Leaning over me, she considered my face for a moment, then dropped a long, hard kiss on my mouth. “Now,” she said, trailing an index finger along my jaw, “Get the fuck out of here.”
“What?!” I choked on my own shock. I was hoping to get in at least one more round, and then spend the night with Natalia in my arms.
“Get. Out,” she said. Her voice was even as she stretched out on her back and pulled a crisp white sheet up to cover those perfect breasts. “I need to sleep. You need to leave.”
I lay there stock still for a moment, trying to process what she was saying. “Look, Natalia. I’m sorry. That was out of line.”
“Yes, it was. But you said you understood, and I believed you. You’re forgiven. Now get out. I will see you tomorrow.” Her voice gentled at that, and something like relief fell over me. This was Natalia angry. If I wanted to keep seeing her, apparently, I was going to have to learn things like this.
But it was clear that she was done talking, so I silently slid out of bed, pulled my pants back on, tugged my shirt over my head, and stepped into my shoes. I walked around to Natalia’s side of the bed, kissed her forehead, prayed she wouldn’t head-butt me while I was at it. And then I did exactly as she asked. Aching with every step, I left. Growling into the chilly night sky, I left.
As I walked away from her, and thought of all the ways I could have lost her, I realized that this way felt the shittiest.
Chapter 13
Natalia
What the hell? He’d actually left?
Of course, I’d told him to, but… you couldn’t just leave in the middle of an argument like that. Acceptable actions for Ethan at that moment included: arguing that I was being ridiculous (that wouldn’t have gone over well), groveling at my feet (I found it hard to respect that), holding me down and kissing me until I let him fuck me again (though I didn’t love the blurred lines of consent there), and begging me for forgiveness. Probably the only one that would have worked.
Instead, he’d just… gone. Without a word. With a gentle kiss on my forehead. Like he barely cared at all.
Since we’d first seen each other again, the connection between us had been so clear – whatever it was. It wasn’t love – not yet, anyway. Just the idea of falling in love on a short trip home to Philly had the potential to send me into a panic attack. It wasn’t just friendship, either, or focus on the job of the gym. No, whatever was between Ethan and I was elemental – strong enough to have drawn us back together and flexible enough to let us go on a date directly after a grief support group meeting.
And it was big enough that I couldn’t bear it being ruined by him acting like a stupid macho Neanderthal idiot and telling me what I could and could not do with my free time, my career, my life, or my body.
Damn right. I crossed my arms and huffed at nobody in the suddenly very dark, very empty air of my apartment. My room, more like. Just me in a room. A big, dark, quiet room. And I’d just kicked out the person who probably believed in my ability to get the gym back on track more than anyone else.
So why had he been such a dick?
I spent the next six hours trying to find sleep, and failing miserably at it. Dammit. I couldn’t sleep with Ethan here, after the way he’d pissed me off, and I couldn’t sleep without him here, either. Apparently.
If he hadn’t been such an idiot, and just stayed and fought with me like I’d wanted him to, everything would be fine right now. Beyond fine.
I rolled over, punched my pillow, then buried my face in it and screamed.
Well. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of calling him. And if I couldn’t sleep, I would make the free time work to my advantage. Just like I did with everything else.
I hadn’t even bothered to get dressed after he left. The space between my thighs was still slightly sticky from where I’d come, and I groused at the reminder of how mind-blowing the sex was with him. Why did it have to be so good, when he was so annoying? So boring? So demanding of me, and of a future I didn’t even feel ready to define for myself yet, let alone anyone else?
That same space ached, too, and I basically growled against the feeling, half-spent and half disappointingly empty, as I dug through my suitcase – I still hadn’t fully unpacked, damn it all – to find some compression shorts and a workout tank. I stepped into the shorts and tugged on the sports bra I’d been wearing yesterday, which I found behind the bathroom door. Then the tank and a pair of brand new socks. There was nothing better in life than new socks. That was a belief I’d held since I was little.
