Below the Belt

by Skye Warren

  Nicholas looked Abe up and down, from his damp hair, bare chest to loose towel. “What’s this? A little cuddle session?”

  Oh, it would be so sweet to punch him. Abe was already ramped up, and this guy was asking for it. Except that if fighting within the school was bad, fighting between teams would be a goddamn press incident.

  No, Abe wasn’t going to hit him. At least, not off the mats. The guy made a gesture, as vague as it was obscene, and then headed toward the showers.

  Blake tensed. Abe had been in enough scraps with him back when they were kids to know what was coming. Well, he couldn’t let that happen.

  Just to distract him, Abe punched Blake in the arm. Not too hard.

  “Ow. Fuck.” Blake looked offended, as if he hadn’t just been slamming him into the wall. Okay, maybe it had been a little hard.

  “Let it go,” Abe said. “You don’t want to start anything.”

  Blake scowled. “He started it.”

  “And we stopped being ten years old fourteen years ago. Drop it.”

  Abe pushed past him and left the locker room. Rafael looked up from his stretch when he came onto the mats. Abe tried to conceal his limp, but Rafael’s eyes narrowed.

  “Did I do that or did Sa Bum Nim?”

  “Neither,” Abe said, in a tone that told him to drop it.

  Behind him, Blake came out of the locker room. He nodded to Rafael before heading toward the exit.

  Rafael looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Blake start something?”

  “It was nothing. Just leave it alone, okay?”

  Rafael shook his head. “You better take care of yourself, amigo. Just two more days until judgment day.”

  Abe clapped Rafael on the shoulder with more swagger than he felt. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

  Dinner with the guys would only consist of more doomsday warnings. Instead, he went back up to his suite and popped a few ibuprofen. He ate a couple of power bars for dinner, more to keep up his strength than out of hunger. He’d eat something more nutritious for breakfast.

  Abe must have dozed in the armchair because when he opened his eyes it was already dark outside. His knees almost buckled when he tried to stand. God, his knee, his shoulder. He was going to unravel completely before he even got to compete.

  He could always go to the medical center and have them take a look. But he didn’t think it was that serious, and besides, that would mean Sa Bum Nim and everyone else would find out about it. Maybe, too, there was a small part of him that was stung by Blake’s accusation that he was a prima donna, and this would only feed into it.

  Abe gingerly pulled on his sneakers and went downstairs, planning to scrounge up some ice for his knee. If he could get the swelling down, then he could make it to the morning.

  The cafeteria was dark and empty, already closed for the night. A few of the larger facilities stayed open all night. He weighed the benefits of icing his knee versus walking around to get the ice. But since he wasn’t likely to get any sleep this way, he might as well go.

  The streets of downtown Seattle were mostly empty at this time of night, past midnight, with most athletes and their trainers bunking down early. Even the club-goers seemed to have taken it easy.

  The streets glistened in the streetlights from a rain earlier that evening. It was always raining here. Abe didn’t mind Seattle for a visit, but it wasn’t his cup of tea. Not that he had a place in mind. He only stayed where he’d grown up, Nebraska, because that’s where Sa Bum Nim’s school was.

  Once the tournament was over, and with the sponsor money he’d make, he planned to open up his own school. It couldn’t be too near Sa Bum Nim’s school, just from a business perspective, so he could settle down anywhere else that he wanted.

  Down the block from the hotel, at a 24-hour convenience store, Abe picked up a few instant ice packs. He got in line behind a middle-aged woman with short black hair who was checking out. His stomach growled, and he grabbed a candy bar from the side display. So much for nutrition.

  “Did another woman come in earlier?” The woman tapped her fingers on the counter.

  “Ummm. Maybe.” The cashier didn’t look up from the register.

  The woman sighed. “She has my height, same hair, but she’s younger. Green eyes. Maybe thirty minutes ago?” Abe perked up.

  The cashier gave her the woman a once over. “Maybe.”

  The woman sighed again. She picked up her bag from the counter. “Well, if you see her again, tell her that her mom was looking for her.”

  It was a long shot, but Abe had to interject. “Excuse me. The person you’re looking for. Your daughter. Her name wouldn’t happen to be Paris, would it?”

  The woman turned around in surprise. “Yes, actually. Have you seen her?”

  Against his will, his heart sped up. “No, but I know who she is. Is she in trouble or something?”

  “No, nothing like that. She just went out to get some Gatorade for her sister and didn’t come back.” She shook the bag she was holding to illustrate her point.

  “You said she’s been missing thirty minutes. I could help her look for you?”

  “What? Oh, no. I’m sure she just wandered off again. She’s always been like that, flighty. She’ll come back on her own time.”

  “Still, if no one knows where she is…and she doesn’t know this city.” But the woman was already waving him off.

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure she’s fine.” She waved the bag again in farewell. “Got to get these electrolytes into the athlete, you know.”

  She left the store, the door clanging behind her.

  Abe stared after her for a minute, bemused, irritated, then turned and paid for his items. He walked slowly out on the sidewalk. He should head back to his place, ice up, and get some sleep.

