My Undead Heart

by Kacey Shea

  “Omelet?”

  “I usually have a handful of dry cereal on my way out the door.”

  Matt blanches and shakes his head as if that’s the most horrible thing he’s heard.

  “That or I don’t eat at all.”

  He shakes his head, dropping a handful of chopped veggies into the pan along with three eggs. I don’t know if he expects me to eat all of that, but it smells really good—even better when his coffee brewer stops and he pours me a cup.

  “Sugar or cream?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “I was afraid of that.” He winces and his brow lifts. “Trust me?”

  There are those words again. They hold so much more than a casual exchange or silly banter. While my mind doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction, as if it’ll let him know exactly how much power he holds between us, I do in fact trust Matt Haywood. “Yeah.” The word escapes my lips and he almost looks surprised.

  He doesn’t miss a beat though and turns, pulling out a small glass bottle that holds an eyedropper. One drop in my coffee and then he’s opening one of his canisters of powder to stir that into the mix.

  “I swear to God, if you fuck up that coffee I will never forgive you.” He laughs. I’m not kidding, though. “Seriously! What the hell are you putting in it?”

  He turns, hands me the mug and picks up the spatula to flip the eggs. “Try it.”

  I roll my eyes, completely skeptical, and bring the cup to my lips for a tentative sip. Shit. That’s actually good. Sweet and creamy. I continue to drink, not sure exactly what magic he used but not even caring because . . . coffee.

  “Here, eat up.” Matt flips the finished omelet onto a plate and sets it on the counter between us. He hands me a fork, but doesn’t move to cut the giant serving in two or grab his own utensil.

  “I can’t eat all of this.”

  “Mia, you need to eat,” he says almost irritated.

  My eyes bug out at his words and I sit taller in my chair. “So, you’re telling me what to do now?”

  His eyes narrow and his lips tick up with that confident smirk. “You didn’t seem to mind last night.”

  Fuck that! Standing from the stool, I don’t look back. I stomp to the couch to grab my shoes and head for the door. I don’t even take the time to put them on I’m so angry.

  “Mia! Where are you going?” Matt calls and he’s so damn fast he beats me to the door before I can unfasten all the locks. His lean body covers mine from behind as his hand holds the door shut. Not forceful or angry, if anything he’s going out of his way not to touch me with the movement. “Mia, talk to me.” His voice is void of all teasing and humor.

  “I’d like to go home now,” I manage.

  “Let me get dressed. I can take you,” he offers and backs away from the door. The space allows me to breathe easier and I turn my chin to find him still watching me. “I’m sorry, tell me what I did. I won’t do it again.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do. What to eat. Or where to go. Who I can or cannot hang out with.” My thoughts are like vomit from my lips. I have to get them out because up until a few minutes ago, I started to believe Matt was different than the rest. It saddens me he’s not. That he feels one night of unbelievable fucking gives him the right to begin demanding things.

  “Mia.” His voice alarms me, it’s so full of agony, and when I meet his gaze his eyes hold the same. He steps forward and takes my hands in his. “I promise I will never change you. I like you exactly the way you are. I’m sorry about the eggs . . . I . . .There . . .It’s a thing with me. But that’s my issue, not yours.”

  I’m stunned silent by his apology. That and his admission compels my interest to discover exactly what he means. Before I can ask, he continues to speak.

  “I’m sure it’s pretty obvious by now, but I didn’t have much growing up. We were dirt poor, actually. So many days we went hungry. I remember my mom used to give me the food off her plate, lied that she was full because she knew I wasn’t. Of course, stupid kid that I was, I didn’t see how she went without. Not until I got older. That’s my problem, Mia. My issues. I’m sorry I was pushy with the eggs. You can eat or not. Just don’t leave angry.”

  He deflates all of the righteousness from my sails and I’m left reeling from his words because I saw none of it coming. The space between us prickles with the honest sharing of his past—one that’s full of pain and regret. Matt’s gaze falls to the floor and I hate that his joy and laughter have been stolen by our own personal fears.

