by Amity Cross
“Speaking of…” She peered out into the studio. “Where’s the asshole? I’m dying to check him out.”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Tugging Josie’s arm, I led her out and up the stairs into the privacy of the office.
“It doesn’t seem so bad here, Ren,” Josie said as I closed the door behind us. “Apart from Monica. Took two words to come to the conclusion that she’s an epic bitch.”
I snorted. “It’s not that bad, I guess. The dynamic is just off. And I sleep in the storeroom.”
She gave me a smile and leaned against the desk beside me. “Do you like it? Fighting?”
“It gives me something to do.” I glanced out the window and over the studio below. “After caring for my Mum for so long, I kind of forgot about me.”
“It’ll take time,” Josie said, placing a hand on my arm. “You’ve got it now. With your Dad, things will either work out or they won’t. He seems like he cares, maybe he just doesn’t know what to do either.”
“You always say the right things,” I declared.
“I’m more than a pretty face, you know.”
Shaking my head, my gaze found Ash yet again. This time, I was in the safety of the office and he had to physically seek me out to catch me staring. Not that that made it any better.
“Ugh,” I said. “You want to see Ash? There he is. You can tell which one he is from his aura of bullshit. It radiates.”
Josie leaned over the desk, pressing her hand against the glass to get a good look. “Holy crap,” she gasped. “He’s huge.”
“I bet he likes to think he is.”
“Ren!”
“Not everything’s about dick, Josie.”
“Are you sure?” She winked. “It’s a lot of fun.”
Peering out of the office window, I watched Ash beat the crap out of a bag, sweat glistening on his naked torso. Naked. Torso. Ironically, I began thinking about his dick. I hadn’t had the guts to see what his tattoo said yet. Like I’d ask him.
“You’re into him,” Josie stated.
“No, I’m not,” I bit out.
Her mouth fell open. “Yes you are. That denial took like a millisecond to come out of your mouth, Renee Miller.”
“Give it up.”
“You like Ash. You more than like him, you want to fuck him. Admit it.”
I snorted. “If he had a total personality transplant.”
She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Seth’s nice. He’s not a muscle bound fighter type, but he’s sweet in his own way.”
My eyebrows rose. “Seth? As in coffee shop Seth? Is this an episode of Perfect Match?”
“If Seth asked you out, would you go?”
“Fuck, Josie. I’ve got enough shit to worry about without going on a date.”
“That wasn’t a no.”
I felt like banging my head against the wall. I did not need a date or worst case, a boyfriend. I didn’t need more complications. I didn’t need that kind of scrutiny.
“Don’t you need to go to work?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation away from me.
Josie glanced at her watch. “Oh, shit. You’re right. I better leg it if I want to get the train.”
“C’mon,” I said. “I’ll walk you.”
As we clanged down the stairs and crossed the studio, I felt his eyes on me. How couldn’t I? My thoughts were superseded with Ash. I didn’t need a boyfriend. Ash. I didn’t need a date. Ash. I didn’t need a date with coffee shop Seth. Ash. I didn’t need to get laid. Ash.
This was my life and it was a waking nightmare. I didn’t need anyone.
What I actually needed was a direction and I didn’t care what one it was as long as it pointed away from Ash Fuller.
13
Ren
Staring at the slip of paper the ATM had spat out at me, I grimaced.
Funds were getting low and worry began to spike in my stomach. I had some money saved from the epic garage sale after Mum died, but it wasn’t much at all. What little was left was getting eaten up by bank fees and things I needed that I’d never ask Dad to pay for.
I thumped the cancel button on the ATM and snatched my card back. Money had always been the bane of my existence. Having a sick mother who couldn’t work all the time meant I had to pick up the slack. There hadn’t been anyone else and medical bills were expensive. I knew how to budget, but without an income, there was nothing to budget with. Sighing, I shoved my card and the receipt into my pocket and shelved it for later.
Rounding the corner onto Sydney Road, I caught sight of Josie coming the opposite way. Waving, we met out front of the coffee shop and pushed inside. We must have unconsciously synchronized watches at some point between now and the first time we met, because it was the same pretty much every morning.