  Instead, he passed the hotel and went down the street. He casually scanned the alleyways for people, feeling like an idiot. She clearly didn’t want to him anymore. She was probably just out for her stroll, like her mother had said. Or maybe she was off with some other guy, which made his blood boil just to contemplate. But either way, she wasn’t his responsibility.

  The dark shadows that had seemed quaint and comfortable now appeared menacing, dangerous. What was she doing walking around at night, just for some Gatorade? He was hard and he could fight, but she was soft and vulnerable. When he found her, he’d give her a piece of his mind.

  Someone needed to watch out for her, and her space cadet of a mother sure wasn’t doing the job. It occurred to him that he could be that person, the one to watch out for her and protect her, but he squashed that thought. Or he tried to. After all, he’d already fucked it up. She didn’t want him. And he didn’t need a distraction right now. He didn’t want a responsibility like that, a commitment. That was for other guys, ones who weren’t so driven, or at least to such an insane degree.

  After about a half hour of walking through the wet streets, Abe’s knee was killing him. Paris was probably back in her room already. He wanted to call and find out, but of course he didn’t know her number or even her last name. Because she hadn’t wanted him to. Resigned, he headed back for his place.

  Limping heavily by the time he reached the hotel, he opted to use the elevators for the first time to spare his knee. He hit the button and stood, leaning against the elevator wall.

  The elevator doors parted, and there sitting cross legged in front of his door, was Paris.

  Four

  Paris lifted up her half empty Gatorade bottle in salute. “Hello, friend.”

  Abe’s face was dark, but his blue eyes flashed. He left the elevator slowly. Painfully slow. “What are you doing here?”

  She didn’t really know how to answer that question. Nor did she really want to relate how she’d tracked down his room number with surprisingly good stalker skills. “Why are you walking that way?”

  He unlocked the door. “I asked first.”

  “I came to see you.”

  He held ope
n the door for her but said nothing. She stood up and went inside. The suite looked like her family’s, but smaller.

  “You thirsty?” Paris asked, tipping the Gatorade bottle toward him.

  He shook his head, leaning against the wall. She screwed the top on the bottle and put it in on the counter in the small bar area.

  “So.” She nodded toward his legs. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit. I’ve been training—I mean, I’ve been working with athletes for years. I know an injury when I see one.”

  “It’s not an injury. I just got bruised up. It’s a contact sport. It happens.”

  Paris rolled her eyes. “Sure, tough guy. What’ve you got in the bag?” She took it from him and found the ice packs inside.

  She gave him a look. Told you so.

  He gave her a look back. Bite me.

  She smiled. “Grumpiness. Denial. A classic case. All right. Off to the bed with you.”

  “What?”

  “You need to lie down and put this ice pack on. So, come on.” Paris took his hand and led him into the bedroom.

  He started to lie down fully clothed, on top of the covers, but she stopped him. “You might as well start the way you intend to finish.”

  He raised his eyebrow, eyes twinkling.

  “What I mean is, go ahead and get ready for bed. And get underneath the sheets. When the ice pack runs out, you can just take it off. If you get up after, it will just stress out your injuries again.”

  Thankfully, he didn’t bother contesting his injured status again. After he’d used the restroom and brushed his teeth, he came back out into the bedroom. Hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his pants, he looked at her.

  Paris had taken the ice packs out of the packaging. “Well, go ahead. You don’t have anything I haven’t already seen.” That wasn’t true, actually. Their sex had been fast and dark and mostly clothed, but he didn’t contradict her.

  He slid his pants down to the floor, leaving on his boxers and shirt and slipped under the sheets. It was a quick, impersonal motion, but somehow it felt intimate. As if they weren’t just casual sex partners or friends, but lovers during a bedtime ritual.

  Paris popped one of the ice packs, breaking the spell. Once activated, it cooled almost immediately in her hands. “Where does this go?”

  “My knee.” He reached out his hand for the ice pack.

  “Uh uh.” She held it up away from him, not that he could actually reach while lying down. “I’ll do it.” He was hurt and she’d done this a thousand times before, that’s all. She knew how much it hurt him, how much the injury would hinder him. It wasn’t about touching him. It certainly wasn’t about caring for him.

  She pulled back the sheet briskly. His body lay spread open for her like some erotic buffet. The lines of his muscles were visible through the thin fabric, as was a certain not-quite-down bulge. And—holy shit—but there was a tattoo. She’d never been into tattoos. But then, she’d never seen this one, this stark black dragon on that ropey muscled arm peeking out from under his shirt. She tried to remain unaffected, she really did, but she was having some decidedly non-medical thoughts about what she would like to do to him.

  She glanced up at his face. He was watching her, the intensity in his face a contrast to the way his body lay there. She placed the pack gingerly over his knee. He sucked in a breath.

  Leaning across his chest, brushing against him, she grabbed the pillow next to him.

  “Lift,” she said.

  She held the ice pack in place lightly with her finger while he raised his knee. She slipped the pillow underneath. The angle would be more comfortable for his knee, as well as provide a more stable hold for the ice pack. She covered him back up with the sheets.

  “Where else?” she asked, pointing to the other ice packs.

  “My shoulder.” He tilted his head to the right.

