Dinner comes and goes, and I’m not sure I’ve ever smiled so much. Adam never reverted to the quiet guy I originally thought he was. He’s smart and witty, two traits that made him even more attractive to me. Our conversation flowed easily, and my naturally shy disposition vanished. We chatted like old friends. God, it felt amazing. I can’t even swear to you that Dave was even at the table while we ate. It seems Adam and I dominated every conversation.
"Riley, that was delicious," Adam says, standing to clear the table.
I quickly try to stop him. "You don’t have to do that!"
"No, sit. You cooked. I can manage the dishes."
"We should hire him," Dave leans over and loudly whispers in my ear.
I giggle for a minute before heading toward the sink to stop him.
"I have a trick," I say, stepping beside him. I catch a whiff of his cologne, and it takes my every conscious thought not to sway toward him. "Watch." I fill the sink with warm, soapy water and pull the dirty dishes from his hands, dropping them unceremoniously into the water. "There. They’re soaking," I announce.
A slow smile creeps across his face. "Who’s going to wash them after they soak?"
"I’ll guilt Dave into doing them in the morning." I return his smile.
"She really will," Dave confirms from the couch, but Adam’s eyes never leave mine. It’s unnerving but exhilarating all at once.
"Make sure you do that." Very gently, he reaches a hand forward to brush a hair out of my face.
I freeze, but not because I’m frightened. I can’t move as I watch his hand tenderly moving toward my face. It’s so slow that I know I could easily stop him if I wanted. It’s a purposeful speed that makes my heart skip a beat. He knows I’m skittish and he decided to take a risk, but he made sure to make me feel comfortable while he did it. The flutter in my stomach returns at full force.
"So yeah, I bet the fight is starting soon." I look down and step away, wishing I could have stayed. Story of my life.
"Right," he responds without moving an inch.
I look up to find him staring down at me with a sudden and unexpected heat in his eyes.
"You really need to get new contacts," he mumbles before walking away.
I collect myself for a few minutes before following him over to the couch. I look between the two men sitting on either end before settling for the tattered recliner nearest to Dave.
"No way!" Dave shouts, and Adam’s lip lifts a miniscule amount. "Did you see Lopez tonight? He’s huge!"
"He made weigh-in though," Adam challenges.
"Maybe with one leg off the scale." Dave begins to laugh, and Adam joins him in the most amazing and unexpected show of humor between the two men, who before this moment have been cordial at best. I can’t help but laugh right along with them.
The announcer begins his exaggerated introductions that vibrate over the speakers of our cheap TV, causing us all to automatically hush. Both of the competitors enter the ring and I sigh to myself when I think about how delicious Adam would look crossing through those ropes.
"I’ll be right back." Dave stands up and heads down the hall, rubbing his stomach, but Adam never drags his eyes from the TV.
A few moments later, the fight begins and he immediately slides forward to the edge of his seat. I don’t particularly care for boxing, but watching Adam get excited about it makes me curious. He doesn’t speak or even cheer, but as the rounds progress, I watch him more than the TV. I begin to think he's forgotten I'm even in the room. With every punch thrown on the screen, he twitches to the left or right, and at one point, he dips completely. I use a hand to stifle my laugh, but he immediately swings his gaze to mine. I try to wave him off and excuse my laughter with a hand gesture, but he cracks a knowing smile that makes me blush.
"Something funny, Riley?"
"No. No." I continue laughing. "It’s just I wasn’t sure which match to watch—the one on TV or the imaginary one you were fighting."
He gives me a quiet chuckle and leans back against the couch, scrubbing his hands over his jeans. "Sorry. Habit."
"So you really are a boxer, huh?" I ask, and his bright smile fades.
"I am," he answers shortly.
"You ever been to one of these big matches? I bet it would be exciting to watch one of these in person."
A glimmer flickers back into his flat eyes and he nods. "Yeah, I’ve been to a couple. It’s always…fun."
"Cool." I say awkwardly, looking down and plucking imaginary fuzz from my pants. "Hmm. I wonder where Dave went?" I peek down the hall to see the bathroom door shut but the light glowing from the crack under the door. I fully expected Adam to go back to watching the fight, but instead, he crosses his legs, knee to ankle, and tosses an arm over the back of the couch.
