by Aly Martinez
Who was that woman? Even from the first moment when I arrived, I could tell something was different with her. She stood taller, smiled more, and she wasn’t apologizing for everything. She didn’t look defeated. No. This version of Riley was full of life. She was, well…beautiful.
I can’t begin to tell you what a turn-on it was to see her stand up to Dave. It kills me to know there is a layer of pain hiding under this woman. I wanted to help her the minute I met her, but it appears I was all wrong about what kind of help she needed. Tonight, hopefully, I can give her that—just a little confidence in her own abilities to protect herself.
Self-defense isn’t a one-stop shop that will make her invincible, but I’m hoping I can light a fire inside her to maybe explore this further. It doesn’t hurt that I’ll have to touch her while we do it. While I think that may make me an asshole, I can live with that fact. I would never hurt her, but I wouldn’t mind making her come a time or twelve. Yeah, that absolutely makes me an asshole, but I’m still okay with it.
I’m an introvert—and that is being generous—but I can’t wait for her to get here tonight. It’s an unusual feeling at best. The absurdity in this level of excitement at seeing a woman I barely know isn’t lost on me. I may not be weak or insecure, but the struggle I see in Riley’s eyes is oddly familiar. It draws me to her, but it took seeing her as a woman and not a victim in need of rescue for me to realize it.
So today, I have pulled out all the stops. First, I called an out-of-town athletics supply store and ordered the mats. I ended up paying more for immediate delivery than the actual mats, but whatever. Then I ordered conservative takeout from my favorite restaurant. Or at least that is what I paid the delivery boy to say when he shows up. I actually hired him to put ridiculously expensive Italian food from the best restaurant in a fifty-mile radius into cheap takeout boxes and bring it over at eight.
Okay, so maybe that isn’t all the stops, but it’s more than Adam would ever be able to realistically do. I’m not going to push my luck. I still have no plans to tell her who I am. I don’t think she would rush out and tell the tabloids or anything. Hell, if Dave hasn’t done it by now, I’m sure Riley wouldn’t either. But I’m really fucking enjoying being broke-ass Adam Andrews—boxer wannabe who is down on his luck, just trying to get his head straight.
At 6:01, there is a knock at my door. Not that I was watching the clock or peeking through the window or anything. What the hell is wrong with me?
"Hey," she greets as soon as I pull open the door.
Her eyes are unfortunately brown as she looks up at me with a nervous smile playing on her lips. And like a jackass, I watch her mouth for a beat too long. I have a feeling that being forward isn’t going to help me at all with this woman.
I wait for her to shyly look down. But not this Riley. She bites her lip to restrain a smile and says, "You’re wearing sweats again."
"Ah, yeah. Sorry. My three-piece suit was at the cleaners," I tease, and this time, she really does look away, but it might be for the best because her bright smile is blinding even from this angle. "And I have to note you’re wearing sweats too."
"Mine are pink though. So it’s okay," she says matter-of-factly.
"I’ll keep that in mind next time I head to the mall." I push the door wide for her to enter, and she does a quick glance over her shoulder before walking inside.
"Um, not any trouble, huh?" She looks around my apartment at all my furniture precariously shoved into every spare inch of the room while thick, blue wresting mats cover the floor.
"None at all." I smile, but she doesn’t seem convinced.
"These are new."
"They're on loan," I answer, and it’s not a lie. I fully intend to donate them to the local high school as soon as we're done.
"So what now? Do I try to tackle you and then you fall unconvincingly to the ground under my slightest touch?"
"No. Now we talk. I know you are a little…timid. But I’m not going to go easy on you tonight. I wouldn’t be a good teacher if I did. So I will be mindful of your emotions, but I want you to remember that I’m only trying to help. I don’t want to scare you, but if someone truly attacks you, they aren’t going to coddle you."
She nods her head and immediately looks back toward the door. I don’t think she is really considering leaving, but judging by the look on her face, she definitely wants to escape.
"Do you think you can you trust me?"
"I don’t know. I want to say yes, but the moment you pin me to that mat, I’ll probably lose it," she says with a sad smile that causes her eyes to water.