I snagged my boxing gloves from the bedposts where I’d left them after yesterday morning’s workout to air out, and smirked at the memory of me and Ethan in bed last night, fucking like our lives depended on it. With all the craziness going on around me these past few days, it sort of felt like the truth. My life did depend on doing things that made me feel… well… alive. And Ethan made me feel that way like nobody else ever had.
Something about that thought bugged me, and a crankiness infused my blood as I dumped some ground coffee in the press and hit the button on the electric kettle. Five minutes later, I took a couple scalding gulps from the cup and felt the caffeine chase that edge away for something fiercer, more focused. Instead of stewing, like I had done for the past several stupid sleepless hours, now I just wanted to fight.
The sun was just starting to come up over the city’s jagged horizon, winking bright orange through the crack between the buildings across the street from The Knockout. I flipped on the big industrial lights that hung from wires screwed into the ceiling a decade ago and took a deep breath, letting my eyes flutter closed as they flickered to life.
More than the sunrise, more than the scent of hot coffee or the buzz of an alarm clock, the flicker of those lights and an empty, echoing gym meant the beginning of the day.
I stared at the big empty boxing ring as I put some heavy metal music on over the speakers, then jogged in place for a few seconds, then bounced up and down on my toes, trying to coax some warmth into my stiff calves. My memory flashed to the way I’d wrapped them around Ethan’s waist last night, desperate to pull him closer to me, needing his hot muscle to force my body to mold to it.
That was one thing Ethan brought out in me that no person ever had before – need. As the youngest of six children, often ignored, sometimes forgotten, I had rarely felt need for anyone besides my parents. I was Natalia, and I could get by all on my own. Could do it well, thank you very much.
I eyed a punching bag a few dozen feet away and charged at it, launching my shoulders and abs and snarling yell into an assault on the poor thing that would have alarmed anyone else working out here, had I not been completely alone. I attacked the column of vinyl and until my shoulders burned, then backed off.
Of course, I didn’t need Ethan. Not any more than I needed high-end boxing gloves or the rush of jumping off a cliff holding only the metal bar of a hang-glider. Not any more than I needed my mother’s empanadas. I may have valued those things, and they may have made my life better in immeasurable ways, and I may have been indescribably sad at the thought of never having them again, but I didn’t need them.
Ethan would help me with the gym and then I would pass it off to the next person and we would part ways and we would all be fine. Just fine.
Satisfied with this newfound resolve, I set my jaw and charged at the bag again. With the first smack, my knuckle burned satisfyingly, and the sensation raced up my arm, like it was charging me up for another swing. I railed on that bag, punishing it, bouncing around like I was in the professional ring when it swung back and launching forward to meet it every time. A memory flashed through my mind – Arturo teaching me to punch when I was fifteen, after I’d told him about a boy at school who kept snapping my bra strap in the middle of algebra class. Mamá, working on the books at the front desk, shaking her head and tsking at him, sneaking me a secret, slightly sad smile here and there.
Mamá never commented on my boxing, on the extreme-sporting or the
wanderlust. Every single time she saw me, she asked if I was happy and told me she was glad I was home. My eyes burned and, when the bag swung back this time, I dropped to the ground and launched into a round of pushups. I groaned at the top of the tenth and launched myself back up to my feet, side-stepping to one of the equipment racks. I grabbed a two-pound jump rope and swung it over my head, sighing with a strained smile as my leg muscles started burning to match my arms.
This was it – this was why I loved working out, this life – the feeling of pushing my body to the limit and knowing that I could still do more. Yes, I was starting to struggle for breath. Yes, my body was starting to whine. No, I wasn’t going to break. Not now, and not ever. Certainly, nobody could tell me to stop. With that thought, I tossed the rope to the side and squinted against the sun, which was now fully up and glinting in my eyes.
Good. It would make landing a punch on the bag that much harder I charged at it hard then, pummeling it again and again, savoring the feel of the vibrations through my fists in time with Metallica’s ATLAS, which charged through the speakers seemingly in time with my steps. Not the other way around.
