by K Larsen
"Pepper and I are friends," I state. Greta snorts at me and turns back to Pepper who just shrugs.
"Hi," Pepper says, slightly out of breath.
"Hi." I grin back at her. A tiny bead of sweat drips from the hollow of her throat down her collarbone and disappears into her cleavage.
"You ready?" she asks. Am I ready? Shit, no.
"I'm gonna be honest, I've never boxed before," I admit, feeling like a pussy. I hear another snort from Greta. God, that bitch is annoying.
"We can show you the ropes. I promise to take it easy on you." Pepper smiles. Mush. I've been reduced to mush with just her smile.
"Okay," I answer.
Two hours later I am sore, bleeding from the nose, still, and hating life. What the hell was I thinking? Greta had suggested that Pepper coach me while I sparred with Greta. Needless to say, most of my time was spent dodging and holding my hands in front of my face. The woman was out for blood. Pepper had tried to call out instructions to me as we sparred but I'd been too in tune with my instincts to be reactive rather than proactive. Pepper had stopped Greta and swapped places with her an hour or so into it but I wouldn’t exactly say she'd gone easy on me. I'd found myself so distracted by the way her tank clung to her, by the way she moved so gracefully around me, that I hadn't even heard Greta’s calls of instruction. Pepper pinned me three times, legs straddling me, fists raining down on my face and chest until I'd tapped out each time. The feel of her body atop mine had made it all worth it, though. Loose strands of hair hanging haphazardly around her face, beads of sweat dripping down into her cleavage—it was hot. I would have let her pound me for hours if it meant I got to be that close to her.
My muscles ache in a way I didn’t think was possible. My head feels like it's on fire and my nose throbs with pain. Greta towels herself off, sneaking glances my way and snickering. Pepper throws a towel to me and grabs one for herself.
"You did pretty good for your first time," she says.
"Right," I say shortly, feeling like my manhood has disappeared into some unknown crevice in my body.
"No, really," she pushes, looking adorable. Her bottom lip is sucked in between her teeth and she's trying not to smile.
"She's right," Greta says matter-of-factly. "I expected you to bail after the first fifteen minutes."
"Gee, thanks," I snort. Greta is a total boner killer. I think it’s definitely possible that she has more testosterone than I do.
"I didn’t mean that to be rude. We've both been in this a long time, years, and it's not easy for men to realize a woman or women can kick their ass. You did it rather gracefully," she explains.
"Sawyer, I'm sorry, I should have...I don't know, eased you into it. That was mean of me. I wasn't really thinking," Pepper says, looking a little sheepish. Seeing her with a shred of remorse kills me. Showing emotion doesn’t seem to come naturally to her. Her guarded nature makes any sudden emotion seem like something meaningful.
"It's fine. Really," I state.
"So, drinks?" Greta asks, tossing her towel in a bin.
"We usually go for drinks after our workouts. To unwind," Pepper offers.
"You don’t go home to wallow in sore muscles and ice packs?" I scoff, trying to make light of the beating I endured. Pepper chuckles and Greta snorts loudly, both women smiling.
"We do not," Pepper says.
"Lead the way, ladies. I'd love to drink with you." I chuckle as I toss my towel on top of Pepper’s.
After we've all showered and dressed, we meet in front of the building. Greta throws an ice pack at me which I happily accept and gingerly press to the side of my nose. After a quick conversation about cars, Pepper decides to drive with me in the truck while we follow Greta to their normal bar. Pepper sits quietly next to me as we drive, hands folded in her lap, staring out the window.
"Penny for your thoughts," I say.
"My thoughts?" she asks.
"Yeah."
"They're boring. How ‘bout yours?" she deflects. Why is it so hard to get her to just talk? Most women chatter on about anything, even if you aren’t interested in hearing it.
"No way. I wasn’t the one staring out the window pensively," I push.
"I was just...I don't know. I was just lost in thought I guess. Nothing in particular. Life," she answers.
"Life?" I question her vague response.
"Yeah, Sawyer. Life," she says flatly and resumes looking out the window. Greta slows and pulls into a spot along the road. I pull in behind her and shut the truck down.
