“If I didn’t talk,” I said, pushing up once again, “I’d go insane.”
I squeezed out the last few push ups, and then did one more after Riker told me I could stop, just to show him he hadn’t beaten me.
After two weeks of training sessions with Riker, I was in the best shape of my life. In fact, I was in the best shape of quite a few people’s lives.
The lethargy that I’d carried with me throughout most of college had disappeared, and I’d become one of those annoying people who looked forward to working out. Mom would have been appalled.
Riker pushed me harder each time, and it wasn’t unusual for me to feel sick at the end of each session. That meant it had been a good workout. Apparently.
The sessions were a lot of fun, and not just just because I enjoyed learning to fight. Riker was a great teacher and, much to my surprise, a decent person. I’d been so willing to think the worst of him after his shitty comment about my inheritance—which was nowhere near as substantial as he appeared to think—that I’d lumped him in with all the other musclebound meatheads I’d known over the years.
People covered in tattoos, and with muscles visible from space, typically only cared about number one. They would rather look at themselves in the mirror than listen to you talk about your day. And God, they were selfish as hell in bed. There was a reason I went for intellectual men, and not just the best looking ones.
Riker didn’t fit the stereotype at all. I didn’t know what he was like in bed, but I knew what he could do up against a kitchen counter and that was enough. Not that I planned to go there again. That would be a truly terrible idea. Awful. Definitely must not do that.
“What next, sensei?” I asked, jumping up to my feet and trying to look full of energy. My legs still had some strength left in them, but my arms were like jelly.
“Let’s practice those kicks. You’re flexible, but you need to work on your balance when your legs are in the air.”
No kidding. We hadn’t had a session yet where I hadn’t tried to swing a kick and ended up falling flat on my ass.
“I’m fine with my legs in the air,” I replied, “but usually I’m lying on my back at the time.”
Riker grinned as he put some pads on his hands and held them down by his sides for me to kick. “Start with the right and then alternate legs.”
I lifted my right leg into the air and then straightened my knee, slamming my foot into the pad with all the energy I could muster. I should try to save my strength, but Riker knew when I was holding back and demanded I give it my all from the first kick.
“Did you watch that show I told you about last night?” I asked. Talking helped pass the time and take my mind off the pain that built up in my muscles over the course of an hour’s session.
“No,” Riker replied. “I told you, I don’t watch that crap.”
“Not all reality TV shows are crap.”
“I’ve yet to find one that isn’t.”
“That’s because you won’t watch any of them.” I tried to catch my breath, but that was getting harder and harder. My balance was always the first thing to go when I started getting tired, so now every kick was becoming shaky and misplaced. “What did you do last night? Or don’t I want to know?”
Riker hadn’t opened up much about what he did in his free time, and at first I’d just assumed that was because he was a private person. Now I worried that he was just sparing me the sordid details.
Why did that worry me? He was a good-looking, single man. He could do what and who he wanted in his spare time. We’d fucked once. It had been fun, but we wouldn’t be doing it again. I couldn’t possibly take issue with him sleeping with other women. That would be entirely unreasonable, and I wasn’t an unreasonable person.
Riker must have a whole network of ring girls and fitness fanatics at his beck and call, not to mention all those women who threw themselves at him—literally—after the group training sessions. It was painful to watch, but none of them ever seemed to get anywhere with him.
“I read a book,” Riker replied.
His response came mid-kick, and took me by surprise. My body straightened, and my leg went sailing past the mat, hitting nothing but air. It was that part of the training session again.
I tried to plant the leg and regain my balance, but it wasn’t going to happen. I ended up twisting my left ankle, and went down on the floor in a heap.
“Get up,” Riker commanded. “You’re not done yet.”
“You know, a gentleman would ask if I was okay.”
“Good luck finding one of them around here.”
He did at least extend a hand, and pulled me effortlessly up to my feet.
“You read a book?” I asked, hoping to distract him long enough to recover a bit of energy.
“Is that really so hard to believe?”
“You just don’t strike me as the type to sit down quietly and read. No offense.”
“I’m taking a substantial amount of offense actually,” Riker responded. “What do you expect me to do at night?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Watch UFC fights. Action movies. Sports.” Fuck beautiful women.
“I don’t like watching UFC. I want to be in it one day, but I don’t like watching it at the moment. There are fighters in that competition who anger me. Anyway, you shouldn’t stereotype people.”
“True, but I bet you’ve done the same with me.” Riker remained silent, but I saw enough guilt in his eyes to know that I was right. “Come on, what did you think of me?”
“I thought you were the type of girl who watches trashy TV, and spends more time talking than training. So far, I’m right on both counts.”
I quickly swung out my right leg and kicked the pad that Riker still had on his hand. I made perfect contact, but the impact took him by surprise and he stumbled backwards.
He recovered in time for my second kick. This time I did stay silent. We didn’t speak again until the end of the session.
“What was the book?” I asked at the end. “Fair warning, if you tell me it’s Emily Brontë I might fall over again.
