“Who knew I was missing out on so much?” he murmurs.
“Who knew?” I repeat. Because that goes for me, too. Yes, we’ve both had sex, him more than me—which I don’t want to think about—but it’s never moved mountains and drained whole oceans. It’s never been filled with so much passion and adoration.
And that’s because neither of us has ever been in love.
Until now.
He moves faster, losing control of his slow pace. He stretches and brands, kisses and burns. Bryce Grant rectifies my need just being closer to me.
As close as we possibly can be.
Hunger takes over and he searches for his own release, driving into me until he finds it. With his face in the crook of my neck, he groans, sending chills down my back and making me shudder.
He breathes heavy on top of me, both of us coming down from a high we can only give to one another.
“God, I’ve missed you,” he says breathlessly. He looks up at me and gives me a cocky smirk. “It’s good to be home, right?”
I laugh. “Yes, it is, Grant. Yes, it is.”
__________
Dust eddies float unconsciously through the morning sunshine. Bryce is up and gone already for his workout, even though his knuckles are still healing from a bar fight I know no details about. Only that he hadn’t meant to go there to fight.
Yeah, right. I could tell he was stressed when he left me at the hotel. I knew he needed some time alone. I wanted him with me, but truthfully, I also needed some time to think.
My mind raced with shit I didn’t care to think about. The monster, things I saw and lived with every day. My mother whom I never care to see again. Then I thought about Mills.
A smile hits my face with the brand-new knowledge of who my real father is. There was always a bond between us that I didn’t know how to describe.
Now I do.
He’s my dad.
And he wants to be my dad.
He wants to be in my life, and while I can’t fully grasp on to that yet, the possibility of having a relationship with him makes me hopeful for my future.
My thoughts also wondered to Bryce and the stupid things he was doing the weeks we were apart. I’m not over them by any means. We have shit to talk about, and we should get to it when he gets home from working out.
I toss the covers off of me, the thick fabric running over the palms of my hands, reminding me of my outburst. I’d never done that before. Taken a bat and beat the crap out of something until it was nothing but shards of glass and piles of splintered wood.
It felt good.
God, it felt like flying, but my hands are cut and bruised.
Oh well, it was worth it. I run my fingers over the dried-up blood. Mills and Bryce just stood there and watched me. I had expected one of them to stop my onslaught, but neither did.
I was grateful.
I needed it.
I needed to break apart the things I couldn’t when I lived there with that horrible man.
I shudder, thinking about the beating I would have received if he was still alive. I’d be black and blue for days.
I stand and head for the shower. After our talk, I’ve got to head to Mugs & Books and see how things have progressed. I also need to see Claire.
I’ve got so much to tell her.
After I shower and shave, I wrap my darker than normal hair up into a towel and rub lotion all over my body. My arms and back are aching from swinging that bat. I stretch my sore muscles and tired ligaments before running down to the laundry room and throwing yesterday’s clothes into the dryer for a refresher.
I have no clothes here. I lean against the dryer as it tumbles, thinking about my situation.
We love each other, that’s clear, but am I ready to move in with him?
Am I ready to give up my freedom, leave my best friend whom I’ve known since the day I stepped off the Greyhound?
The answer should be clear.
I should want to without question, but something is holding me back. It’s not the fear of Cain, Claire’s abusive ex, coming back around. He hasn’t been back in the picture since he snuck into our old apartment.
And I hope it stays that way.
It’s something I can’t quite put my finger on. The timer goes off, and I twist and open the dryer door, letting my towel fall to the floor before sliding on my warm jeans and shirt.
I guess I’ll hold off on moving in with Bryce just for a bit longer. Just until I’m one hundred percent sure.
__________
Bryce
I nod at the girl sitting at the front desk of the gym as I head to the back. Gloves go on, my mind fabricates thoughts that shoot adrenaline through my body, and I take it all out on the bag. Sweat builds like my anger, simmering from the surface and bubbling up.
It’s something I’ll never be able to fight off no matter how much I hit this fucking bag. It lays dormant inside me, waiting for an opportunity to be set free.
I think about everything that’s happened over the last couple of days, and it fuels me like gas on a flame.
I burn up inside, releasing it all on the bag and slowly, the weight sheds, providing me a moment of relief.
__________
The timer goes off, giving fighters permission to switch workouts, and after thirty minutes of hitting, I toss my gloves and wipe the sweat from my brow. My shirt sticks to me, and sweat from my soaked hair drips down the side of my face. Hanging my towel around my neck, I head to the back to grab my things. My eyes look to the cages and the boys practicing for a match when my shoulder gets checked, throwing me back.
“Watch where you’re going, motherfucker.”
My head whips back. “Come again?” I say, looking at the man who just went stupid. Something about his eyes look familiar, and I slightly tilt my head in curiosity.
He stops in his tracks and walks closer to me.
“You heard me,” he says. “I said, watch where you’re going.” His chest touches mine, and I eyeball him. “You got something to say, pussy bitch?”
