staring at the boxing mat when Hank cranks his neck to Diesel and asks, “Did Brax go and get himself a weak spot?”

  Diesel’s smug grin turns massive before he nods. I bounce my bleary eyes between Diesel and Hank, trying to work out what the fuck they're on about. They eyeball me with a glint of amusement sparking their eyes, but they fail to ease my curiosity. Ignoring the two grown men glaring at me like imbeciles, I mumble a curse word under my breath before untying the laces of my boxing gloves with my teeth.

  After pulling apart the boxing ring ropes for Hank to exit, Diesel comes and stands next to me. “I don’t need to ask who has your mind, but I’m willing to play along.”

  Arching my brow, I stare into his hazel eyes. "I don't have the faintest fucking clue what you're referring to.” My words are rough like I dragged them over a gravel road before spitting them out.

  Diesel smirks. “I know boxing isn’t your thing, Brax, but even you're off your game today. My first guess was you had an issue with your grandma. But considering you wouldn’t be here if it was a problem with Grace, I’m going to say it is a woman that has you kissing the pavement – a certain blonde member of the Inked family.”

  The smugness he’s been wearing most of the morning increases when I attempt to shrug off his insinuation. I don’t know why I bother trying to deceive him. He knows me well enough to know where my mind has wandered to.

  “What makes you say it’s a personal problem? You catching me in a moment of weakness might have something to do with work,” I reply while running a white towel over my head to absorb the mountain of sweat running down my face. Hank has always been a hard-assed trainer. Nothing’s changed.

  Diesel takes a seat on the boxing mat to unlace his shoes. “Inked is your baby, Brax, but it isn’t your first love. It might keep your bank balance in the positive, but it doesn’t keep the blood pumping to your chest.”

  I grin but don't refute his statement. Inked is my business, but at the end of the day, it is nothing but a pile of bricks and mortar. It is family and friends who keep my blood pumping. And if I'm being totally forthright, it has been pumping a little faster since my run-in with Clara yesterday.

  Clara can spar with the best of them, and she can dish out scornful words like grenades, but I hated seeing her upset. Every tear shed from her eyes cut me deeper than I ever anticipated.

  Even though she’s icier than any woman I’ve ever handled, there's something about Clara I'm drawn to. Call it a case of machoism, but I want to wrap her up in cotton wool and protect her from the world. And if that isn’t a shocking enough confession, my desire to protect her has nothing to do with my cock’s fascination with her. I don’t know if this revelation should have me running for the hills, or running to Clara to seek confirmation on what the fuck she's doing to me. Yes, I’ve always been a sucker for helping a woman in distress, but it’s never been this profound.

  When Diesel spots the expression on my face, he smirks. “It’s not just your cock she’s gone and twisted up, is it?”

  “What are you, a psycho? Get out of my fucking head,” I mutter, throwing my sweat-soaked towel into his mocking face.

  "It's called ‘psychic,’" Diesel replies, yanking my towel off his head. "But I don't need to be a psychic to recognize that glimmer in your eyes. You got it bad, man. You've let her get under your skin. I just hope you know what you're doing. There's no way to predict how chasing a woman like Clara will go. You've just got to work out if she's worth the risk of having your heart decimated."

  I scoff. “Fuck, Diesel, no one is talking long term commitment. It’s all about a bit of fun. A few hours between the sheets. Nothing permanent.” I keep my words strong, vying to undermine the seriousness of our conversation. My efforts are less than stellar as deceit has never been a game I can play for long. “Besides, I can’t mess with a member of my crew. A few hours of fun wouldn’t be worth the legal complications.”

  Diesel etches his brow high into his sweat-slicked hair. He doesn’t need to speak; his skeptical gaze speaks volumes without a peep spilling from his lips. He knows as well as I do that bedding a woman like Clara would be worth any hassle.

  “Well, I wish you luck, brother, because you’re going to need it.”

  Not giving me the chance to reply, Diesel darts between the boxing ropes and hotfoots it to the outdated locker rooms at the side of the gym.

  I’m straddling my bike, recalling the conversation I held with Diesel yesterday when Clara enters my peripheral vision. I was so immersed in wading my way through the massive mess of confusion muddling my mind that I hadn’t noticed her exiting her apartment building and walking down the street until she stopped directly in front of me.

  “What are you doing here, Brax?” she questions, shoving her hands into the front pockets of her mid-length skirt to conceal their shake. “If it’s about Sunday, I can assure you I'm fine. You just caught me during a weak moment. It won’t happen again.” Her words are stronger than the pain in her eyes.

  “It’s not about Sunday.” I shake my head.

  She stares at me in shock.

  “I just want to make sure you get to work safely.” I keep my tone low, not wanting to spark another Jerry Springer inspired battle between us.

  Her eyes widen as she sucks in a lung-filling gulp of air. “I can’t get on the back of your bike again. . . I-I can’t.”

  “I know.” I stop her retreating steps. “But I still want to make sure your travels are done safely.”

  The feared expression on her face morphs into confusion. When the 57 bus pulls into the curb in front of us, I gesture my head to it. “You can ride the bus to Inked, but only when I’m following you.”