"So where are you from, Riley?"
"Florida," I answer without thinking. My eyes go wide when I realize what I just admitted, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t catch the truth as it flies across the room.
"Florida? Really?" He appears shocked.
"Well, at least that’s what I like to tell people. I’m actually from here in Ohio, but doesn’t Florida sound like more fun?" I nervously laugh as he narrows his eyes.
"Yeah, that does sound more exciting than Ohio. You ever been down there—to Florida, I mean?" He asks suspiciously.
"Yeah. I went to Disney World once when I was in college. I loved it. What about you?" I attempt to change the focus of the conversation to him.
"I’ve been to Disney a couple times."
"No, I mean, where are you from?"
"Oh, I grew up right near here actually, but these days, I’m kind of a nomad. I stay in Chicago a lot," he responds, glancing back at the fight. I could be wrong, but I think it’s more to avoid the conversation than to actually catch up on the action.
Normally, I would enjoy the silence. I can’t screw up anything else like I did with my little Florida slip up if I don’t talk. But I’m too curious about him to keep myself from starting another conversation.
"So, how’d you get into boxing?"
He turns back to face me, and a staggering warmth slides over his face. "My mom put me in boxing when I was a kid. Apparently, I was quite the handful when I was young, and she wanted to give me an outlet to get out the pent-up frustrations." He pauses to laugh to himself.
"You stuck with it all these years?"
"I did. By the time I hit middle school, I was a good bit larger than most of the other kids my age, and while football seemed like the likely sport, I just wasn’t interested. I grew up with just my mom, and I took the role of man of the house very seriously. I wanted to be able to protect her. I took up wrestling and enrolled in every self-defense class the community center offered, and when I wasn’t there, I was at the boxing gym." He stops to look over at me knowingly. His words from that first night flash into my head.
You remind me of my mother.
"Oh." I look down at my hands, twisting in my lap.
"Have you ever taken any self-defense classes, Riley?"
"Um. Yeah. Dave’s taught me a good bit. I swear I’m not always frightened like I was last night," I say unconvincingly.
"Was he the same one to teach you how to handle a gun?" he asks sarcastically.
"Hey! I know how to shoot. I just hate guns," I laugh, trying to defend myself.
"Let me teach you some self-defense stuff."
"What? Why?"
"Because I think it would make you feel a little more secure to know how to properly defend yourself. I mean, combine that with your stellar skills behind the barrel of a gun and you wouldn’t have to fear anyone," he teases.
If he only knew how much I really have to fear. No self-defense class will make me feel secure, but I still laugh at his silly comment. It feels good to make light of it even if I’m the only one in on the joke.
"It’s okay. You don’t have to do that," I answer, but he leans in close to catch my eye.
"Dave seems like he means well, but I promise I can teach you better, Riley. Let me help you feel safe," he implores and the gentleness in this huge man’s tone has me immediately agreeing. "Good. I’ll get a mat and move aside my furniture. We can do it in my apartment."
"Oh, God. That sounds like a lot of trouble. You don’t have to do that."
"No trouble. Tomorrow after work, okay?"
"Um, I guess."
He nods and turns right back around just in time to watch the last thirty seconds of the fight. "What happened to Dave? He missed watching Lopez get destroyed."
"You know, I’m not sure." I get up and head down the hall. I knock on the bathroom door, but I hear his voice from behind me.
"Over here, babe," he says from inside his room.
I walk to his doorway to see him lying on his bed, reading a book. His legs are crossed at the ankle and he’s wearing those nerdy glasses I tease him about all the time.
"What are you doing?"
"Reading," he states obviously.
"Okay, why are you reading? You missed the entire fight."
"I needed some fresh air," he says with a smile.
"In your bedroom?"
"The sexual tension was strangling me."
My head snaps back in surprise. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"All those little side glances and flirty smiles you two were tossing around the room were suffocating me." He makes a gagging gesture before giving me a wide smile.