  “So, I don’t have to eat?” I set him up because I need to lighten the mood. I’m not good with deep feelings. This is much more personal than my comfort zone allows.

  Matt lifts his gaze. “No, only if you want. You’re not starving.”

  “Are you calling me fat, Matt Haywood?” I exaggerate the shock of my wide eyes with the hint of smile so he can tell I’m joking.

  “No! No, I’m not!” he says, looking as if he might be the one running now. “That’s not what I meant!”

  I lift one brow, and let my smile spread across my lips. “Because I’m pretty sure you fed me healthy coffee. I enjoy my calories and fat, thank you very much.”

  Matt’s mouth parts but he’s tongue-tied and I finally give in to the laughter I’ve been holding back. With a huge sigh of relief, he finally joins in, stepping closer until he’s caged me once again, this time with my back against the front door.

  “Mia, Mia, Mia . . . You know how much I love these curves?” His voice drops to a sexy rumble and his touch is soft as his hands feather up the outside of my hips, over my waist, cup my breasts and find their way to hold my chin in place as he steals one passionate kiss.

  He lets me go and rests his forehead against mine, the breath between us shared. “We’re good?” Such a simple question. Are we? His gaze is sincere and I know what he’s asking. It’s what I’ve been wondering since we crossed the line last night. Can we keep this thing between us and not change everything?

  “We’re good,” I say because I want it to be true.

  He smiles and drops a chaste kiss on my cheek. “Let me throw on some clothes. I’ll take you home.” With that everything is back to the way it was before. Matt doesn’t get clingy and I don’t have to plan an exit strategy. I eat a few bites of the omelet and finish my coffee. The stevia/protein powder blend won’t convert me, but it’s good and Matt’s company is even better. He cleans the kitchen while we banter, his unbridled laughter returned, and I put on my shoes before jumping on the back of his hog. It’s so simple I’m almost alarmed. Maybe it’s foolish wishing, but I hold hope that Matt’s right. That we don’t have to change. That things will work out.

  I’m familiar with denying myself.

  Dropping pounds to make weight for a fight is one of the most agonizing experiences. Sweat. No food. No water. Sauna. More sweat. It’s the worst because during the process the mind wants to fixate on the very things it can’t have. But fighters—those who are seasoned and have been through the trenches—know how to focus on the prize. Otherwise, they’ve lost before even stepping inside the octagon.

  That’s how the rest of my Monday goes, my willpower put to the test. I want to call Mia. Text her. Make sure she’s okay, see how her day went, and ask to spend more time together. Request we break this stupid bet in exchange for something real. But all of those options automatically put me out of the game. If this morning proved nothing else, it’s that she’s waiting for me to screw up, and that the demons from our pasts are right on our heels.

  But I won’t let that happen. I’m not one to back down from a challenge, and as much patience, precision, and skill as this battle with her heart will require, it’ll be worth every bit of the process. I just know it. And so I wait. I won’t text her first. But if she doesn’t show for training tomorrow, I’m going for her and calling her out. Because Mia doesn’t deserve to be treated with kid gloves. She’s strong, ready, and willing to fight. Even if it’s with me.

 
Maybe it was unwise to let her sleep over at my place, but I’m so glad she did, even if it was by accident. It’s not as though we really discussed the arrangement, more or less both passing out after a phenomenal night of sex. But I could tell she was spooked from the second she tried to sneak past me and out my apartment this morning. I’m sure she assumed I wasn’t there, and normally I wouldn’t be. I teach the early classes, but late last night I knew I’d rather spend the early morning hours in bed next to Mia. I texted one of my trainers before I fell asleep and he agreed to cover for me.

  The location of my uncle’s job site only adds to the temptation, considering I’m only a few floors beneath the woman consuming my every thought. We’re close to finishing this job so it’s a bare bones crew with Jesse while Carl starts another project across town. I’m not sure I could deal with his asshole dictatorship crap this week, so I appreciate the break.

  Putting thoughts of Mia out of my head the best I can, I push through the next two days of work. Long days and even longer nights, because even though we’ve only spent one evening together, it’s not enough.