"I wasn't trying to impose," I say, breaking our silence.
"I know," she answers before exiting the truck. So Goddamned cryptic. I think maybe she’s got me hooked on her simply because I need to complete the puzzle.
The bar is a seedy little hole in the wall, a five-minute drive from the gym. The walls are dark beadboard and the lights buzz with fluorescent bulbs. It's not large and there are only three other people here. I find it strange that two women voluntarily come here. As they take their places at the bar I see the bartender nod in their direction and start pouring. He slides their drinks to them as I sit next to Pepper on one of the cracked vinyl stools.
"You're new," the bartender says, eyeing me.
"Allagash White, please," I answer. He nods and turns to get my beer. I notice that Pepper has what looks like bourbon, the same drink she had at the bar where we met. Greta is drinking some vodka concoction. Heavy hitters as far as drinks go. I'll stick to my beer. These two seem to do everything with a “go big or go home” attitude.
"So Greta, are you from around here?" I ask, trying to make conversation.
"No. I'm from Maine originally. Just moved here a few months ago," she answers easily.
"How'd you and Pepper meet?" I ask as the bartender returns and slides me my glass.
"The gym. She's the only one who can kick my ass, occasionally," she says and laughs.
"I'm lucky to have met her. She's made me a better grappler," Pepper interjects proudly. It’s appears that Pepper seems to need Greta in her life more than Greta needs her. I watch them intensely. Their dynamic is so yin and yang. Pepper, although aloof, vibrates warmth while Greta puts out nothing but indifference, bordering on anger.
"So then what brought you to Virginia?" I ask Greta.
"What brings any woman anywhere? A man, of course," she answers.
"Oh. Nice. Maybe we could all go out sometime?" I offer.
"Not likely. We didn’t work out," she shares. Pepper frowns and looks at me.
"Sorry," I answer.
"So, Sawyer, tell me about you," Greta says.
"I think maybe I'd bore you," I say honestly.
"Nonsense. I’m sure you’re anything but boring. Come on now, wow me." She deadpans. Great. This doesn’t seem to bode well for me.
"Well, I own Bloodlines tattoo parlor over in Blacksburg. I own it with my ex—well, not really my ex—shit, I don’t know what we were. Anyways, we own it, and we share custody of her daughter, Allie. I’m not Allie’s biological dad. But I've raised her since she was just a toddler—she's eleven now—so I'm still her dad even though Clara and I are done. I, ah, guess that's it really. I love motorcycles. I'm in Mayhem MC and I like this lovely lady sitting between us," I ramble. It's like diarrhea of the mouth. Make it stop. Greta is staring at me, face blank, and Pepper is smirking.
"Not boring at least. An MC huh?" Greta responds. Pepper continues to stare at me.
“Yeah.”
“You gotta nickname yet?” she asks, eyes sparkling with curiosity.
“No.” I smile.
“How’s that?” Greta asks as she pushes her gleaming blonde hair over one shoulder.
“Haven’t done anything yet to warrant one I guess,” I answer. I bring my beer up for a sip and wince as the glass hits the bridge of my nose. Pepper’s brown eyes flash and her hand comes to the side of my face, turning it slightly to face her better. Her touch makes my skin burn. It's so tender. It’s so soft and ca
ring, so not simply friendly.
"Does it hurt much?" she asks, looking a little worried.
"Yes," I answer. I might have lost most of my manhood today at the gym but, fuck, this does hurt and lying about it isn’t going to save face at this stage. Her brows furrow together a bit and she frowns.
"I'm sorry," she pouts.
"Don't be. I should have tapped out long before but you sitting on me was distracting, in a good way." I wink. She grins quickly and drops her hand from my face. Turning back to her drink, she picks it up and chugs the contents. The bartender looks to her and she nods.
"Well kids, I'm out," Greta announces before standing. She tosses a twenty on the bar top and pats Pepper on the shoulder.
"See you tomorrow, yeah?"
"Of course," Pepper answers.