"You have lost your damn mind! I was not flirting with him." I was totally flirting with him.
"No, you were mentally undressing him while he flirted with you."
"Shut up!" I whisper while reaching back to pull the door to his room closed.
"Don’t get all uppity. I was just giving you two some alone time to talk. That’s all."
"Well can you come back out? It’s awkward that you just disappeared."
"It can’t be that awkward considering I’ve been in here for over a half hour and you are just now coming to look for me." He winks and stands up off the bed. "I’ll be right there."
I head back to the den and find Adam sitting on the couch, fighting back a laugh while toying with the label on his beer.
I let out a loud sigh and ask, "Eavesdropping again?"
"Nope." He shakes his head but never looks at me. I let out a breath thankful that he didn’t hear— "But I did hear the conversation."
"Seriously! Why the hell does this crap only happen to me?" I shout in frustration.
He finally looks up, and the glowing smile he’s wearing is infectious. We both burst out laughing, because really, what the hell else can you do? My face is bright red with embarrassment, but neither one of us can stop long enough to acknowledge it.
I calm only to plead with him, "Please pretend you didn’t hear that."
"Okay. But it’s more fun to assume you are mentally undressing me every time you look at me." He begins to laugh again.
I throw my hands up to cover my face. Fire trucks have nothing on the color red my cheeks are sure to be right now.
"Oh my God. You really did hear. He’s an idiot. You can’t believe anything Dave says," I say from behind my hands.
"Okay, okay. I should really go. I need to get a move on ordering those mats. " He stands, and I immediately move my hands, not ready for him to leave yet. His eyes are warm, and the smirk on his gorgeous face warms a few of my own places too. "So tomorrow night. My place, okay?"
I nod, and he turns to walk away. Just before he gets to the door, he pauses.
"For the record, you can believe some things he says, because I was absolutely flirting."
My eyes go wide, but before I have a chance to squeak out a witty retort, he leaves.
"Told you," Dave says from the hallway, leaning up against the wall.
"I’m going to kill you!" I shout at him only to hear Adam laugh from outside the door. Fantastic!
I don’t know what the hell happened last night. When I accepted Dave’s invite to dinner, I expected to go over there, have dinner with a shy, frightened woman and her a*shole cousin. Instead, I met the amazing Riley Peterson. Smartass extraordinaire. Sarcastic aficionado, and hands down the sexiest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. She’s not like the plastic women who usually throw themselves at me, but that only made her more appealing.
Who was that woman? Even from the first moment when I arrived, I could tell something was different with her. She stood taller, smiled more, and she wasn’t apologizing for everything. She didn’t look defeated. No. This version of Riley was full of life. She was, well…beautiful.
I can’t begin to tell you what a turn-on it was to see her stand up to Dave. It kills me to know there is a layer of pain hiding under this woman. I wanted to help her the minute I met her, but it appears I was all wrong about what kind of help she needed. Tonight, hopefully, I can give her that—just a little confidence in her own abilities to protect herself.
Self-defense isn’t a one-stop shop that will make her invincible, but I’m hoping I can light a fire inside her to maybe explore this further. It doesn’t hurt that I’ll have to touch her while we do it. While I think that may make me an a*shole, I can live with that fact. I would never hurt her, but I wouldn’t mind making her come a time or twelve. Yeah, that absolutely makes me an a*shole, but I’m still okay with it.
I’m an introvert—and that is being generous—but I can’t wait for her to get here tonight. It’s an unusual feeling at best. The absurdity in this level of excitement at seeing a woman I barely know isn’t lost on me. I may not be weak or insecure, but the struggle I see in Riley’s eyes is oddly familiar. It draws me to her, but it took seeing her as a woman and not a victim in need of rescue for me to realize it.
So today, I have pulled out all the stops. First, I called an out-of-town athletics supply store and ordered the mats. I ended up paying more for immediate delivery than the actual mats, but whatever. Then I ordered conservative takeout from my favorite restaurant. Or at least that is what I paid the delivery boy to say when he shows up. I actually hired him to put ridiculously expensive Italian food from the best restaurant in a fifty-mile radius into cheap takeout boxes and bring it over at eight.