And then, on one punch, instead of my knuckles slamming into the bag’s typical easy give, they smacked into it instead, solid and unyielding.
I jumped back, stood stock-still, my heart pounding. A split second later, I was staring at a pair of perfectly-tailored pants and scuff-free shoes. The hands that held the bag still were unmistakable – they’d haunted my memories, very pleasantly, since the first time I’d encountered them.
“Ethan,” I panted, unsure which emotion to pick from the several warring ones fighting within me. Pro – he wasn’t a burglar or a rapist. Con – he’d just scared the shit out of me. Pro – something inside me eased a bit at seeing him. Con – I wasn’t very good at expressing that. I didn’t think.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I growled.
“You said we’d get back to work today. I assumed that meant this morning. Like, when people typically start work.” Yep. Here it was. Cocky Ethan
“I locked the door, Ethan! What the fuck?” I repeated.
The confident features that shined out of his face seconds ago melted for a second, then recovered. For the most part. Cocky Ethan held up something that looked like a skinny screwdriver handle with a thick, stiff metal wire emerging from the tip. “You locked the door, but your lock sucks. I picked it in ten seconds.”
My eyes flared. “Why would you do that? Holy shit!” The curses were falling out of my mouth now, and the ghost of my mother glared at me from the front desk. It barely registered, though. My heart was still pounding and my brain was trying to make sense of why in the world Ethan would pick the lock to my gym.
“To show you that your lock sucks,” he said, still cocky, but with a slightly softer tone. “Tali. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t call me Tali when you just picked my lock – on purpose – and scared the hell out of me!”
“Hey. Don’t yell at me when you’re working out all alone, blasting music so you can’t hear a damn thing, with only a standard lock to keep you safe!” Something about Ethan’s mouth had stiffened and his shoulders were high. Whoa. He was actually pissed off. An emotion I was pretty sure I’d never seen coming from him before.
I put my hands up in the air, still in my gloves, in an “I surrender” gesture. “Okay,” I said, swallowing against the dryness in my throat. “I get it. I’ll replace the lock.”
“Okay,” Ethan said. “And, um…” He set his briefcase down on the floor and took a tentative step closer to me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think…it’s just that I’ve never seen you like that. I didn’t think…”
“That I could get scared? Well, congratulations, Mr. Insurance Man. You terrified me.”
His eyebrows pulled together. “Okay. I’m sorry,” he repeated. This time, it sounded a little like begging. Just enough that I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, collecting myself.
“So,” I said, modulating my tone so Confident Natalia was back. “You came back. I wasn’t sure if you would.” I hadn’t even admitted that worry to myself until I spoke it aloud, just then.
Ethan swallowed hard but he stood his ground. “I’ll leave if you want. I just sort of figured… I don’t know. Last night was last night. That was… us. But this morning, I brought my briefcase.” He held it up in demonstration. “This is The Knockout. I really can help with the gym,” he continued, his voice deepening as his shoulders squared. “You will be happy with the work I do for you, I promiseNo judgment on whatever happens after I help you get it up and running.”
My heart sank. I thought I’d wanted him to leave. And I had, last night, when he was bossing me around. But I did want him here – in The Knockout, and in my bed. In my life. Something about his presence was uplifting and grounding at the same time.
“I mean, it is my assignment,” he said, interrupting my train of thought. Ruining everything. “For work. You know. But then there’s that whole part about how you’re actually not planning to stay on, running this place.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. His reminding me of that was a nudge back into a reality that I didn’t really want to keep at the forefront of my mind right now. Right now, I wanted to be the good daughter. Later on, I could be the daughter who abandoned her family. Who broke her promises.
But dammit, as Ethan stood there offering his help to me, even knowing what he knew, even after I had kicked him out of my place last night after the best sex I had ever had, I realized that the cocky Ethan whose big, confident personality had reeled me in the first time I met him was once again melting away.