"See you around, Sawyer. Try not to fuck up this thing with Pepper or I'll have to kill you, and that'd be a shame since you're so easy on the eyes," she says as she passes me. I feel my eyes widen. I was sure that she hates me. I don’t know what to make of her comment, though, since there’s a part of me that actually believes she would kill me. Or, at the very least, beat me within an inch of my life if anything ever happened to Pepper. I don't know what to make of Greta. Something’s definitely off about her but I can't pinpoint it and quite frankly I’d rather invest my time in Pepper.
"So, as friends, what are your plans for the rest of the evening?" Pepper pipes up.
"I have none." I shrug.
"Do you like movies?" she asks. Her eyes are playful.
"Do you like eating?" I say and laugh. "Of course I like movies, who doesn’t?"
"Well, smartass, I was going to see if maybe you wanted to watch a movie?" She smacks my arm gently.
"What movie?" I ask, ignoring the smartass comment.
"What do you have to choose from?"
"Oh we're watching one at my place?" I quirk an eyebrow at her.
"I'm curious about where you live," she states. Well, all right then. Game on.
"Interesting. Does that mean you've been thinking about me?" I ask, trying to flirt.
"Don't friends do that?" she questions.
"I guess," I lament. Damn. She’s too quick for me. My stomach’s all knotted up with rejection that somehow wasn’t really rejection.
"So, what do you have?" she pushes.
"Do you like The Hunger Games? I have the second one, but haven’t watched it yet."
"Oh! Yes. Love!" she says excitedly. I need to figure out how to keep her in this mood. I like happy, lighthearted Pepper.
"Let's go then." I'm excited but still walking on eggshells. I need to weasel my way in deeper with her. I want to. Shit. I want to. When did that happen? I haven’t thought about Clara for almost the entire day. My lips pull up into a smile as we head out.
Chapter 9
I’m Not Smitten
The twenty-minute drive to my house was silent. I was on edge the entire time. Pepper seemed perfectly comfortable in silence, though. She didn’t fidget or wiggle or sigh or anything. She just took in the scenery that flashed past the window and smiled. I wanted to ask her why she was smiling but I was terrified that I’d say something wrong and she’d tell me to can the entire evening and take her home.
She finally spoke when I pulled into the driveway, gushing about how lovely the house was and how on Earth does a man pick something like this out. I laughed loudly. If she only knew. I explained that I had picked the house out almost six years ago. I’d moved out when Clara and Dom started dating but when she moved in with him I’d moved back into the house. It seemed silly to sell it if one of us still wanted to live in it.
“So you kept it for Allie?” she says wistfully.
“Well no, I mean yes, Allie’s grown up here but I love the house too,” I state. The tension between us is confusing. She keeps her distance from me but just barely, like she’s daring me to try and make a move. To touch her. Honestly, I just want to feel her. I want to twine her fingers through mine. I want to feel her torso pressed into mine. What would her slender arms feel like snaked around me? Does she nuzzle into the neck or arm area? What does she look like when she sleeps? All these questions buzz around in my head as we stand in the kitchen chatting about a house. A stupid house.
“But it didn't make you sad to live here, with all the memories?” she asks seriously, watching me.
“For a little while, it sucked. I was pretty messed up over the entire situation, but Allie and I made the house ours. We redecorated, moved bedrooms, the whole nine,” I explain. She watches me carefully when I speak. It’s nerve-racking sometimes. I want to know what she’s thinking or if she’s silently judging me.
“Is that the back patio?” she asks, looking behind me to the French doors.
“Yup.”
“May I?” she asks, gesturing to go check it out.
“By all means. I’m just going to grab a new ice pack.” I watch as she moves around me and pushes through the doors. The evening light creates a glow around her body that makes her look angelic. I think I could get used to her being around. I throw my used ice pack into the freezer and pull out a new one. I wrap a dish towel around it before heading outside to check on Pepper.
As I shut the door behind me the distinct smell of pot attacks my nostrils. Pepper sits on one of the lawn chairs smoking a joint. She blows out a large, white cloud of smoke and hands it towards me as she watches the billowing white cloud.
“Want some?” she offers, looking up at me.
“No,” I answer more harshly than I meant.