Okay, so maybe that isn’t all the stops, but it’s more than Adam would ever be able to realistically do. I’m not going to push my luck. I still have no plans to tell her who I am. I don’t think she would rush out and tell the tabloids or anything. Hell, if Dave hasn’t done it by now, I’m sure Riley wouldn’t either. But I’m really f*cking enjoying being broke-ass Adam Andrews—boxer wannabe who is down on his luck, just trying to get his head straight.
At 6:01, there is a knock at my door. Not that I was watching the clock or peeking through the window or anything. What the hell is wrong with me?
"Hey," she greets as soon as I pull open the door.
Her eyes are unfortunately brown as she looks up at me with a nervous smile playing on her lips. And like a jackass, I watch her mouth for a beat too long. I have a feeling that being forward isn’t going to help me at all with this woman.
I wait for her to shyly look down. But not this Riley. She bites her lip to restrain a smile and says, "You’re wearing sweats again."
"Ah, yeah. Sorry. My three-piece suit was at the cleaners," I tease, and this time, she really does look away, but it might be for the best because her bright smile is blinding even from this angle. "And I have to note you’re wearing sweats too."
"Mine are pink though. So it’s okay," she says matter-of-factly.
"I’ll keep that in mind next time I head to the mall." I push the door wide for her to enter, and she does a quick glance over her shoulder before walking inside.
"Um, not any trouble, huh?" She looks around my apartment at all my furniture precariously shoved into every spare inch of the room while thick, blue wresting mats cover the floor.
"None at all." I smile, but she doesn’t seem convinced.
"These are new."
"They're on loan," I answer, and it’s not a lie. I fully intend to donate them to the local high school as soon as we're done.
"So what now? Do I try to tackle you and then you fall unconvincingly to the ground under my slightest touch?"
"No. Now we talk. I know you are a little…timid. But I’m not going to go easy on you tonight. I wouldn’t be a good teacher if I did. So I will be mindful of your emotions, but I want you to remember that I’m only trying to help. I don’t want to scare you, but if someone truly attacks you, they aren’t going to coddle you."
She nods her head and immediately looks back toward the door. I don’t think she is really considering leaving, but judging by the look on her face, she definitely wants to escape.
"Do you think you can you trust me?"
"I don’t know. I want to say yes, but the moment you pin me to that mat, I’ll probably lose it," she says with a sad smile that causes her eyes to water.
Her answer doesn’t break my heart; it pisses me the f*ck off. Who the hell pinned her somewhere, and where can I find them to destroy their life? Maybe I don’t want to know this stuff about this woman. I’d rather focus on her smile and how amazing her ass looks in those yoga pants.
"Then I won’t pin you," I respond casually as if an inferno of rage isn’t burning inside me.
"I think I’ll be okay then." She nods, but her eyes are screaming otherwise.
"What about my touch? Any areas I should know about that will set you off?" Her eyes go wide and she takes an immediate step back. "I don’t mean anything sexual," I quickly clarify. "I just mean your arms, shoulders, legs, or even ankles. Riley, I don’t want to accidentally hit a trigger of yours, so please just tell me where not to go. This isn’t going to be a free-for-all by any stretch of the imagination, but I will have to touch you. I need to know if there is any place that is off-limits for you. Like, if I grab your ankle to move your foot into a better position, would that be an issue?"
Is this the normal round of questioning during a class? Hell no! However, what I’m about to show her isn’t your run-of-the-mill self-defense class either. And above and beyond all of that, I really want to know her personal boundaries.
"Um. My ankles are fine, but maybe not above my knees—like my thighs," she says so quietly that it’s barely audible.
God damn it! I have to remind myself that I wanted to know this, but a million different scenarios about what someone could have done to this woman’s thighs sends fire through my veins.
"Hang on. I’ll be right back," I say roughly while heading to the bathroom in order to collect myself.
I shouldn’t have asked. I’m a freaking masochist for torturing myself like this. I’m also curious and, for some reason, utterly drawn to her. I could have done this little lesson by the book, but I want her to feel safe. I’m reasonably sure Dave has taught her the basics, but I want to give her more than that. Riley is stronger than she thinks she is, and I want to show her that. I want to renew the strength that her ex took from her.