Her answer doesn’t break my heart; it pisses me the fuck off. Who the hell pinned her somewhere, and where can I find them to destroy their life? Maybe I don’t want to know this stuff about this woman. I’d rather focus on her smile and how amazing her ass looks in those yoga pants.
"Then I won’t pin you," I respond casually as if an inferno of rage isn’t burning inside me.
"I think I’ll be okay then." She nods, but her eyes are screaming otherwise.
"What about my touch? Any areas I should know about that will set you off?" Her eyes go wide and she takes an immediate step back. "I don’t mean anything sexual," I quickly clarify. "I just mean your arms, shoulders, legs, or even ankles. Riley, I don’t want to accidentally hit a trigger of yours, so please just tell me where not to go. This isn’t going to be a free-for-all by any stretch of the imagination, but I will have to touch you. I need to know if there is any place that is off-limits for you. Like, if I grab your ankle to move your foot into a better position, would that be an issue?"
Is this the normal round of questioning during a class? Hell no! However, what I’m about to show her isn’t your run-of-the-mill self-defense class either. And above and beyond all of that, I really want to know her personal boundaries.
"Um. My ankles are fine, but maybe not above my knees—like my thighs," she says so quietly that it’s barely audible.
God damn it! I have to remind myself that I wanted to know this, but a million different scenarios about what someone could have done to this woman’s thighs sends fire through my veins.
"Hang on. I’ll be right back," I say roughly while heading to the bathroom in order to collect myself.
I shouldn’t have asked. I’m a freaking masochist for torturing myself like this. I’m also curious and, for some reason, utterly drawn to her. I could have done this little lesson by the book, but I want her to feel safe. I’m reasonably sure Dave has taught her the basics, but I want to give her more than that. Riley is stronger than she thinks she is, and I want to show her that. I want to renew the strength that her ex took from her.
I have absolutely zero tolerance for any man laying a hand on a woman. I know a lot of that is because of the difficult situation in which I grew up, but I hope that, even if I had grown up under different circumstances, I would still feel the same way. I fight for a living. I get paid millions of dollars to punch a man to the point where he is no longer able to continue standing. But my opponents step into the ring willingly and with full knowledge of what is about to happen. He will have a similar paycheck in his back pocket and the exact same goal I have. I don’t hit him out of anger or dominance, and at the end of the fight, no matter who the victor may be, there are no hard feelings.
Men who physically, mentally, or emotionally abuse women, are the ones who really deserve to look into my eyes from across the ring. Solving violence with violence may not be the best course of action to end the cycle, but it would definitely make me sleep a little sounder at night. If I ever find this so-called ex-boyfriend of Riley’s, I cannot be held responsible for what I might do to him. I don’t even know what really happened to her, but I hate him all the same.
I splash some water over my face and get myself back into the right mindset. "This is for her, you dumbass. Get it together," I whisper to myself in the mirror before going back out to face her. I find her sitting Indian style in the middle of the
mat, inspecting her fingernails. "Hey," I say softly so as not to scare her. "You ready?"
"Am I allowed to say no?" she asks, surprising me.
"Absolutely. I won’t force you to do anything. I’m only trying to help."
She looks at me for a few seconds before pushing to her feet and dusting imaginary dirt from her pants. "I’m ready. Teach me, oh great one!" she says with a teasing smile.
For the next ninety minutes, I teach Riley numerous defensive techniques. Some she picks up fast and some she bumbles completely, but no matter what, she keeps trying. What starts as a simple clinical session quickly turns into something totally different. Riley sheds her protective shell, exposing an unexpected fierce and raw side to her. Her every move is planned and calculated, and behind the contacts, I can see her determination.
It’s by far the sexiest thing I have seen in my entire life.
For those moments while we are moving against each other on the mat or when she is blocking my false attacks, she truly comes alive. Gone is the victim, and in her place is the shadow of a warrior. If I wasn’t interested in Riley before, I’m awestruck by her now.
"Shit," I cuss when her leg sweeps mine, catching me off guard. I’ve given her a few dramatic falls before now, but this is one hundred percent real—and completely worth it as she lets out a loud laugh and falls to the mat beside me.