  By the time Tuesday night rolls around I’m more than looking forward to my training session with Mia. It’s all I can think about, including about a dozen different ways that involve my lips tracing every inch of her body. Still, she’s been known to run so when she steps inside South Side a good ten minutes after my boys have left for the night, I’m surprised.

  “You showed.” I arch my brows.

  “It’s Tuesday, isn’t it?” She shrugs and peels off her jacket as I lock up the front door.

  “I wasn’t sure, after—”

  She holds up one hand. “Look, let’s not do this. If you want to end our sessions, I’ll go now.” Glancing away, she grabs her jacket and starts for the exit.

  “Mia, stop.” I stand in front of the still-locked door so she can’t pass without physically moving me out of the way. My brow lifts and I fight the smile on my lips. “I wasn’t sure if you were coming because you were late. I didn’t think you did that.”

  “Well, I am human.” She puffs out a breath. “And the Blue Line was having mechanical difficulties.”

  Before she can say another word I take one step forward and rest my hand on her hip. “I’m not interested in ending anything between us. Besides, we still have a bet to finish.”

  “Hmm, that’s what you think—” She clucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth and a slight smile plays at the edge of her lips.

  “Don’t even joke, Zombie Girl. Remember, I know where you live.”

  She shakes her head and laughs. “You don’t know which apartment is mine.”

  “I’m persistent when I need to be. I’d figure it out.”

  “Fine. Whatever.” She stomps back over to the row of chairs and drops her jacket and bag, and unzips her boots before following me to the mats.

  “You ready to get started?”

  “This is the part where I’m supposed to say I was born ready?” she sasses.

  My lips pull up with a smile. “Let’s play a game.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “Trust me?” I raise one eyebrow.

  “With that look? Hell, no.”

  “Come on, Mia. It’ll be fun. I promise.”

  “Ha! I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “You’re getting really good at this. Remember the advanced moves we went over last week? I want you to try them again. Repetition is everything. Your body needs to remember how to act without your brain having to think about it. I’m going to come at you, just like we’ve done before, but this time with a little extra challenge. You block me or get out of my hold, and you win the round. I capture you in a hold, I win.”

  “Sounds easy enough. What are we competing for?”

  Her mind is right where mine is. God, I like this woman. “Kisses.”

  “That’s stupid. I’m out.” Her eyes roll and she huffs out a breath.

  “Hold up. That’s only for each round I win. Don’t you want to know what you get?”

  “I hope it’s better than some stupid kiss.”

  “It sure is.” My smile holds but my entire body warms with what I have in store. “I make you come. With my mouth.”

  “In here?” Now she looks partially alarmed, her brow rising as her glance darts around the gym.

  “Oh, that’s the other caveat. Lights off.” I wink and jog over to the switches to blanket the space in darkness.

  “Matt . . .” It’s a warning and I get it. She’s not into this. Yet.

  “You ready? Because I’m coming for you in three . . . two . . . one . . .” Last time we practiced more realistic scenarios Mia panicked, but this time she doesn’t need a reminder. I grab for her wrists and she escapes easily. I try to take her from behind, but she doesn’t give me her back. Finally, I resort to charging her body with mine, only I soften the fall by rolling us so we land on my back.

  “Gotcha,” I say and, cupping her chin with my palm, pull her down for a sweet kiss. Before I can release her, Mia pulls away and stands.

  “That wasn’t fair. I got out twice before you could pin me. That’s two for me.” God, I love her competitive nature.

  “Nope, that doesn’t count. Let’s go again.”

  “I see how it is. You make the rules and call the shots.” Her scoff meets me through the darkness and I can see the outline of her frown thanks to the streetlights through the window.

  “Well, it is my game.” I let a chuckle escape my lips, and before she can complain I reach out to try and trap her arm. Deflected. Again and again. I advance and she retreats. Fuck if she’s not getting me hot with her badass skills. I’ve only been her instructor for a few weeks but she’s soaked in every bit of information. I’m so damn impressed.