I have absolutely zero tolerance for any man laying a hand on a woman. I know a lot of that is because of the difficult situation in which I grew up, but I hope that, even if I had grown up under different circumstances, I would still feel the same way. I fight for a living. I get paid millions of dollars to punch a man to the point where he is no longer able to continue standing. But my opponents step into the ring willingly and with full knowledge of what is about to happen. He will have a similar paycheck in his back pocket and the exact same goal I have. I don’t hit him out of anger or dominance, and at the end of the fight, no matter who the victor may be, there are no hard feelings.
Men who physically, mentally, or emotionally abuse women, are the ones who really deserve to look into my eyes from across the ring. Solving violence with violence may not be the best course of action to end the cycle, but it would definitely make me sleep a little sounder at night. If I ever find this so-called ex-boyfriend of Riley’s, I cannot be held responsible for what I might do to him. I don’t even know what really happened to her, but I hate him all the same.
I splash some water over my face and get myself back into the right mindset. "This is for her, you dumbass. Get it together," I whisper to myself in the mirror before going back out to face her. I find her sitting Indian style in the middle of the mat, inspecting her fingernails. "Hey," I say softly so as not to scare her. "You ready?"
"Am I allowed to say no?" she asks, surprising me.
"Absolutely. I won’t force you to do anything. I’m only trying to help."
She looks at me for a few seconds before pushing to her feet and dusting imaginary dirt from her pants. "I’m ready. Teach me, oh great one!" she says with a teasing smile.
For the next ninety minutes, I teach Riley numerous defensive techniques. Some she picks up fast and some she bumbles completely, but no matter what, she keeps trying. What starts as a simple clinical session quickly turns into something totally different. Riley sheds her protective shell, exposing an unexpected fierce and raw side to her. Her every move is planned and calculated, and behind the contacts, I can see her determination.
It’s by far the sexiest thing I have seen in my entire life.
For those moments while we are moving against each other on the mat or when she is blocking my false attacks, she truly comes alive. Gone is the victim, and in her place is the shadow of a warrior. If I wasn’t interested in Riley before, I’m awestruck by her now.
"Shit," I cuss when her leg sweeps mine, catching me off guard. I’ve given her a few dramatic falls before now, but this is one hundred percent real—and completely worth it as she lets out a loud laugh and falls to the mat beside me.
I watch as she loses herself in hysterical laughter, rolling from side to side in a show so spectacular that nothing could ever drag my attention away. God, this woman is incredible. She must catch me staring because she suddenly sobers and settles on her side to face me. She’s a good two feet away, and I’ve never hated personal space more. I want nothing more than to reach out and touch her. Slide my hands over her white, exposed flesh or glide them over the small curve of her waist and up to her breasts, where her peaked nipples are showing through her thin sports bra. Most of all, I want to trace my tongue over her plump, pink lips and into her—
Luckily, the knock at the door stops me before I can make an actual move.
"Are you expecting someone?" She immediately jumps to her feet. I watch as, before my own eyes, she transforms back into the frightened woman I met a few nights ago.
"Hey." I reach out to grab her arm, but before I even have a chance, her hand nervously grips my forearm. I look down, and she’s squeezing me so tight that her knuckles are beginning to turn white. It doesn’t burn like when most people touch me—but it sizzles all the same. "It’s okay, beautiful. I ordered takeout."
I move my arm from her grasp, but only so I can loop it around her waist and pull her to against me. I expected her to be stiff from such an overt gesture, but she immediately relaxes into my side. Riley is small but not tiny. I’m six foot four, and she fits perfectly tucked into my side. My hand rests on her lower back, and it takes all the restraint I can possibly gather not to naturally slide it over to her ass.
"You like Italian right?" I ask, looking down into her camouflaged eyes.
"Yeah," she confirms in a shaky voice.
"Good, because I ordered a ton." I smile reassuringly.
And instead of the smile I was hoping for in return, she quickly steps away.