I play dumb. “Then you’re in the right place,” I smirk. “This competition was made for crazy. Sane people wouldn’t stand a chance.”
That reignites the laughter in her eyes.
“I’ve got it.” I hold up an index finger. “We’ll call our two days of training alone together Coaching Crazies 101.”
She blows out a soft laugh, and if I could, I’d take her in my arms and tell her it’s going to be okay. I can’t though. I have no idea if Red and her yoga studio are going to weather the storm of losing this competition the way she’s lost everything else.
“Look, I’m not a helpless female who needs rescuing, but I’m well aware that the odds aren’t in my favor. So, thank you, Ethan.” Her voice is almost a murmur. And the fact that she didn’t call me Dick this time isn’t lost on me.
My real name rolling off her tongue like a soft whisper sounds too right. Too raw. And it strikes a chord deep inside that thrums through me.
It might be safer if she called me Dick.
“I got the not a helpless female part when you maneuvered the obstacle course like a boss.” I try to lighten the mood before it swerves too far into the intimate zone.
Her green eyes sparkle at the compliment. “So no more yoga insults, I take it?” She snaps her fingers in an oh shucks kind of way. “Too bad. I’m going to miss proving your skepticism wrong.”
“Something tells me it won’t be the last time you prove me wrong,” I say, and she hypnotizes me with another ridiculously radiant smile. I fold my arms across my chest. “Red, you have my word I’ll do my best to help you become a kickass coach.” I give her a cocky smile. “I need you to be at your best. Winning is no fun if there’s no real competition.”
She rolls her eyes, and walks away so she can get a running start at the springboard.
I do not eye-fuck her tight ass in all that spandex. I am not mesmerized by the sway of her hips and bounce of her ponytail. I do not crave a pretzel even more now than ever before. I’ve gone paleo. Really, I have. I’m a jock for God’s sake.
But I can’t stop my mouth from turning up into a lopsided grin as I say, “You can buy me a pretzel when this is over.”
“Fair enough.” She shakes out her limbs like athletes often do to cement their mental concentration as much as their physical readiness. “But I’ll only buy you a pretzel if I get to watch you eat it.”
No stopping my prick from roaring to life now.
Go big or go home, right?
Chapter Seven
Red shimmies through the Geometric Crawl obstacle like a champ. It’s getting late, but I don't want to waste a minute of the two days we have to train before she meets her team, so I’m waiting for her to tell me when she’s had enough. She’s hanging with her back to the ground and all four limbs clamped around the obstacle. When she reaches the end, she finally calls uncle.
“Can you spot me?” she asks. “My legs are mush. I’m afraid to jump.”
Red afraid? I want to laugh. It’s been several hours since she first showed up at my gym and called me Dick. We’ve been at it hard since then, and this is the first time all night she’s shown any sign of tiring.
I stand under her. “Go ahead.” I raise my arms ready to catch her.
When she lets go, my hands mold to her hips, and I ease her to the ground. Her warmth reaches for me. Wraps around me, and I don’t let her go. Which is totally not what I meant to do, but my fucking hands have a mind of their own right now.
“Thanks,” she says, and her voice has dropped to a low, throaty whisper. “Old ankle injury. It acts up sometimes when I get fatigued.”
“Is that the injury that ended your gymnastics career?” I ask. Like a douche. I should kick my own ass for being so insensitive.
Her eyes darken. “That would be the one.” Her warmth seeps away from me as she steps out of my grasp.
“I think we’ve done enough for tonight.” Not nearly as much as my dick would like, the disloyal bastard.
I grab a towel from the cabinet in the far corner, and punch a code into the vending machine right next to it. A bottle of Dasani tumbles into the dispenser, and I bring her both the towel and the water.
She wipes down her face. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”
“You’re pretty familiar with the course now. How ‘bout you show me any ideas you have for training your team. I’ll show you what I do with my team, too.”
“So you’ll show me yours if I show you mine?” She keeps a straight face even though her tone is incredibly naughty. She turns the bottle up and chugs, but keeps her eyes trained on me.
