by Ciz, Alley
“Leave?”
“For The Steele Maker.” The bottles went into a bag.
“The gym?”
“Yup.” Becky took her by the shoulders, pushing her toward her room. Her mind was having a hard time catching up.
Where was Vince?
“Hurry up, slowpoke.”
Holly did as she was told, dressed in black leggings and a sports bra and pulled on her loose 'Let’s take an #Elfie' t-shirt.
She glanced at Vince’s front door when they stepped into the hall, but it was closed.
Becky was unusually quiet and remained that way the entire ride to the gym.
* * *
Vince wished he had wrapped his hands if for no other reason than to have something to fiddle with while he stared at the gym's front door. The longer he waited, the more he questioned if using Becky was the right plan.
His hope was Holly wouldn’t say no to her roommate, and he could convince her to stay once they arrived.
“You’re playing with fire, man,” Gage cautioned, stepping next to him.
“With Holly?”
“No.” He scoffed. “With your sister. Pissing off Steele women first thing in the morning is not the best game plan, even if she’s a James now.”
Vince looked to the back hallway Rocky’s office was in. He hadn’t expected her to be here on their day off, but surprise surprise.
“Dude.” He clapped Gage on the back. “Aren’t you supposed to keep your Covenette too satisfied to worry about the rest of us?”
“Oh, Blue is satisfied all right.” A pleased expression overtook Gage’s face. “But both she and Jordan have some sort of superpower that allows them to think even after an orgasm—at least from what Jake has told me about his wife—but if you want me to go into detail of the way me and your sister fu—”
“Uncle! Uncle!” He waved his arms in a panic. He so didn’t need to know about his sister’s sex life.
“You’re too easy, Vin.”
The door opened.
Holly was here.
It went against every instinct to not go to her the moment she stepped inside the gym, but his sneakers were firmly planted to the padded floor.
He needed her trust.
The first step to earning it was not forcing himself into her space.
She saw him and stopped. Becky turned around to say something he was too far away to hear, but whatever it was it was enough to get her moving.
“Vinny-boy.” Becky smirked, smacking him on the shoulder as she walked past.
“Trouble,” he said, but his eyes never left Holly.
“Vince?” There was uncertainty in her voice as she said his name.
“Cupcake.”
Her head was on a swivel as she looked around the gym. “Wh-What am I doing here?”
“Well.” His hands clenched with the need to touch her. “Since you’re determined to crush my fragile ego by refusing to go on a date with me—”
“Fragile.” She snorted.
“Oooh, she already knows you well, Vinny-boy.” Becky laughed with Gage.
“You know I hate being called that,” he growled.
“Why do you think I do it?”
He rolled his eyes.
“I need new friends,” he groaned.
“Hey.” She held her hands up in surrender. “You invited me.”
“A grave miscalculation on my part.”
“Oooh, am I missing pick on Vince time?” Rocky asked as she moved to her husband’s side, Gage’s hand falling to rest on her small baby bump.
Vince groaned. This was a mistake. Granted, he couldn’t get Holly to agree to be with him one-on-one. But his family? Big, big mistake.
He gave them the side-eye and stretched a hand out to Holly. “Come with me?”
She hesitated, eyes bouncing from his hand to his face and back.
He held his breath. Moment of truth time.
“COME WITH ME?”
Those three words held so much more weight than the ten letters they were comprised of. Holly had lost count of the number of times she had heard them in her life.
Except…
Vince wasn’t commanding her, he was asking. Giving her the option and allowing her to make the decision if she wanted to or not.
That was why she placed her hand in his, the massive paw swallowing hers in a gentle grip. That was also different.
She wasn’t pulled or tugged. Instead his hand rotated to thread his fingers with hers and waited for her to walk with him.
This was a side of him she hadn’t seen before, and if she were honest with herself, it was just as dangerous—if not more so—to her heart as the dominating one. She was fucked in the head.
He led her to a room, holding the door open for her to step inside. There was a desk and two low-backed padded chairs, and based on the connected treatment room, she assumed they were in Rocky’s office.
He gestured for her to take one of the chairs while he took the other.
She mirrored his posture, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. There was a seriousness in his expression she’d never seen before. Gone was the playful jokester who crashed her kitchen to kiss her senseless. In his place was the one she expected stepped into the octagon.
It was fierce. Intimidating. Sexy.
“I’m going to ask you something,” he said.
“Okay…”
“Who hurt you?”
She froze.
How to answer? She didn’t want to lie to him, but she didn’t want to tell him. It was embarrassing. The only person she'd ever told was Kyle and even that was just admitting the truth when he saw the evidence hidden under her clothes.
She couldn’t breathe. Panic was overtaking her senses.
Why? Why of all the things he could've asked did it have to be that?
“Hey.” His hand cupped her knee and squeezed, bringing her back to earth.
She couldn’t speak over the lump in her throat.
“You’re safe here. I’m not going to let anything hurt you, Holly.”
It was his use of her real name that broke her from her stupor.
“How—” She swallowed, then swallowed again. “How did you know?”