He looked slightly surprised to hear me talk to him. He probably thought I was going to sulk all evening about his comment, but we were probably even. Besides, I didn’t hold a grudge.
“No, can’t say I’m into Brontë. I don’t read many novels at all actually. I’m reading a true crime story. Former police detective who writes stories about his old cases.”
“Oh. That actually sounds interesting. I watch those shows on TV all the time, and I read detective novels.”
“I’m not a huge fan of the novels,” Riker replied. “I just find that they’re a bit far-fetched. Real police investigations are interesting enough most of the time; I don’t see the need to dramatically embellish them.”
“Mom used to say the exact same thing about legal thrillers. She said that even in books written by lawyers, the portrayal of lawyers is absolute nonsense. It used to drive her nuts when she saw me reading them.”
“That’s how I feel about the crime stories. I’ve been through the legal system, and spent my time in prison. I can’t read stories that get all the important details wrong.”
I still couldn’t wrap my head around Riker being in prison. He looked the part, that was for sure, but the more I spoke to him, the more far-fetched it seemed. Riker wouldn’t try to kill anyone.
If he wanted to kill, he wouldn’t fail.
“Mom used to hate how quickly things moved in television shows about lawyers,” I explained. “Real cases take an eternity to complete, with both parties filing pointless motions and taking the full amount of time allowed to reply to the most basic questions.”
“Yeah, I can attest to that. Lawyers like nothing more than to sit on things.”
I grabbed my towel from the floor and wiped the sweat from my face while Riker tidied up. He was disciplined, and it didn’t take much to work out where he got that from.
“What’s the one thing
television always gets wrong about prison?” I asked.
Riker kept tidying up as if he hadn’t heard me or was ignoring me. When he was finished he turned to look at me. “Visitations,” Riker said simply. “On television, the inmates always get regular visits from friends and family.”
“That doesn’t happen in real life?”
Riker shrugged. “For some, yeah, I guess. But even those with devoted families start getting ignored after a while. Most people don’t have anyone at all. That gets to you after a while.”
Duke was the closest thing Riker had to a family, but they hadn’t met until after Riker had been released. I didn’t have to ask Riker if he’d been one of the people without any friends or family. I knew the answer.
“What does television get right about prison?” I asked. “They must have consultants. It can’t all be a load of crap.”
“Violence,” Riker replied tersely. “In prison, inmates fight and it gets nasty. People get beaten, and there are weapons involved. The guards don’t give a shit.”
Yet again, his answer came from personal experience. You’d have to be a little insane to pick a fight with a guy like Riker. No wonder weapons had been involved. A fist fight would be no contest.
I went to stand up, but my legs only had enough energy left in them to push my ass an inch up into the air, before collapsing back down again.
Riker offered me a hand. I placed my tiny—and still sweaty—palm in his mammoth hand and let him heave me back up onto my feet.
My legs hadn’t been strong enough to push me up, and they weren’t strong enough to keep me standing either. I staggered forward on my jelly legs, heading to the floor again, until Riker grabbed hold of my other wrist and held me up long enough for my legs to remember their primary function in life.
Eventually I stood upright, but Riker kept a tight hold of me by one hand and a wrist. If music were playing we could break out into some ballroom dancing.
“You okay?” Riker asked softly. We were close enough that I could feel his breath on my face as we spoke.
I nodded, purposefully looking into his eyes as I did so. If I stared at his glistening muscles for too long, my body’s needs would overcome my brain before I knew it. Unfortunately, his eyes had even more effect on me than his chest.
Looking at his body made me think of the uncomplicated, sweaty, passionate sex we’d had a few weeks ago. I needed more of that, but at least my brain knew that wasn’t a good idea in the long run. His eyes spoke to my brain and made it have second thoughts. That was dangerous.
My legs worked just fine now, but I let him continue holding me until finally he snapped out of it and let go abruptly.
“See you tomorrow then,” he snapped, and walked back towards the locker rooms, leaving me with my arms still outstretched in the same position, as if I were now dancing with a ghost.
I had a change of clothes and a towel to shower after class, but right now I just wanted to get out into the cool night air as soon as possible, even if that meant walking home in my gym clothes.
I made it five feet from the exit when I heard Gayle call out my name from Duke’s office. I should have just kept walking and pretended I didn’t hear her, but Gayle wasn’t exactly the quiet type. When she wanted your attention, she usually got it.
I wandered slowly over the office, and found Duke and Gayle sat inside doing very little work as usual. This place must run itself, because I rarely saw either of them do much in the way of management.
“How’s the training going?” Duke asked.
“It’s tough,” I replied. “And it never seems to get any easier.”
“That’s because Riker’s a good teacher. If it ever gets easier then he’s not doing his job properly. I’ll make sure he doesn’t go soft on you.”
“I don’t think Riker will be going soft on her,” Gayle said with a grin. “Not if what I saw out there was anything to go by.”
My cheeks were already a bright red from the training session, but if it were possible for them to get any redder then they just did.