The muscles in her throat flex and flow as she drinks down a third of the bottle. When she’s done, she swipes at her mouth with the back of her hand, and her gaze stays locked with mine.
Lust bolts through me. “Be careful what you ask for, Red. You just might get it, and I’m not sure you’re ready for that.”
She raises both silky eyebrows like she doesn’t believe I’ve got the goods to back up my warning. Little does she know I’ve made it my mission in life to make sure a woman sees stars when I fuck her. Not only that, but I shoot for the moon by making sure she gets there more than once, if you know what I mean.
Least I can do since I don’t spend more than one night with a woman. Which is actually what I’m talking about with Red. I’m convinced more than ever that she’s not the one-nighter type, even though she’s talking a big game.
“Come on,” I say and start for the door. “I’ll see that you get home.”
She scoffs. “I can find my way home, Dick.”
Aaaand we’re back to Dick. Probably a good thing.
I stop at the door and hold it open for her. The hallway stays lit since it’s a twenty-four hour gym, but the lack of noise coming from the weight room and cardio area tells me the after-work crowd has thinned, and there’s few, if any people left, but us. “It’s late. It’s New York City. Humor me, Wonder Woman.”
She’s right on my heels, and pretends to laugh at my latest nickname for her. “I’ve got pepper spray for the subway. Comes in handy when I forget my lasso of truth and indestructible bracelets.”
Funny, but hell no. Not the subway this late at night. Alone.
My fingers close around her small wrist as she tries to brush past me. “I’ll call you a cab. I insist, Red.” My tone is patient but firm. I’m not letting anything happen to her on my watch.
She pulls a lip between her teeth and chews on it.
My forehead wrinkles because I can’t imagine why taking a cab in this city over the subway would bother her. And then a light flickers to life in my brain. She’s broke, so a cab ride will chew up money she doesn’t have, especially if she lives a good distance from here.
My firmness drains away, and I soften my tone. “You’d be doing me a solid if you let me order an Uber for you.” I leave out the part about it not being optional. One way or another I’m making sure she gets home without the subway, and it’ll be at my expense.
Her stubborn look tells me she needs to feel like it’s her decision though.
She and Grace hit it off earlier, so I play the sister card. “Grace liked you, and she’ll kick my ass if I don’t provide transportation for you at this time of night.” I fake a frightened shiver. “She’s kind of scary when she gets pissed off. Angry Grace grows fangs and hair on her knuckles.”
Red looks like she’s holding back a laugh until it finally bubbles over. Her eyes shine, her smile is so dazzling that it makes my chest go thumpity thump, and a small dimple appears on one of her creamy cheeks. Suddenly, I’m so glad I’m the one who’s making her happy.
“I don’t want you to have to wear garlic around your neck on my account, so Uber me to your heart’s content.”
Jesus, that sounds so good and so dirty spilling through her plump lips.
Our gazes snag, and I swear her breath hitches. I can’t help myself from leaning closer until I feel her soft, shallow breaths wash over my
jaw.
Her lips part, and desire arrows through me right to the core.
This is so fucking not a good idea. She’s my competition. The person I have to help take over as coach of the opposing team. The person standing between me and a million dollars.
So why the hell do I close the last few inches between us and cover her mouth with mine?
I move my lips gently over hers, kissing her soft and slow. She’s tense at first, then slowly relaxes. I run a hand up her arm, my other hand finding its way to her neck. When I stroke the soft flesh of her throat, she sighs softly into my mouth. The sound is like a gentle breeze caressing my ears, and she tastes like the thunderclouds that roll in from the harbor on a warm summer day.
It’s the biggest fucking turn on, and I tug her against me.
Her sigh turns to a gasp as my dick presses into her, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, a shiver races over her, and her hands wander up my arms, over my shoulders, and thread into my hair.
I release her mouth and feather soft kisses across her jaw, nipping and biting.
A tiny moan escapes from her lips.