She was sick of playing the victim. For too long she'd let others control her, keep her down. She was told she had no options, that her degree was worthless, nothing more than a vanity diploma to make her more appealing as a potential partner. The worst part—she believed them.
“I teach self-defense to survivors of domestic abuse.”
She noticed he said survivors not victims. That…that meant—something.
“And what? You think just because you spend an hour or two a week with these women that you can decide I’m a battered woman?”
“First off.” He shifted closer, and his knees brushed hers. “I never said anything about battered.” His eyes were harder than granite. “And second, my work with the survivors has become a passion project of mine. The purse from my fight is going to be used to fund a new women’s shelter.”
Really? He wasn’t hot enough, he had to go and have a heart under all that swagger?
“So…yes. There were certain signs I’ve picked up on with you. Now answer the question. Who hurt you?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“The fuck it doesn’t.” His tone was lethal.
“No, Muffin. It doesn’t.” His eyes softened at the nickname. “What does matter is I got out and I’m safe.”
He studied her a beat longer. He was so much bigger than those who had hurt her. He wielded the power to do so much more damage than anyone else, yet everything about his presence gave her a sense of peace.
“And we’re gonna keep you that way. Which brings us to why we’re here.”
“In your sister’s office.” She pointed to the ground.
“No, smartass.” He chuckled, the creases bracketing his mouth softening. “At the gym.”
She arched a brow.
“I’m going to teach you self-defense.” He held a hand up when she tried to object. “All the Covenettes have learned. You’re not the only one with a history.”
Chapter Twenty
Holly was on a hunt for coffee. It had been a long day baking, and she still had a self-defense lesson with Vince to get through. Part of her cursed the people-pleasing engrained part of her for participating—he essentially told her they were doing them instead of asking—but even she had to admit they were a good idea.
“Hey, Sweets,” Lyle said as she stepped behind the counter and blew him a kiss. “You heading out to see your man?”
Coffee pot in hand she froze. Looking over her shoulder, she leveled him with major side-eye.
“He’s not my man.”
“Oh, Sweets.” Lyle chuckled.
She bristled. She'd spent way too many years being patronized, and it needed to end.
“Sammy,” Lyle greeted the newest customer, shooting her a knowing wink. He reached a hand across the counter to exchange a complicated handshake with the copper-haired hottie.
“Hey, Ly, how’s it going?” He had one of those blinding smiles that drew a person in and made them want to be friends.
“Can’t complain, can’t complain.”
“Staying out of trouble?”
Holly snorted. Yeah, right. Lyle’s middle name was trouble.
Eyes the color of melted caramel turned her way, and damn, did her friends have some hot as hell friends.
“Hol, this is Sammy.” Lyle was quick to make introductions. “Sammy, this is Holly. She’s taken over all the baking for the shop.”
Sammy's eyes brightened. “Oh, so you’re the one my best friend curses for needing to log extra hours in the gym.”
“Excuse me?” She was a little taken aback by the accusation. “I don’t even know you, let alone your best friend.”
He laughed, the sound warm and endearing, easing her prickly feathers. “No, no, no,” he quickly backpedaled. “It’s the highest of compliments. Maddey raves about your blueberry crumbles and red velvet scones.”
“You should see her cookies,” Lyle boasted.
“Why does that sound dirty?” she deadpanned.
Her friends had rubbed off on her considering how much time her mind spent in the gutter lately. Ha—rubbed off.
“Part of me wants to say you’re exaggerating, but Maddey has come into my kitchen looking for treats on multiple occasions.”
“You want the usual?” Lyle asked, falling back to the espresso machine.
“Yeah and Jam’s too.”
“Where is your better half?”
“He was spotted.” Sammy pointed a long arm at the shop’s glass wall. Outside a group of people were taking selfies with a tall guy in a baseball hat and sunglasses.
“He's gonna need a better disguise than that,” Lyle said.
“First world problems,” Sammy said with a shrug.
“Go on.” Lyle nodded his head toward the back of the shop. “Go to, Madz. I’ll bring your drinks when they’re ready.”
Lyle made the drinks, and Holly watched the guy outside finally extricate himself from the small group of people surrounding him to enter the café.
“Hey, Jame.” He reached out and did the same handshake thing with the new arrival as he did with Sammy.
“Hey, Ly.” He removed his sunglasses, tucking them into the collar of his white t-shirt.
Holy shit. That’s Jamie Hawke.
Her hand beat a quick staccato of backhands against Lyle’s chest as she stared wide-eyed at the rockstar.
Lyle wrapped a hand around hers to halt the attack.
“How about you not beat me up, Hol?”
“Umm…how about you explain to me how you never mentioned you knew Jamie-freaking-Hawke,” she countered.
“It never came up.” He shrugged.
“This is not the type of information you wait to come up in casual conversation. I have half a mind to tell Ky not to give it up to you.”
“Pfft…you know he is too hot for me to resist this.” He waved a hand down the length his body. Damn him for being right. Kyle had it bad for his tatted-up husband.
“Hate you.” There was no heat in her words.