I smile before shoving his ass back. He charges forward, but my fist connects with hard bone when it collides with his cheek. Red takes over my vision, and I fight the stupid fuck until I can’t feel my hands. He gives as much as me, though, and when yelling surrounds us and my arms get snatched back, I snap out of it.
“Bryce, calm the fuck down!” I recognize Ronnie’s voice. He owns this place and trains. My eyes search for the guy I was fighting, but I don’t see him.
“Where’d he go?” I ask, feeling my left eye start to swell.
“He’s gone. We kicked him out.”
I turn and look at Ronnie. “Was he a member here?”
“Nah, just been coming in on day visits. What the hell happened?”
I shake my head and lick my re-busted lip, breathing hard and hanging my hands on my hips.
“Stupid fuck ran into me.”
Ronnie laughs. “Jesus, boy. I’d hate to see if someone really crossed your ass.”
I look back at him, but my thoughts are on the man. Who was that?
“Go to my office and let Jessie clean that.”
“I’m all right.”
“Your eye’s closing up. Go on in there. She’s got an eye iron in the cooler.”
“Geez, what does the other guy look like?” Jessie, Ronnie’s girl, asks when I sit down. She has platinum blonde short hair and fire red fingernails, has tattoos snaking up her arm, and has no idea that I just got into a bar fight yesterday.
“I don’t know. I didn’t get to see.”
“You’ve been coming in for years now,” she says, putting the eye iron up to my swollen socket. It’s freezing to the touch. “Why don’t you train with Ronnie?”
“My dad was a fighter, but we aren’t the same blood, and I lack self-control in that area.”
“Ahh,” she says. “Makes sense then.”
“What was that guy’s name?” I ask, taking hold of the handle.
“I’m not sure. I can look on the sign-in sheet, though.”
“Do that for me,” I say as the phone rings in her office. She slides her chair back around her desk and answers the phone. It sounds important, so I stand up and mouth, “I’ll see ya. Thanks.” I hold up the iron before placing it on her desk. She cups the end of the phone.
“I’ll get back to you with that name.”
I nod and open the door. The blinds smack against it when I shut it, and I head to the locker room for my things before heading home.
__________
Kathrine
The front door shuts and I reach down and lift my used towel off the floor, exiting the laundry room, spotting Bryce grabbing a water bottle from the fridge.
Black sweats cover his legs, while a pair of yellow Nikes protect his feet. His jacket is thrown over the back of a stool and the back of his white T-shirt is soaked with sweat.
I picture it streaming down his Hatter tattoo, into his wild eyes, and over his pointy chin. The thought reminds me of last night. I want him. All over again. My eyes sink lower to his ass before jumping back up when he shuts the fridge door.
“What the hell happened?” I ask, looking at his swollen face.
“It’s nothing,” he says, tossing the empty bottle into the trash before lifting his shirt from behind his neck.
“That’s not nothing.” I loosen the towel on my head and toss it back into the laundry room, ruffling my hair as I walk over to him. “Another fight, Bryce? I thought you were going to work out?” I grip his chin, turning his face to get a better look at it.
He licks his bottom lip. I release his chin and walk over to the fridge.
“I did go to work out. Some punk ran into me.”
I turn around after grabbing a bag of green peas and handing them to him.
“So, you decided fighting would be a good idea?” I ask sarcastically.
He removes his snapback and tosses it onto the countertop. “It got out of hand.” He looks me over. “You need some clothes over here.”
I look down, not ready to talk about that just yet. I walk over to the counter, tying my wet hair out of the way before I jump up on it. My muscles groan in protest. Grabbing his hat, I place it on my head.
He walks toward me, spreading my knees before placing his body between them. He smells of sweat and spicy aftershave. I run my hand over his now smooth face, a little sad that the stubble is gone, wondering what it would have felt like down there.
“You shaved.”
I’m close enough to see the muscles beside his good eye flinch. “You’d rather I didn’t?”
I shrug, dropping my hand, looking at the cut on his lip and the redness on his cheek that I’m sure will be blue tomorrow. The small birthmark on his neck moves with his beating pulse, slow and in rhythm. “I like it either way.”
He nods. “Good.” He quick-kisses my lips before moving away from me. “I like you in my hat.” He winks. “I gotta take a shower. Be back.”
I lick my lip, tasting copper from his cut, as he runs up the stairs. On a sigh, I jump down from the counter and search for food.
Eggs, bacon. I look behind me at the breadbox. Toast. While I’m cooking breakfast, I think about how I’m going to approach the things we need to discuss.
One, I’m going to try to avoid the moving in topic.
Two, he needs to chill on fighting people.
Three, I’m going to address the use of heroin and make sure that’s not something I need to stress over. I grew up seeing that shit everywhere. I’m sorry, but that’s a deal breaker for me.
Four, the girl who was on top of him when I walked into that room at that fucking party house. Who was she? How does he know her?
I go about scrambling eggs and nearly burning bacon before I plate the food and pour us both some orange juice. Bryce walks down just as I replace the juice back in the fridge.
“Damn, is that bacon?” he asks.