The sound is so enticing, that I can’t seem to stop my mouth, or my hands, or my cock from responding to this woman like she’s mine. My hand drops to her nice ass, and I pull her hips tighter into mine.
She swallows hard.
And Jesus fucking Christ, I’m on fire. I shift our positions so her back is against the door.
I know I have to stop this insanity, but stopping is the last thing I want. I want to finish this with Red begging for more. I’d give her all she wanted, too.
Our breaths are getting heavier, our hands are moving faster.
“Goddamn, Red, you fucking turn me on,” I murmur against her ear, then consume her mouth again in a deep, demanding kiss.
Her hand closes around my dick, and she cups me. Gently, she massages my hard-on, and the smooth fabric of my shorts between me and her magical hand sends me up in flames.
I groan, and dip my head to sink my teeth into her earlobe.
“I thought I wasn’t your type,” she whispers playfully.
She’s teasing, but it’s still like dumping a bucket of ice water over my head. I close my eyes and lean my forehead against hers. “Trust me, Red, I’m no good for you.”
The shimmer of lust in her eyes dims, and she fists the front of my shirt. I brace myself for the barrage of excuses and reasons why we should give in to this undeniable chemistry. Give it a try, and see if it works out. I’ve heard it all before from women who I felt a connection with. The connection between me and Red is more powerful than all the others combined, but that part of my heart is dead. I won’t let it come to life again, not even to explore the possibilities with this girl who I find so damned attractive.
But she surprises me. There’s no excuses. No reasons. No trying to convince me. Instead she simply says, “I know.”
Chapter Eight
When I get back to my apartment and shower, I get out my laptop and surf the net. I’ve got to satisfy the burning curiosity I’ve had about Red’s injury, about her, since the minute I turned around and she called me Dick in my office earlier this evening.
Hell, who am I kidding? I’ve been obsessed with her since she mistook me for Dave at 7th Inning Stretch, and it’s only gotten worse after tasting her sweet lips and hot mouth after our workout session.
I stretch out on the black leather sofa in the den of my Brooklyn Heights brownstone, and fire up my MacBook Air. It’s dim, with just a floor lamp switched on in the corner, and I’m relaxed and exhausted from a long day at the gym. So much so that I didn’t bother putting on a shirt. I cross my bare feet at the ankles and settle the small computer on my lap, my favorite worn jeans protecting my legs from the cold metal.
I type in Red’s name. The second I hit Enter, the screen explodes with articles, videos, and pictures of Adeline McAllister. She was quite a celebrity before the injury.
I read up on her rise to gymnastics stardom at a very young age. Her parents’ sacrifices to pay for the best coaches when it became obvious she could be a future Olympic champion. Then I switch to the YouTube videos, where she’s mastering every apparatus. My finger hovers over the track pad when I see the video titled McAllister’s Career Over Before Olympic Trials.
I can’t bring myself to click on it. I know the pain that will slice through me when I see it because I’ve experienced it myself. I’ve got a heart, but I don’t want to pity this girl who I’ve quickly come to respect as an athlete. This girl who is my competitor. At the end of the day, I owe it to my team, to myself, to the public, to the event sponsors, and most of all to her, not to get personally involved.
So I flip through the pages of hits until I see more recent info on Adeline McAllister. Her yoga studio is called La Vida Yoga. I chuckle. The studio name is catchy and fits her. I read on until my eyes snag on the location. La Vida Yoga is in Jamaica Queens. And I’m guessing she lives fairly close to her studio. Most people who own small businesses do.
My mouth goes dry.
That’s an eternity away from Manhattan on the subway, and a fortune in cab fare. It’s also not an area that would have its residents pouring into a trendy yoga studio. The village seems more appropriate, but then Red didn’t ask for my input on the best places to open a business that focuses on specialized fitness.
“Meow.” A frustrated feline sound comes from the kitchen, and I realize I haven’t fed Tango. Tango is the scruffy stray cat my sister rescued outside of the dance studio where she teaches lessons twice a week. Since Grace lives with a friend who has asthma, Tango became a permanent resident at my place. I wasn’t happy about it, but we’ve come to an agreement.