“Okay then.” She shrugs and takes another hit. Pot. Goddamned pot. I’m not against it. I don’t really care if people are into that, but honestly I don’t want the person I’m involved with to be a pothead.
“So is this a special occasion?” I ask as I sit in the chair next to her.
“Huh?” Pepper responds.
“The joint.” I nod towards it.
“Oh, this?” she asks, looking at it. “No. I like to unwind sometimes. I get so anxious and tense. It helps.” She smiles. Right. Sounds like an excuse to me.
“I’m going to get the movie ready.” I push out of my seat and head back into the house. Tossing the ice pack and towel into the sink, I brace myself on the counter and wonder what the hell I’m doing. She’s fucked me outdoors on a mountaintop, drinks hard stuff—obviously regularly—and smokes pot. I know I’m older than her but maybe this one is out of my league. She’s young. We all did that when we were young, right? Dragging a hand down my face I try to push all those thoughts aside. She intrigues me. I like that. I like her. I like not thinking about Clara. I like that Pepper is different.
“What you got there?” she asks curiously from behind me as I pull down a bag of chocolate.
“Cadbury Mini Eggs. You want some?” I ask. Her hand snaps out and she steals the bag from me in record time. I watch, stunned, as she tears the bag open, swiftly walks to the couch, and sits hunched over while popping them into her mouth. Apparently she really likes them. I follow her to the living room.
“You look like Gollum from Lord of the Rings eating those,” I tease as I reach over for one.
“Hey!” She slaps my hand away and pulls them to her opposite side. “It’s okay, my precious…” she whispers to the bag. I can’t help it. A bubble bursts and I let out a deep belly laugh. She looks at me and smiles a real smile. Wide and bright. She’s funny. She’s so beautiful.
“So as a friend, what am I allowed to know? Can I ask like, when your birthday is? Or if you go to church? I don’t know what topics are safe,” I ask honestly.
“I don't do birthdays,” she states seriously.
“What?! Preposterous! Birthdays are meant for celebrating,” I declare.
“A birthday is just another day. Christmas, too. Holidays come and go. I don't celebrate. I haven't had a reason to. It's fine. It's not like I've been missing out. Who would I buy for? Celebrate with?” she asks. Her body language says she�
�s comfortable with her statement, like it’s well-rehearsed, but her eyes show a hint of sorrow.
“But all those holidays are pretty much an excuse for sweets, and I’m pretty sure you're addicted to sweets. First pastries, and now Cadbury Minis.”
“Touché, Sawyer,” she admits with a grin, “but I don’t need an excuse to indulge in sweets. Any day of the year is a dessert holiday if you ask me.”
“I’ll give you that, for now,” I answer with a grin.
“Good. Cause I’m really ready to watch this movie you promised me,” she says and laughs lightly.
“Bossy little thing aren't you?” I say playfully.
“Little?” she challenges. We already know she can kick my ass without trying.
“As in…young,” I explain.
“How old are you?” she asks.
“Thirty-five. You?” I can feel myself cringing, waiting for her response.
“Twenty-five, but my non-celebrated birthday is in three weeks,” she answers, unaffected by our age difference. Twenty-five is definitely better than “I’m still in college.” I’ll take it. Ten years. That’s not so bad. But I’m sure it can be a hurdle for a relationship, too.
“Are you trying to tell me you’re twenty-five and three quarters?” I laugh. Her entire face lights up, eyes sparkling, shoulders shaking, and dimple showing.
“Yes. Yes I am,” she says and chuckles. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d really like to watch the movie you promised.” She raises her eyebrows at me and bites her lip to stifle a laugh.
“As you wish, milady.” I bow to her and head to the DVD player to load the disc.
It happens about one hour into the movie as we’re munching on popcorn; she stretches out and rests her feet over my lap. I’d like to report that I’m not smitten or totally over the moon about the small gesture of familiarity, but I am. I grab the blanket from the back of the couch and spread it carefully over her legs and my lap and slowly let my hand come to rest on her shin. I see her glance discreetly at me but she doesn’t move or say anything so I feel all right about it. She snuggles down into the couch deeper and adjusts the pillow under her head.