  Finally, I catch her in a hold, once again on the ground where her body can’t quite compete with my size. Technically I win, but really, we both know I’m not winning until I taste her cum on my mouth.

  Of course I claim my kiss first, if only because I know it irritates her. “I won,” I whisper and my lips brush against hers. She tries to pull away so I stop. “What? Not a fan of kissing?”

  “Actually, no.” The skin between her eyebrows crinkles with her scowl, and even though it’s dim inside, my eyes adjust to see through the ambient light.

  “Challenge accepted.” My lips brush chastely against hers.

  “Oh, I’m pretty set in my ways when it comes to swapping spit,” she says so I move my lips to the side of her face, where I know they’ll be better appreciated.

  “Allow me to sway the jury, or at the very least give it my best shot,” I murmur against her earlobe. Her body shudders with the movement and I trail more kisses down her throat until I find the valley between her breasts.

  “I guess there’s nothing wrong with that.” She threads her fingers in my hair.

  I pause to look at her. “Just call me the little engine that could.”

  “I’m absolutely certain no woman in her right mind would use the word little to describe anything about you.” She giggles and squirms as I pull her shirt up. With my lips I trace imaginary lines on her skin, from her rib cage and across her navel to the opposite hip.

  “Why Mia, that’s awfully naughty of you.” I nuzzle my face under the waistband of her jeans, wishing they were already off.

  Her grip tightens in my hair. “Maybe you should shut up and teach me a lesson.”

  “Hell, yeah.” My fingers undo the button and zipper of her jeans and I sit up enough to drag them off her body, along with her panties. I’m still wearing my workout shorts but I don’t remove them because this is all about her pleasure. I’m determined to get her off several times before chasing my own release. Not at all in a rush, I take my time kissing down the inside of one thigh, enjoying the way she tries to hold still but can’t quite manage it, and those breathy little moans that leave her throat when my face meets the sensitive flesh of her center.

  “Just so we
’re clear, this is not a date.” She pushes up to her elbows and looks down at me as I begin to eat her out. It only takes a few moments before her head falls back with pleasure and her moans overpower the assault my mouth makes against her slick folds.

  I swipe my tongue back and forth over her bundle of nerves until she calls my name aloud, and only then do I lift my head. I blow softly against her center until she meets my eyes. “Oh, Mia. When it’s a date, you’ll know.”

  What is wrong with me? I apparently have less self-control than a zombie on the hunt for fresh meat. Last night I went to the gym determined to keep things casual. That or call the whole thing off, but instead . . . Instead, I allowed Matt to pleasure me with his mouth until I came a record breaking number of times before he sank inside and fucked me right there in the middle of his gym.

  Again. What is wrong with me?

  I’m pondering this very troubling thought as I sit at my desk and try to make my way through a mountain of code before it’s time to break for lunch. A quick glance at the screen tells me that’s still hours away. My cell buzzes from the top of my desk and I readily swipe it off the surface, thankful for a momentary reprieve. Shit. How does he know I’m thinking about him?

  Matt: Lunch Saturday? You have time?

  Do I have time? Of course I have the time, and even if I didn’t I’d make it work for him. That’s the thought that has my stomach coiling into a thousand knots. When did this happen? I wasn’t going to be that girl. The one who gets a little thrill every time her man invites her out. Not that Matt’s my man. Fuck! Even my brain can’t keep that straight. This is already a horrible cluster fuck. I should text him and say no, thank you. Cut things off now while I still can. Before hurt feelings and disappointments are involved.

  As if they aren’t already.

  Matt: It doesn’t have to be a date. Unless you want it to be.

  That right there has my fingers frozen and unable to reply with a witty response. Is he being funny or making fun of me? I don’t know why I have an impulsive need to clarify when we’re on one of those stupid bet dates and when we’re not. I just do. Is this his way of letting me know he’d rather let our relationship devolve into a string of booty calls, or is he really letting me call the shots? I growl, a full on frustrated groan, because this . . . This right here is exactly why I don’t know how to function in a relationship.