I keep feeding him, and in return, I get to mention how I’ve rescued a cat from the perilous streets of New York when I meet a lady I want to impress.
Works every time. Women love muscular arms and cute, fuzzy animals.
I close my laptop and get up. The dark wood floors creak in the same two spots as I walk past the glass top dining room table and pad into the kitchen.
I poor food into Tango’s bowl, give him fresh water, and scratch him behind one perky ear as he dives into the bowl.
“There you go, buddy.” I give him a long leisurely pet down his patchwork coat of fur. “Sorry, I was gone all day and most of the night.”
He blows me off and keeps eating.
When I’m back on the sofa in relaxed mode, I can’t seem to open my laptop again. I’m not ready to see what Red went through. I stare at the white apple on the top of my computer. Finally, I leave it on the table and head off to bed.
Where I don’t get a wink of sleep all night long.
I get up at the ass crack of dawn, since I’ve tossed and turned all night anyway because I’ve been thinking about Red. About the articles, the injury, and hell yes, some fantasies that starred her in certain positions, which proved she’s indeed a real redhead.
Sue me. I’m straight. I’m a guy. And she’s fucking gorgeous.
I go for a run, hoping the brisk spring air will help this perpetual wood I’ve had in my shorts ever since I met Red. Shrinkage isn’t something a dude usually welcomes, but I’ll try anything before I meet her at the gym wearing another pair of gym shorts.
A few hours later, I’m showered, I’ve eaten a healthy protein breakfast, and I’m headed to the gym so Red and I can get started on today’s training drills.
A few personal trainers are working with clients who prefer to come in before work. Otherwise, the gym is still pretty quiet.
I stop to talk to Oz Strong, one of the founding partners of Checkmate Inc. He’s the only one of the three partners who has managed to avoid a long-term, romantic commitment. Probably why I find myself gravitating more toward him these days than the other two.
“Hey, man,” he says. He’s looking at my reflection in the mirror and rotating bicep curls with thirty-pound dumbbells.
I hitch up my chin. “What�
�s up?”
“Way too much.” Oz gives his head a quick shake. “I’m here working off some stress.”
“Anything you can talk about?” I start to set up a circuit of balance and agility exercises that I think Red can use to train her team.
He grunts as he finishes the last rep and places the weights back on the rack. “Wedding plans. More wedding plans.” He’s no doubt talking about his two partners’ new state of affianced bliss. He snatches his towel off the bench and takes a seat to wipe his face. “We’ve also decided to make some bold changes at Checkmate, which is risky, but it’s time.” Oz upends his water bottle. When he’s done, he swipes the towel over his mouth. “And my partners are forcing a new assistant on me.” He runs fingers through his light brown hair, like he’s contemplating the apocalypse. “I fucking hate breaking in new assistants.”
“Who’s the lucky person?” I ask as I’m setting up a horizontal ladder drill. I’ve heard stories from Oz’s two business partners about how he goes through assistants faster than he changes his socks.
He shakes his head. “Haven’t met her yet. Dex and Leo had Leo’s assistant hire her without consulting with me. Probably because I refused to consult at all on the subject. Resistance was futile in the end.” Oz says it like he was trying to fend off a hostile takeover. “She’s moving to the city now and starts in a few weeks.” He places the towel behind his neck and rubs it back and forth to dry the sweat from his workout. His eyes slide shut. “So I have a few weeks of peace before I descend into assistant hell again.”
Grace blows in wearing standard gym attire and looking chipper as always. “Morning, lunkhead.” She pecks me on the cheek like the good little sister she is.
“Hey, back,” I say. “Oz, do you know my baby sister, Grace?”
“I’m twenty-four,” she deadpans. “If you refer to me as your baby sister one more time, I’ll kill you with a barbell.”
Get Wilde (A Checkmate Inc. Novel Book 3) Page 5