I watch as she loses herself in hysterical laughter, rolling from side to side in a show so spectacular that nothing could ever drag my attention away. God, this woman is incredible. She must catch me staring because she suddenly sobers and settles on her side to face me. She’s a good two feet away, and I’ve never hated personal space more. I want nothing more than to reach out and touch her. Slide my hands over her white, exposed flesh or glide them over the small curve of her waist and up to her breasts, where her peaked nipples are showing through her thin sports bra. Most of all, I want to trace my tongue over her plump, pink lips and into her—
Luckily, the knock at the door stops me before I can make an actual move.
"Are you expecting someone?" She immediately jumps to her feet. I watch as, before my own eyes, she transforms back into the frightened woman I met a few nights ago.
"Hey." I reach out to grab her arm, but before I even have a chance, her hand nervously grips my forearm. I look down, and she’s squeezing me so tight that her knuckles are beginning to turn white. It doesn’t burn like when most people touch me—but it sizzles all the same. "It’s okay, beautiful. I ordered takeout."
I move my arm from her grasp, but only so I can loop it around her waist and pull her to against me. I expected her to be stiff from such an overt gesture, but she immediately relaxes into my side. Riley is small but not tiny. I’m six foot four, and she fits perfectly tucked into my side. My hand rests on her lower back, and it takes all the restraint I can possibly gather not to naturally slide it over to her ass.
"You like Italian right?" I ask, looking down into her camouflaged eyes.
"Yeah," she confirms in a shaky voice.
"Good, because I ordered a ton." I smile reassuringly.
And instead of the smile I was hoping for in return, she quickly steps away.
"Sweet mother of Italian food. That was amazing," Riley says, rubbing her flat stomach. "You have to give me the name of this place."
Dinner was a hit. Listening to Riley moaning to herself with every bite was pretty much excruciating. Thank God there was a table between us, because I’m not sure how else I would have been able to hide my hard-on. It wasn’t just her moans that sent blood sprinting toward my cock. The way she leaned forward to eat the pasta gave me a generous view of her cleavage. I tried not to stare, but Jesus fucking Christ. Thankfully she never caught my glances. Or at least I don’t think she did.
The conversation flowed easily between us, and the woman who panicked when she heard the knock at the door quickly faded away. After our brief moment of closeness, Riley has unfortunately kept her distance. It sucks, but I’ll change things soon enough. One touch was enough to hook me.
"It’s my favorite, " I reply, placing my napkin on the table.
"I can’t remember the last time I had food that good."
"You didn’t even taste the gnocchi either. It’s unbelievable."
"Well I was going to taste the gnocchi, but by the time I unfolded my napkin you were already licking the bowl."
"Oh shut up. I offered you a bite at least twice."
"Yes, but something in your eye made me believe you would have literally snapped at my hand if I’d tried to snag a piece."
I bust out laughing, but she remains humorously silent. Only the hint of a smile gives away her attempt at being serious.
"So how do you feel now?"
"Stuffed."
"No, I mean after what I taught you tonight. Do you feel a little better?"
Her smile immediately falls and her shoulders tense. "Oh, um… Yeah. I think I do."
"Why don’t you come back tomorrow? We can go over some more stuff." I reach across the table and casually touch her hand. It’s meant to be encouraging, but she still pulls away.
"Yeah, I don’t know about tomorrow. But…um, maybe later this week. When do you have to give the mats back?" she asks, standing to clear the table.
"I have them on indefinite loan." I take the plates from her hands.
"Oh. Well. Sure. I’ll look at my calendar. Let me take care of those before I leave."
"No. I’ve got it. A beautiful woman recently taught me a trick about letting them soak." I wink, and her eyes go wide at my compliment.
She tries to change the subject, but as always, her smile is obvious. "I should go. It’s getting late."
"You sure you don’t want to stay and watch Vision Quest? We never finished it the other night."
"Nah. Tonight isn’t a Vision Quest night. Sixteen Candles, maybe. But definitely not Vision Quest." She giggles to herself. Just as I begin to ask what she is laughing about, she looks up at me with the most amazing twinkle of truth in her eyes. "Thanks for tonight, Adam. I had a lot of fun."