“Yep. I was starving. Figured you might be, too, after working out and fighting.” I roll my eyes.
He grins before grabbing his plate and walking into the living room.
I’m confused. All the times I’ve eaten here, he’s never taken his food into the living room.
“What are you doing?”
He takes a seat and places his plate onto the coffee table, patting the spot next to him. “Come over here. I want to watch the news.”
I shrug. Claire and I eat in the living room all the time, but this is a first over here.
Bryce’s home, while comfortable, is also very clean. I’d hate to spill anything on that cream-colored couch. But I do as he asks.
I mean, it’s not like he can’t afford to replace it.
I take my spot beside him as he flips on the TV. We watch the news and eat together quietly. They talk about stocks and other shit I don’t really care about. My mind drifts to my own issues, not Betty’s whose house caught on fire last night.
I feel bad for Betty, the seventy-year-old who’s in her nightgown holding two cats and has two more at her feet, but I just found out I have a father. My mother showed back up in my life after years of being a ghost.
My boyfriend has an anger problem. His mom is in the hospital in a coma because I neglected to tell the boys about her almost slipup.
The list goes on, and as I take my last bite and stand, grabbing Bryce’s empty plate, too, I realize I have a ton more problems now than I did before I met this guy.
Love doesn’t come cheap, huh?
I rinse our dishes and place them into the dishwasher before turning back around. Bryce sits completely relaxed on the couch. His bare feet are on the table, ankles crossed.
Dark jeans cover his legs, and he wears a Led Zeppelin T-shirt. My eyes roam around this amazing apartment. Sunlight pours into the vast room from the wall of windows. Dust-like glitter floats through beams of light. How did he get all of this?
I mean, I know Lee has money and I know Bryce borrowed from him to start up Red. But just owning a nightclub gets you not one but three homes? Two in the city of Atlanta and one on a ranch?
It’s crazy.
How much do I really know about him? He wanted to watch the news but seemed more interested in the stock market. Does he own stocks?
He reaches over for the remote and flips the TV off. Stretching, he looks over at me. His eye has only gotten worse, but his lip has scabbed over. “What are you doing?” he asks.
“I think we need to talk.”
“This sounds serious,” he says it playfully, but I hear the unease in his voice. We’ve been through too much to be completely comfortable with our situation.
“How did you get all of this?” I ask. I realize I’ve skipped everything I actually wanted to talk about.
And I know I’m diving into a pile of none of your business, but this man wants me to live with him. He loves me and I love him, but there’s still something off.
He cough-laughs. “What?” he asks, looking a little uncomfortable.
I wave my hand around. “This apartment, everything you have. It all came from owning a nightclub?”
He leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, linking his hands together between his knees. “Where is this coming from?”
I shrug. “I’m just curious, is all.” The muscles on his back flex and his brow furrows. He bites his inner cheek.
“Curious,” he tests the word. “I told you how I got started. I do well at my club, and I have some investments. Like stocks and now your bookstore. Anything else you want to know while you’re being curious?”
I narrow my eyes at his tone, deciding I’ll ignore the attitude. I have a right to know how he makes his money. He has a bodyguard, for fuck’s sake. Why does a club owner need a damn bodyguard?
“Why do you need a bodyguard?”
“I’m a very wealthy man, K. It’s smart to have a bodyguard.”
“But you own a nightclub. I just find it strange. Is someone after y
ou for you to need protecting?”
He exhales and stands up. “I don’t understand why you’re interrogating me all of a sudden, but honestly, I don’t fucking appreciate it. I have a bodyguard because I have enemies. People who want what I’ve got.”
“People who want what you’ve got? What? A nightclub?”
He doesn’t say anything.
I quirk my brow. He’s keeping something from me. “Bryce, what aren’t you telling me?”
He lifts his chin. “Nothing.”
I stare at him. Is he serious?
“We said we wouldn’t do that,” I remind him.
“Do what?”
“Keep things from one another.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not keeping anything from you.”
I scoff and look him up and down. “Clearly.”
He stands emotionless, and I almost forgot how good he is at hiding.
But he forgot who he’s talking to. We’re just alike and I can see right through him.
But I can also tell he isn’t going to reveal his little secrets. So, for now I’ll have to let it go, knowing if he wants this relationship to continue, eventually he will have to tell me everything.
“Let’s talk about something else then. The girl who was on top of you at that party house.” I lift my chin at him. “Who was she?”
He scoffs. “Did you wake up wanting to fight? Was making me food just a ploy before you dropped all this shit on me?”
“No, I didn’t. I woke up needing some answers.”
He laughs once. “You’ve gone your whole life without answers, K. Don’t act like now that you’ve gotten a few you have to have them all.”
My mouth opens as I draw in a quick breath. Hurt swarms in my chest like a flock of blackbirds.
That stung.
I swallow. “You’re right. Who am I to receive any more than I’ve already gotten? I guess I deserved to be clueless my whole life.” I reach over and grab my cell that I left down here last night before turning for the door.
Give Me Perfect Love (Give Me Series Book 2) Page 9