Did Gayle think Riker was interested in me? That wasn’t the impression I’d gotten at all. I’d been the one looking at him like a love-struck teenager, whereas he couldn’t get away quick enough.
“Am I missing something?” Duke asked.
“Yes,” Gayle replied. “A lot. I’ll write you a list one day. Have you watched those two train?”
“Sure. Nora’s coming along well.”
“How is my form?” I asked, desperate to get the conversation away from any attraction Riker might have towards me, or vice versa. I wanted to ask Gayle what she’d seen to give her that impression, but then my own attraction to Riker would be obvious.
“It’s getting better as you get fitter,” Duke replied. “Riker’s teaching you the correct way to punch, block, kick, and all that lovely stuff, but it’s hard to keep that up when your body’s tired. You’re good for about three-quarters of each lesson. That’s a big improvement from the first few.”
“Riker’s a great teacher,” I admitted. “I’m just worried I’m taking up too much of his time when he should be training for the fight.”
“Riker’s not complaining,” Duke said.
“No, I bet he’s not,” Gayle said, still grinning. “There’s a lot Riker could teach you if you let him.”
“Alright, spit it out,” Duke said. “What’s going on here?”
“Haven’t you seen the way those two look at each other?” Gayle asked as if I weren’t standing there in the room with her.
“I’m too busy examining her technique,” Duke replied.
“And what was all that about at the end?” Gayle asked, turning her attention back to me.
“What do you mean?” I asked innocently.
“When you ‘accidentally’ fell and let him catch you.”
“I did fall,” I pleaded. “My legs were still weak after training.”
“I’m not sure I like where this is going,” Duke said.
“Sorry, dear,” Gayle replied. “You don’t get to start being the protective father now. If the two of them want to have a little fun, that’s up to them.”
“I definitely don’t like where this is going,” Duke mumbled.
“I’m just learning how to fight,” I insisted. “That’s all it is.”
“Okay, dear,” Gayle said, before winking at me. “If you say so. But if you ever want to learn to fight with a little more privacy then just let us know. We’ll close the gym early.”
“We fucking well won’t,” Duke yelled.
I got the distinct impression that despite owning the gym, Duke only got to make decisions when those decisions happened to coincide with what Gayle wanted anyway.
I asked Duke a few more questions about my technique just so I didn’t walk out of there with them still arguing about my relationship with Riker. If they’d noticed it, how many other people had as well? We could be the gossip of the gym for all I knew.
Not that I cared. This would all be over in a few weeks. Then I’d start preparing for my job, and this weird experience would be firmly in my past.
The lessons with Riker had messed with my head and made me into a confused mess, but I couldn’t deny feeling a hell of a lot better. In addition to feeling fitter, I could now walk around with more confidence, especially at night.
I wasn’t naive enough to think I could take on any attacker, especially if they were armed, but I did pack a punch—and a kick—that would surprise people given my size.
I started to understand why Riker kept in such good shape. The confidence was like a drug. In just a few weeks, I’d gone from dreading the lessons, to looking forward to them.
Unfortunately, that had as much to do with the trainer as the training.
“How do you keep going for hours and never tire?” Nora asked, as she wearily pushed herself to her feet after thirty push ups.
“You’re not the first woman to ask me that.”
“Riker Clyne, was that a joke?”
“I’ve been known to make them occasionally.”
We only had a week left of training, and I was dreading the end. I’d gone from finding the sessions an inconvenience to them being the highlight of the day.
Nora had come on in such leaps and bounds that it was now worth me joining in with her when she was doing push ups, burpees, and skipping. Nora went the extra mile when we were competing. She definitely had a competitive streak in her, but she was still a little way from being able to outpace me. I admired her for trying though.
I’d never known anyone to look so glamorous when covered in sweat. Beads of salty water dripped down her neck, and ran down the crevice between her breasts before disappearing out of sight. I shouldn’t have been looking anyway, but the view was mesmerizing and I didn’t think she’d noticed.
“What crap are you watching on television tonight?” I asked, as she patted herself down with a towel at the end of the session.
Our main topic of conversation was always what we were doing in the evening. Every time, I thought it might be an opportunity to spend time with her outside of the gym, but she never showed any interest in spending time with me after class. Nora seemed to be quite happy with nights alone in front of the television.
“What makes you think I’m just watching TV?” Nora replied. “I could have a hot date.”
That’s what I’m afraid of.
“Do you?” I asked, trying to sound like an inquiring friend, and not a jealous admirer.
“Well, no, but you didn’t know that.”
How did this woman not have a constant stream of men lining up to take her out? She was everyone’s type. Pretty, cute, kind, funny, and determined. I couldn’t imagine what straight guy wouldn’t want her.
Maybe that was the problem. So many men chased after her that she found the whole thing rather boring and rejected everyone, waiting for the perfect guy to come along and sweep her off her feet.
The more I thought back to our first meeting, the more I realized it was a miracle I got anywhere with her at all. I should just count myself lucky to have gotten that one wild fling with her, but damn it, I wanted more.
Bad Boy's Honor: An MMA Bad Boy Romance Page 8