I don’t know how to respond without pulling her against me and kissing her roughly. However, I need to touch her. I reach out and gently stroke her forearm. She doesn’t back away and her eyes hold my gaze.
"Riley," I whisper, taking a step closer.
Her eyes heat, but she doesn’t respond. I take her silence as my signal to continue. I carefully grab her hip, pulling her toward me. She sways, but her feet don’t budge. I take it upon myself to close the distance between us. She sucks in a shaky breath as she rests her hands on my chest. We continue staring until, finally, her eyes flash to my mouth.
I can’t take this anymore.
I slowly lean in, giving her every opportunity to back away, but she remains still and unmoving. Her tongue darts out to dampen her lips, and that’s my cue. I brush my lips over hers, but at the last second, she turns her head and buries her face in my chest.
"I’m sorry," she whispers. "Shit. Shit. Shit."
"Don’t be sorry. It’s okay." I run my hands reassuringly over her back.
"I need to go. Like now." She pulls away and darts out the door.
"Riley, wait!" I follow. "It’s not a big deal!" I tell her back as she sprints inside her apartment, closing the door behind her. "Come on, Riley." I knock, but she doesn’t respond. "Damn it," I mutter to myself.
What the fuck just happened?
"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." I stand with my head in my hands, thinking to myself that Adam Andrews might be the best reason we have ever had to pick up and move.
"What the hell are you doing?" Dave asks from the couch.
"He tried to kiss me," I answer, still in a daze.
"And?"
"And he tried to kiss me!" I shriek, suddenly snapping out of it.
"You didn’t want to kiss him? Because I have to be honest, you’ve been throwing off all the signals. Hell, I even caught them, Riley. And let me just tell you, that
was awkward," he says sarcastically.
"No. I mean, yes. Shit, I don’t know," I answer, and he gives me the who-the-hell-do-you-think-you-are-kidding look. "Fine, I do. I just didn’t expect him to want to kiss me. Shit, I panicked. I wasn’t prepared for that. Oh, God, he is going to think I’m even weirder now. Do you think I should apologize to him?" I rush out at a mile a minute.
"Where’s the wine Adam brought over last night?" he asks out of the blue.
"In the kitchen. Why?"
"Come on. We’re drinking." He grabs my hand and pulls me over to the bar stool at the counter.
"No, we are not!"
"Oh, yes, we are! When was the last time you had a drink?" he asks, grabbing the wine from beside the fridge. We don’t even have a corkscrew to open it with, so I’m intrigued as to how he is going to pull this off.
"A while," I answer while he scrambles around the kitchen, snatching open drawers and plundering through them.
"Do we have one of those little corkscrew thingies?"
"No. Which is precisely why we aren’t drinking."
He shrugs. "Desperate times." He heads to his toolbox in the corner of the pantry and comes back carrying a screwdriver. "No spare cork. I guess we’ll have to drink it all." He winks.
"What?" I ask, confused, just seconds before he uses the screwdriver to push the entire cork into the bottle.
He pours wine into one of our regular plastic cups and places it in front me. "Drink."
"Nope. Not happening." I push the cup away.
"Why not?" he asks then takes a sip. I can’t even begin to explain how much I wish for a camera when he makes the most wretched face as he swallows. "Sweet hell. That shit is terrible." He gags as I burst into laughter.
"I’m not drinking," I manage to get out between laughs.
"Yes, you are."
"Jesus, I’m going to bed." I turn to walk away, but he gently stops me before I can make my retreat.
"I want you to drink because I think you need to do something ridiculous and irrational. Something stupid that will probably make you hate yourself tomorrow but will bring you the highest of highs in the meantime. Because that is what normal people do. They make stupid choices without thinking them through for months at a time. Riley, I want you to fucking live. I’m sick of watching you make the right decisions and smart choices that only keep you down and feed your fears. Screw up, babe. Make a God damn mistake and feel it." He takes a breath and shakes his head at me. "Drink the fucking wine and go kiss that man. Hell, have sex with him. He likes you. And, Riley, you are not always the most likeable person." He tries to close with a joke, but it makes my eyes water. Okay, fine—it makes me cry big, fat, ugly tears.