  Her eyes snap to mine. “You rode all the way to this side of town just to follow me to work?”

  Nodding, I reply, “Yep,” without a smidge of hesitation.

  “Why?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “Why not? You’re my friend. I want to help you out.”

  Call me pussy whipped or any other name you like, but this is the only solution I could come up with for Clara's predicament. Although she may be a smart-mouthed lady when she wants to be, that doesn't mean she shouldn't have someone looking out for her. Considering no one appears willing to fill that role, I've stepped up to the plate.

  When Clara remains quiet, I stare into her confused eyes, wordlessly advising that my offer comes with no strings attached. It is nothing more than a friend helping another friend. No matter how much she makes my cock ache, I’m not here trying to find a way into her panties. I'm just looking out for her.

  “If you don’t hurry, your chariot will leave without you, Princess.” I nudge my head to the bus driver who’s glaring at her as he impatiently waits for her to board.

  Clara’s massively dilated eyes bounce between the Asian bus driver and me for numerous heart-clenching seconds. Her pulse is throbbing through her veins so furiously, the entire left side of her neck is twitching. I don’t know if her freaked-out expression is about her upcoming bus trip or at my sudden attempt to call a truce between us. Either way, she needs to board the bus before it leaves her stranded on the sidewalk.

  My heart thrashes my ribs when she snatches my helmet resting on
my thigh, throws it on her head, then hooks her leg over my bike. Even though I hoped this outcome might be a possibility, I honestly didn't believe it would actually happen. Don't get me wrong, I'm beyond stoked; I'm just shocked as well.

  Clara plasters her torso as close to my back as possible before muttering, “Go before I change my mind,” her words jittery and crammed with fear.

  I tighten her grip around my waist before kicking over my bike. Even the deep rumble of my engine can't overtake the mad beat of Clara's heart pulverizing my back. Not wanting to scare her, I keep well under the speed limit and leave a good three car spaces between me and the motorist in front. Although I can't see Clara, I'm fairly sure her eyes are snapped shut as tightly as her arms are curled around my waist.

  Twenty miles later, the loud boom of my engine bellowing down the alley secures the attention of Charity and Diesel as they make their way from the parking lot to the employee's entrance of Inked.

  When Charity notices Clara on the back of my bike, she smiles a broad grin and playfully winks. Even though Diesel bowed out on his endeavor of pursuing Clara months ago, he still looks like a kid who had his lunch money stolen. If I were as respectful as him in our little black book game we've been playing since our school years, I could inform him that his assessment of the situation is misguided. But unfortunately for Diesel, I have no intention of doing that.

  If he fails to see the true meaning of my relationship with Clara, so be it. Nothing against Diesel – he's a great employee and an even better friend – but I'm not an idiot. I'll do anything I can to ensure his greasy mitts stay off Clara. Even going as far as pretending I've sealed the deal when I haven't and have no intention of doing so.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Hey,” Clara greets, her voice a throaty purr.

  I jerk up my chin in greeting before handing her the black helmet I purchased especially for her to use when she rides with me. Clara’s face whitens as she places the helmet onto her head and climbs onto my bike. Even though she’s been riding with me the past three weeks, the panicked expression that crosses her face hasn’t once altered.

  The only thing that has changed is her clothing selection. She no longer wears designer dresses and fancy skirts, opting instead for black trousers or the occasional pair of jeans. Although her clothing choices are more suitable for riding on a motorbike, I’d be lying if I said I don’t miss watching her strut around Inked in her figure-hugging dresses.

  Actually, come to think of it, I’m not the only one complaining. A handful of male customers have cited objections the past three weeks. Some even went as far as stating I should make it mandatory for Clara to wear a dress as her uniform. I may have dug my tattoo gun in a little deeper those days.

  Things between Clara and me have been following along the same path that started when she began working at Inked, although she's a lot less bitchy now. Don't take my admission the wrong way. Clara doesn’t hesitate to whip out her fiery tongue when needed. She can argue with the finest. But instead of unleashing a torrent of malicious words with no just cause, she reserves them for more compelling moments. Take last week, for example. Johnny was happily accepting part of his tattooing payment in a non-monetary way. Stupidly, he decided to do the exchange in the supply closet of Inked. When Clara walked in on them, let me just say, Johnny was lucky he walked away with only a slight limp. The bunny he was entertaining. . . she'll think twice before she calls Clara a skanky bitch again.

  When we arrive at Inked, Clara climbs off my bike and hands me her helmet. “Thanks for the ride. It should only be a few more days until my car is returned. It was all just a huge misunderstanding.”

  I nod, pretending I haven't heard the same declaration twice a day for the past three weeks. It eats away at me not knowing what's going on with her life, but no matter how badly I want to know why her car was towed the same night she got served an eviction notice, I won’t force her to share. Clara is only just coming out of her shell, so I won't do anything that will risk her taking a step backward. It is also not my place to demand an explanation on her private life. Although our relationship has veered more towards the friend zone the past few weeks, I'm still her boss, so it wouldn't be appropriate for me to demand anything from her.