Yeah. I liked cocky Ethan, the one who brought his peacocking A-game to dates and workouts and business interactions. But, I realized as I stood there watching a relieved smile settle over his face, I liked this Ethan too. The one who wanted to spend time with me, even if it meant he had to apologize to do it. The one who was standing here, now, waiting for a decision from me, his arms hanging at his sides.
“Which is what I really wanted to talk to you about today, whether you wanted to keep me on the project or not. We have to talk about life insurance, for you. Since you’re the technical owner now, it’ll be important that you protect the business in the event of your death.”
The last word came out softly, like Ethan thought that by lowering his volume he would tempt death into our presence that much less. I knew this conversation was hard for him. Still, I rolled my eyes. “I’m not going to die. That’s why we train before we do stunts. That’s why I prepare for everything that I –”
“Is that why women are at a much greater risk doing stunt work? Because as a rule they’re generally less protected than men since they need to wear skimpy costumes? Is that why there are hardly any industry standards for keeping any stunt people safe and protected on the job? Or why –”
Geez, Ethan was making my heart rate tick up just with the pace of his words. Or maybe it was the palpable stress in his voice, in the way his eyebrows crinkled together as he said them, like he was envisioning all the awful things that could happen to me.
“It’s why I have to get a lot more experience before I get the really serious jobs in film, Ethan,” I said, forcing my voice to stay calm and measured. “It’s why I don’t want to let this gym take over my life while I’m young enough to get the experience down.”
He sighed, not saying anything.
“Take off your shirt,” I blurted, secretly thrilling at his shocked expression when I did. I turned and walked over to the boxing ring, then hoisted myself up into it, ducking under the ropes. I started a little bob-and-weave and turned back to look at Ethan. To my surprise, he’d done what I told him to. I grinned.
“Your shoes and socks too,” I called, gesturing with a gloved hand. He never took his eyes off me, just toed out of his shoes and then pulled off his socks. “Then c’mere.”
“What’s going on?” He still looked slightly confused, even though he
did as I’d asked. I jogged over to the ropes and bent over them, my feet lifting off the mat, to reach the rack with gloves Ethan’s size. When I turned back, there he was. Inside the ropes with me, his face looking skeptical.
“This is your punishment,” I said smoothly. “For picking the lock and scaring me, just because you could.”
His mouth dropped open but I held my finger up to his lips before he could get a word out. Then, with a heavy sigh, he reached a hand out and fitted the gloves on each hand. “I don’t really know how to box,” he said.
I narrowed my eyes and cocked my head. “But you were working out here, a little. Last year, when I was in town.”
“I was using the weights, and mostly running the rest of the time.”
* * *
Now that I thought of it, he was right. I couldn’t remember seeing him in the ring for any significant amount of time.
“It’s not science, Runner Boy. It’s an art. Follow me.” I started to bounce from foot to foot. He copied me, and I tried to suppress an “I told you so” smile when his arms naturally pulled into a fighting stance. “Good,” I praised, pretending not to notice how pleased he seemed at my words. I turned to the side, letting my body go into a fighting stance. “One foot in front of the other now,” I said. I paused and nudged his pant leg with the toe of my shoe. “Pull this one out front.”
He did as I told him, which pulled his body forward about four feet – making him just a few inches away from me. His eyes never left mine, and I’d be damned if I didn’t want to kiss him. Just the memory of his lips covering every inch of my body was enough to distract me – which it would have, if I was ever anything less than focused in the ring. Good thing I wasn’t. “Front arm jab, back arm cross,” I told him in a much softer voice than I’d ever used in the ring before in my life. He nodded with a small jerk down of his chin, his eyes still not leaving mine. I swallowed hard. “Show me,” I said. “Jab.” His left fist darted out aimlessly in front of him, and I laughed. Quickly, I ducked to his side and stood behind him, positioning my body behind his. No wonder guys liked to have sex like this – as the big spoon. The feeling of control, of surrounding and encompassing someone you found attractive, was highly intoxicating. I had to try not to think about that right now, though. I rested my bulbous gloved hand on his left shoulder.
Just Let Go Page 9