“No, you don’t. You love me.”
“Damn, I hate that you’re right.”
A musical chuckle reminded her there was a rockstar standing in front of her.
“Hi. I’m Jamie.” He reached a hand out for her to shake as if she didn’t know who he was.
Proper etiquette had her taking the outstretched hand even as she stood gawking at the front man for her favorite band. Even under the Yankees hat he used as part of his “disguise,” everything about him screamed bad boy rocker.
“This is Holly. She grew up with Kyle, and now that she's escaped from…Connecticut”— Lyle shuddered as he said it—“she’s overhauling the bakery side of the business.” Thank goodness he spoke for her since she was standing there mute.
Jamie’s violet eyes widened in surprise. “You’re the one responsible for all the cool shit being posted on EP’s Insta?”
She nodded, then cleared her throat to finally speak. “You follow us on Instagram?”
“Fuck yeah,” he said enthusiastically. “That Baby Groot cake you made last week looked so real I was waiting for it to actually dance.”
The coffee shop’s bakery items were her daily work, but cakes, cupcakes, and cookies were where she really shined. It took her three days to make the Guardians of the Galaxy cake, but the final product was absolute perfection. Every insult and criticism she'd faced from her family through the years melted away as the superstar in front of her sang her praises.
“Yeah, that was a fun one to make, for sure.”
Before Jamie could respond, she heard a familiar voice.
“Cupcake.”
As a group, they turned to see Vince standing at the entrance, cold air blowing through the open door.
“Umm…what are you doing here?”
“Just making sure you weren’t blowing me off again.”
He spotted Jamie, and they exchanged hey, mans and a bro-hug, then he offered her his hand. “Ready?”
Nope.
She didn’t think she’d ever be ready for him, but took his hand anyway.
* * *
When Holly was late for their second self-defense lesson, Vince was done letting her stand him up. This wasn’t like the date he still wanted—though both were equally important to him—this was about making sure she knew how to defend herself if the need arose.
He'd been surprised to see that she was waylaid by Jamie Hawke at EP rather than just ignoring him.
He rewrapped his hands as she used the locker room to change. He had taken a quick shower after his training, wanting to be fresh and not a sweaty, stinky mess after the punishing workout. He was trying to impress the girl, not repulse her.
She eyed him warily as she made her way across the gym to him. That needed to change.
He bent for the hand wraps he'd ordered specifically for her. Their first session had been spent teaching her how to get out of an attacker's hold and blocking hits. Now it was time for her to learn how to hit. The best defense was a good offense, after all.
“Give me your hand.” He held out one of his own for her.
She hesitated, then did as he asked.
He peeled open the Velcro strap, letting the cupcake printed material unspool to the floor. He stroked his thumb along the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist, feeling her pulse flutter like a hummingbird under his touch. He loved the way her body reacted to his touch.
Slipping the thumb loop over her finger, he set to work, making sure she was properly protected.
“What’s all this?” She held up her wrapped hand.
“The wraps add a layer of support for your wrist as well as cushion for your knuckles when you hit.”
“And what am I hitting?” She sounded skeptical.
“Me,” he answered and dropped the other completed hand.
“You?”
“Yup.” He bounced on the balls of his feet.
“I’m not hitting you.”
“Sure, you are.”
“No, I’m not.” Her eyes narrowed, her shoulders pressed back. He adored when she got feisty.
“It’s not like you’re gonna hurt me, Cupcake.”
Her eyes flashed at the challenge.
Bring it on, baby.
“Muffin,” she warned.
“Cupcake.” He smirked, showing his dimple, her eyes automatically going to it.
“I’m not—” Her words cut off as she balled her fists. “Wait…are those cupcakes?”
“Of course. I needed to get cupcakes for my Cupcake.”
“You’re a dork.” He shrugged. “Are yours muffins?”
“Nope.” He held up his hands. “Superman for me.”
She rolled her eyes but cracked a smile.
“Okay now, time to get serious.”
At their last lesson, he had shown her a basic fight stance, but now that he was actually teaching her how to hit, he wanted to make sure she had it perfect.
He circled, checking her posture. In a normal class, he wouldn’t touch his students, but with Holly he couldn’t resist the urge. He wanted her to be comfortable with him in her personal space.
In a move that could backfire, he stepped in close, his front brushing her back as he placed a foot between hers to widen her stance. He skimmed his fingertips along her triceps, raising her left arm up, and bent to breathe in her sugary scent.
She didn’t pull away. Instead her head canted to the side as the tip of his nose brushed the soft spot behind her ear.
“Looking good.” He circled back to her front.
“Shouldn’t you be teaching me, not hitting on me?”
“Oh, Cupcake.” He shook his head. “I’ll always hit on you.” His expression sobered. “But I’ll never hit you.”
The unease left her, and the crinkles around her eyes weren’t as deep as he stayed silent, letting his words sink in.
“Now.” He curled a hand around her fist. “The most important thing to remember with a punch is not to tuck your thumb.” He freed the digit, placing it on top of her fingers.