“Sup, Ren,” she exclaimed as we went inside and pulled up chairs at our usual table.
“Ugh,” I exclaimed.
“Like that, huh? What’s up?”
“I’m worried about money.” I fiddled with a packet of sugar.
“Oh, aren't we all,” she said with a laugh. “I might have this shit hot office job, but rent’s a killer. I swear over half of my pay goes on it.”
“Rent costs that much in the city?” I exclaimed.
“Oh, you better believe it. You want to rent a place?”
“I need a job first.”
Josie waved to Seth, who gave her the thumbs up. It was our code for, the usual.
“If I ever want to get out of Beat, I need money,” I said. “It makes the world go round and all.”
She looked at me like I’d sprouted a second head. “Why would you want to leave Beat? You’ve got free rent, free food, free gym...”
“Josie, why would I want to stay there? I’m treated like an annoyance more than anything. Dad doesn’t want me to meet his wife, Monica is a bitch, Ash is an asshole. The Twins are okay. If it wasn’t for you, the gym equipment and this cafe, then I’d probably waste away.”
Josie’s face melted into a smile. “Aww, really?”
“Don’t get a big head or anything.”
“Ren!” she squealed. “I love you, too.”
“Thanks, but I like doodles.” I rolled my eyes. “Unfortunately.”
She waved me off, picking up her coffee. “Oh, you know what I mean.”
“I don’t have that much in savings and free rent only cuts it for so long,” I went on. “I need to find something to get me out of that toxic air. Part time, full time. Anything.”
Seth chose that moment to put our order on the table. “You need a job?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yeah, I’m looking.”
“Joseph!” Seth yelled out at the top of his lungs, making me flinch.
“Yeah?” A gruff voice called from out back. A second later, an older looking Italian man with salt and pepper hair shoved through a door behind the counter, a tea towel slung over his shoulder.
“Joseph, Ren. Ren, Joseph,” Seth said. “Ren’s looking for a bit of work.”
“Work, eh?” Joseph turned to look me over. “You've got a bit of muscle on you, young lady.”
Josie started to laugh.
“Yeah,” I replied. “I take classes around the corner at the boxing studio.”
He looked surprised. “Beat? You don’t say.”
“Ren’s in here practically every morning,” Seth chipped in, giving me a shy smile. “We could do with a little help with the morning rush.”
Joseph eyed Seth before turning to me. “You got an hour or two to help us this morning?”
My eyes widened. It couldn’t be this easy to get a job. Wasn’t there a multiple interview and a resume process?
“Give it a shot, Ren,” Josie elbowed me. “We’re in here anyway and it’s around the corner from Beat.”
“Sure,” I said. “Whatever you want me to do.”
So, that’s how I found myself cleaning up tables and washing dishes for the rest of the morning, my thoughts firmly fixed on the
task at hand rather than on the mess my life was. It was refreshing and distracting and at the end of it, Joseph shoved a twenty in my hand and patted me on the shoulder.
“You don’t complain,” he said in his thick accent. “I like that.”
“Um, thanks?” I didn’t break, drop or spoil anything, so I guess that meant I did okay.
He laughed at my reaction. “Okay, come back tomorrow at seven and we’ll get you on a couple of shifts to see how you go.”
It was just a job in a cafe cleaning tables and serving customers, but it was probably one of the better things that had happened to me since Mum died. I beamed at Joseph and nodded. “You got it.”
I was officially one step closer to independence.
Independence and my own identity. Shit, yeah.
My fist slammed into the heavy leather bag, the impact jolting up my arm and absorbing into my torso.
The only light was from the back row of fluorescents I’d switched on over the ring. It was dark, murky and helped me pretend I was someplace else. The drama from the daylight hours was gone and it was just me and the darkness. Exactly the way I liked it.
I began another set of punches, hair sticking to the sweat beading across the back of my neck. Structure. This was the only thing that was predictable in my life and I needed predictable.