  “Are you listening?” I mumble to my cock while shadowing Clara into the back entrance of Inked.

  I'd like to say my cock's interest in Clara has waned as the weeks rolled by, but unfortunately, that isn't the case. Whether she's giving me lip or whining about the outdated computer in my office, my cock's attention has never wavered. I may not have any claim to Clara, but if you asked my cock the same question, I'm confident he'd tell you Clara owns his ass. He doesn’t care about protocol or morals; he just wants Clara.

  Clara’s brisk pace slows to the speed of a tortoise when the crew of Inked break into a poorly serenaded version of “Happy Birthday” the instant they spot her sauntering down the hallway. She stiffens before her wide eyes bounce between her work companions and me. When she notices the triple-layered chocolate cake I asked Ryder’s misses to bake for her, a single tear escapes her eye and rolls down her ashen cheek.

  “I can’t,” she mutters under her breath as she barges past Charity, nearly sending Charity and her birthday cake toppling to the ground.

  The crew of Inked stop singing as their eyes follow Clara's swift bolt down the corridor leading to my office. After slipping inside, she closes the door so harshly, I'm sure the patrons dining at Betty's Burgers felt the ripple effect.

  I turn my eyes toward Diesel. “Open up the shop, and tell my first client I’ll be out in a few.”

  He nods before instructing for the rest of the crew to get ready for a normal work day.

  Charity smiles a tense grin as she hands me Clara’s birthday cake. “She’s still trying to find her place in this family, Brax.”

  Nodding, I reply, “I know.” But I’m still shocked by Clara’s reaction. I shouldn’t be, though. Nothing about Clara has ever been simple.

  After placing the cake on the break room table, I stride to my office. Clara’s head lifts from a barrage of paperwork on her makeshift desk on the couch when the creak of the door’s old hinges announces my arrival. Even though she puts on a brave front, I can’t miss the tears staining her blemished cheeks.

  “We weren’t going to force you to eat it,” I jest, saying anything to ease the thick tension suffocating the room. “The guys just wanted to get you something for your birthday.”

  From her silence, you’d assume she didn’t hear a thing I said, but from the way her chin is quivering, I know she heard every word. I gather documents from the couch before taking the seat next to her. When she fails to acknowledge my presence, I place my index finger under her chin and lift her head. Her glistening glacier blue eyes appear to be staring straight at me, but they’re looking right through me.

  “What’s the deal? Don’t the rich celebrate birthdays?”

  Now her eyes are focused on me, and they're fierce enough they could cut through glass. “Does a card showing up a week after your birthday count?” she mutters ever so quietly.

  I shrug my shoulders. “Depends on what’s in the card? A check with a million bucks, I’d happily accept years later.”

  Her lips twitches as she battles to hold in her smile, but she maintains her silent stance. I continue with my endeavor to force a smile onto her face. Even if she can get my hackles up quicker than any woman before her, I hate seeing the dejected look her eyes are carrying. Even more so since it's her birthday.

  "If you thought their singing was bad, wait until you see the wilted bunch of daisies waiting for you on the counter. Oh, and don't be surprised when you open your box of chocolates to discover it’s half-empty. They're an impatient bunch, but Johnny promised he saved you all the good flavors."

  The heaviness on my chest lessens when the quickest smirk stretches across Clara’s face. “They brought me gifts?” she murmurs ever so softly.

 
; Her smirk turns into a full smile when I nod. “Nothing fancy, but they purchased them themselves. Well, except the flowers; Johnny stole them from his neighbor’s garden.”

  Clara’s smile enlarges even more.

  I wait for her smile to fade before saying, “I have one final thing to give you. It was a little hard to wrap, so I didn’t bother.”

  Her surprised eyes bounce between mine when I delve my hand into my pocket and pull out a key. The longer she stares at the car key, the more her pupils dilate.

  “It’s nothing like your old car, but it will get you from point A to point B safely,” I advise her shocked expression.

  Her lips quiver as she begins to speak. “I can’t accept it, Brax. It’s too much.”

  "You can accept it, and you will.” My voice is sterner than I anticipated. "This isn't a gift, Clara; it is a payment for all those late nights you worked your first eight weeks at Inked."

  Her eyes snap to mine; shock is all over her face. I stare into her eyes while nodding my head, silently advising I'm aware of the work she put into the shop after hours. I only discovered her strong work ethic after going through the surveillance tapes the day following our incident in the parking lot of Inked. For the first eight weeks of her employment, Clara stayed back a minimum of an hour every night restocking the supply closet and preparing the invoices for the following day. She even went as far as donning a pair of fur-lined pink gloves to tackle the male staff bathroom a handful of times. I could tell from the determination in her eyes those first few weeks that she'd do anything to secure a permanent position at Inked, but I didn't realize her need for employment was so dire she was willing to scrub a urinal.

  “I really needed the job,” she murmurs under her breath, confirming what I already suspected.

  I gently pinch her chin and lift her eyes back to mine. “I know. But you didn’t need to break your back for it. Your work ethic during the opening hours already earned you your place in the Inked family.”