  She popped the other ice pack and slipped it between the bed and his shoulder, outside his shirt.

  “Thank you,” he said softly.

  “No problem,” she said, trying for levity. This whole scene was wrong. It was sexual, but it was also domestic. She should leave.

  “Don’t leave,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I know you’re going to try and leave. Again. And I’m not really in great shape to catch you right now, but I’ll do it if you make me.”

  “Oh.” Okay, maybe she had been a bit predictable with the exits. And a coward, as usual. She took a deep breath. “What should I do instead?”

  “Stay with me.”

  God. A sexy, wounded warrior asking her to stay with him. How could she say no?

  She just didn’t want to get hurt. She had this picture in her head of Abe with all his friends she’d seen that first night. They’d all get together and laugh about the plain stupid girl who thought Abe actually liked her.

  It wasn’t so much that she questioned whether or not she deserved him. She was secure enough to know that she deserved someone who cared about her, and that someone could be hot and talented like him. But for all she knew he wasn’t into her at all. She was just convenient while they were both here in Seattle. So, she should leave. If only she could.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll stay.”

  “Good.” He smiled, although it was more of a grimace. “But call your mother first.”

  There were words she never expected to hear from Abe’s lips. “What?”

  “And write down your last name and all your contact information, too. I’m going to start thinking you’re a spy or something.”

  “Wait a minute. Back up. Why did you mention my mother?”

  “I sort of ran into her at the store.”

  “You what? How did you know it was my mother?”

  “She was looking for you. Apparently, you left and never came back.”

  Censure was in his tone, but she couldn’t really take offense. She’d acted irresponsibly, thoughtlessly. It was like that saying, the one that said men were led around by their cocks. And she was being led around by whatever female equivalent there was. She just hoped it was purely a physical reaction—not some completely impractical emotional attachment.

  She left Abe in the bedroom while she checked her phone—yep, six missed calls. She called her mother back who, unsurprisingly, flipped her lid. What was surprising was how little Paris cared. Well, she still cared. Her mother was distraught and disappointed in her, and little-girl Paris would always care about that. But maybe there was a big-girl Paris in her somewhere, too. A grown up woman’s will to match her grown up woman’s body.

  Paris had moved out of her mother’s house years ago. That had helped her relationship with her mom, given them both some breathing room. And she’d still been plenty involved in the family business, the gym and Taekwondo. She’d never stopped working at the gym, but when she’d quit Taekwondo…well, her mom had freaked.

  Her mother had never let her forget just how disappointed she’d been at all that “wasted” talent, and Paris had known that living with her mother here in Seattle would make it worse. So she hadn’t intended to push the issue. Finding a guy to hook up with would have been last on her Seattle bucket list. Somehow, Abe had her turned every which way but up.

  Abe opened his eyes when she slid beneath the cool sheets beside him. “Hey, beautiful,” he said hoarsely. Her heart skipped a beat at the spontaneous endearment.

  “Hey, yourself,” she said quietly. “How are you feeling?”

  “Cold. Come warm me up.”

  Paris rolled her eyes, but cuddled up next to him, careful not to bump his bruises. “Better?”

  “Are you staying the night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, yes. I’m better.”

  She tried to ignore the flutter in her heart that his words caused. Curled around him and snuggled in his sheets, she was enveloped in his musky and distinctly male scent. She took a deep breath. “Distract me.” />
  “What?”

  “Sorry. I meant, talk to me. Tell me about yourself.”

  “God, you know everything about me. Everything that’s interesting anyway. Tell me something about you. Anything.”

  “I’m allergic to pineapple,” she said.

  She heard the smile in his voice. “Okay, good thing the tournament is in Seattle and not Hawaii. What I meant was—what are you doing here?”

  “My sister’s competing in traditional forms. My mom and I are here for support. I also work in the gym back home, so I can help out around the training area, mostly as a gopher.” She waited with bated breath for his reaction. Somehow it mattered to her what he thought. She already knew what she did wasn’t glamorous, not as cool as being a competitor, an athlete.

  “How come you don’t train?” he asked. The question she’d been dreading. She didn’t have an answer for him. She barely had one for herself.

  “It’s just not my thing.” She tried to inject a note of finality into her voice, a faux-confidence. But it never worked on her mom, and it didn’t work on him.

  “I could teach you,” he said. And then lower, with promise, “I could make you like it.”

  She laughed softly, because no way was that last bit about training. Though she had liked training once upon a time, she’d loved it even. Though she doubted she and Abe would end up doing any actual training if they ended up on the mats together. “I don’t think so.”

  He was quiet for a moment, and she wondered if he’d force the issue, but all he said was, “So, you let me in.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve been holding me at arm’s length ever since I fucked up.”

  She shrugged slightly in the dark.

  “Now I can find you if you run away again. But Paris?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t run away again.”

  She said nothing. In the end, she wouldn’t be the one doing the leaving. She might walk away physically, but he was the one who had the upper hand.

  He lifted his arm up, and she rested her head on it. His warmth and the steady beat of his pulse lulled her. She was almost asleep when she had a thought. “Will your knee and shoulder be all right for your competition in two days?”