Stance. Guard. Punch. Guard. Repeat.
There was a loud cough behind me and I spun on my heel, heart thumping in my chest, and my gaze collided with Ash’s.
“Fuck,” I exclaimed, holding a hand over my heart. “Don’t fucking do that, Ash.” Typical. The creeper was being all creeper again.
“What are you doing?” He stared at me, his gaze hovering a little too long on my bare midriff.
I steadied the bag with one hand, taking deep breaths. “What does it look like?”
“I’ve never seen…” He trailed off and I wondered if I’d finally made the Golden Boy lost for words.
I turned my back so I didn’t have to look at him. “What? A woman in a sports bra? Highly doubt it.” I rolled my eyes and wiped my forehead with the back of my arm. Even though I couldn’t see, I felt his gaze burning into my skin and I suppressed the urge to squeeze my thighs together. Infuriating, self-absorbed, arrogant…
He appeared beside me and stepped behind the bag, bracing it against his body from shoulder to hip. “Let me spot,” he said.
I didn’t know how long he’d been watching me, but suddenly I felt embarrassed and my skin began to flare. He was a pro, beat the shit out of people for a living and I was… Well, I was just some chick with too much time on her hands.
Stepping back, I said, “It’s fine.”
“Ren.” Ash’s voice was firm and commanding and involuntarily, I stood to attention. “You were doing good. You just need a spotter. Those other bags are too heavy for you.”
He eyed me from around the bag and I flexed my fingers. “Fine.”
Guard up, fists at the ready, thumb over fingers, right foot forward, left back. Punch, right then left and guard up. One. Two. Three.
I hit the bag gently at first, testing the resistance and it felt better. There was no swing, so I increased my strength until I was hitting as hard as I could. I couldn’t see Ash behind the bag, but he was there, his feet firmly planted on the mat.
I lost myself in the repetitions until he called time.
“Good,” he said. Nodding at the wall of mirrors, he went on, “Show me your guard.”
Realizing he was giving me some pointers, I rolled my shoulders once and showed him what I’d been taught.
“Now, take a couple of swings at the bag.”
I went through the motions, punching first with my right and then following through with the left. Then Ash was standing behind me, his big paws landing on my shoulders and I froze.
“You favor your upper arm too much,” he said, his breath hot against my neck. “Punch something the wrong way like that and you’ll shred your arm. When you punch, use your shoulder and your body.” He held onto me, rotating my right arm, showing me what he meant. “You’ll get more force into your blow and you'll land harder.”
“Thanks.”
He sniffed, standing back. “You’re welcome.”
I glanced up at him and saw the unspoken question in his eyes. His mother fucking green eyes that were staring right at me. Eyes that were attached to a handsome face, a jaw coated with a day or two of stubble and lips that I instantly thought about sucking on. Shit.
Pre-empting his question, I cast my gaze onto my hands and said, “I don’t like an audience.”
Ash shifted next to me, creeping forward across the mat. “But, I’ve seen you at classes.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“The Meathead Twins would have a field day,” I began, laughing wryly. “I don’t want my Dad knowing, either.”
“What about me?”
His question blindsided me for a moment. I didn’t think he gave a crap what I did, but obviously he’d been watching me for a while if he knew I took all the classes.
“You’ve got better things to do that pay attention to me,” I said, shaking my head. “Seriously, since when have either of us been nice to each other?”
“Do you want me to apologize?” he asked, beginning to sound pissed off.
“I don’t want you to do anything,” I snapped. Total lie. He could lick me between the legs if he wanted.
“I saw you cleaning up tables at that cafe this morning,” he said out of the blue.
“So? I was doing a trial.”
“Why do you need to do that?”
“Because some people need jobs to earn money, Ash. Not all of us have endorsements and sponsors and crap.”
His eyes narrowed. “Coach—”
“Put me in a storage closet,” I growled at him.
Silence tore at us, opening up a chasm of who the fuck cared.
“Do another set,” Ash commanded, his lips thin, and I was more than happy to oblige.
This time he shouldered a shield bag and dug his heels into the mat and I gave him everything I had. I kicked and punched the shit out of that padded bit of leather fantasizing it was his body I was pounding into. Fuck, the word pounding. Whenever I thought about the guy, it was all appendages, licking, humping, mouths and orgasms. That was what pissed me off, right? The fact that Ash drove me wild in an animalistic way, not that he was an asshole, right? He was an asshole, but my body still wanted him. Personality had nothing to do with it.
He made no move to touch me other than showing me the correct way to hold myself. He didn’t want me like that and I didn’t know how much more obvious he could make it. He probably had a string of women on speed dial.
The thought of Ash fucking someone else, fucking Monica, made me see red. I kicked the bag so hard, he stumbled back slightly and Ash was the kind of guy that never stumbled. Ha. Take that.
“Shit, Ren. Whose head you picturin’?”
“Yours.”
He grunted and set the bag aside. “Better?”
“I’m done.” I ripped off my gloves and tossed them on the bench, reaching for my towel.
God, I couldn’t do this. Watching him work out during the day was hard enough, but doing it together in the middle of the night, alone? This was a whole new merry-go-round and I wanted to get off. I didn’t want to ride anymore.
“You need to loosen your muscles,” he said matter-of-factly.
I guess he'd know being all super fighter, but I couldn't think of anything worse.
“Sit,” he commanded, nodding at the bench.
Because I had no impulse control where Ash was concerned, I put my ass on the bench like a good little girl. Should I feel special because the star fighter was giving me a personalized training session? Why the fuck would he care? Sure, he made me melt in all the places that mattered when it came to a rip roaring orgasm, but what was in it for him?
Ash straddled the bench behind me
and before I could ready myself, his hands were on me. Thumbs began circling into my muscles, sending tingles right across my skin. A ripped, handsome as hell man giving me a shoulder massage? Um, yes.
Shifting around, I flung a leg over the other side of the bench, my body between his legs. The warmth radiating from him was almost overwhelming and I had to resist the urge to lean back into his chest and moan like a cat in heat. The whole thing was...erotic.
His thumbs moved to the base of my neck, his fingers wrapping over my shoulders, his palms pressing into the places he'd already worked.
“Do any of your muscles feel tight?” he murmured into my ear, his hot breath fluttering against my skin.
“No,” I whispered, but it came out strangled. My entire body began to dissolve into one hot mess and before I knew it, I was leaning back into his chest.
The hard ridge of his cock pressed into my lower back and my breath hitched. God, he was hard and despite all our hurtful back and forths, I wanted it in me. I wanted to feel what he could do to me with everything he had. I wanted it all. He wanted something, but Ash was like a wild beast. One wrong move and it'd spook him and he’d bolt and never come back.
Lips grazed the shell of my ear and a shiver rippled through my body, making my sex clench. Leaning my cheek into his neck, I breathed in his scent deeply. He smelt like sweat and musk, like some heady drug I couldn't get enough of.
Shit, if he'd asked me, I'd strip his shorts off and go down on him in a flash. I'd suck him hard and I'd take him so fucking deep he'd forget his own name. Then I'd stick my ass in the air and let him fuck me like a beast...if he asked. But all he did was gently push his palms against my shoulders, separating our bodies.
My eyes snapped open and I was relieved he couldn’t see the hurt blooming on my face because I sure as fuck couldn’t hide it. Without a word, I stood sharply, snatching up my towel and strode across the mat to the showers. Ash’s gaze burnt into my back until I rounded the corner and the moment I was hidden from it, I let my head drop into my hand.
He was hard and he didn’t want me.
Who the fuck was I kidding? I could lust after Ash all I wanted, but I was nothing to guys like him. I wasn’t pretty or dressed nice or slapped makeup on my face. I wasn’t exactly dynamite in bed. I wasn’t anybody but the abandoned daughter of the high and mighty Coach of Beat. I fucking slept at the studio in the fucking storage closet. That right there, said everything.
