“Awesome! Friday it is.”
Driving away, my heart feels full. Between Raven’s offer of friendship and Blake’s generosity—even if it happened before he decided to hate me—I feel hopeful about my future here. I groan when I’m hit with what I’m going to have to do on Monday. I can’t imagine how much all this work cost, but I’ll have to chase Blake down to thank him and of course offer to pay him back. The thought of talking to him again sends butterflies throughout my body.
Guess I’m not ready for the weekend to end after all.
Blake
Shirt off, face down, shorts and boxer briefs tugged low on my hips, Doc Z administers another round of cortisone to my back. Seems I must be immune or something. The shots only buy me a few days relief.
“I’m upping the dose here.”
A sharp pinch and then a burn forces my eyes to clench shut. My mind takes me to her.
It’s been over a week since she was at my house. Five days at the training center trying to stay away, avoiding her when she’s around. It’s not easy when she’s everywhere I look.
And is it just me, or is there a sudden fucking influx of blondes in Vegas? Shit, they’re everywhere I turn. I’ve had to limit my exposure, going from training to home, with one outing to Red Betty’s to see Ataxia play.
Lucky me, Rex doesn’t have a show at The Blackout until this weekend. I’ll be skipping out on that face-to-face. Now that Layla’s buddy-buddy with Mac, I’m taking a pass on those shows. Sure as shit, she’ll be there, dressed like a rock goddess in all her casual hotness that no girl can pull off like she can.
Fuck. I rein in my thoughts to avoid an uncomfortable situation with my dick and the good doc.
“It’s a guessing game with the doses. You keep up on the pills and the shakes. Those should help.” The doctor’s murmured instructions are the same he’s been drilling into me for the past two weeks. At least it takes my mind off her.
“I’m on it. Shakes and pills.”
“Done here.” Doc Z crosses the room. The sound of him shuffling medical shit followed by the snap of his latex gloves signals I’m good to go.
I right myself and pull on my T-shirt. “Thanks for staying late to hook me up.”
The shot takes time to kick in, but already I feel amped. Other than the annoyance of my back, my training has been spot on. Even after hours of sparring, I’m breathing well and have energy to spare. Most days I have to spend an hour on the treadmill to burn the shit off. Wade’s a jackass if he thinks he can take me. I’m in the best shape of my life.
I wave off Doc Z then head into the locker room. It’s seven thirty at night. The place is deserted. I grab my iPod from my locker and decide to hit some weights before I crash for the night.
Walking across the training room, I take in the posters on the walls. The fighters, both past and present, who’ve left their mark on the sport—the warriors who dedicated their lives to the advancement of MMA. To think how far it’s come—from the world of underground fighting to cable television, and now mainstream. Fuck, if Gibbs gets his way we’ll all be made into dolls to be sold next to those boy band dolls—what the hell?
The light in the weight room is on. I thought I was the only one here. Cool, I’ll have a spotter.
I push through the doors and—holy shit—I’m met with a sight that sucks the oxygen from my lungs.
Facing away from me, she’s at the bench. One knee on, one hand on, the other foot on the floor. Her back is arched, and her black spandex-covered ass is pushed out in a dick-throbbing invitation.
Her elbow set firmly at her hip, she rocks her arm up and down in perfectly executed triceps curls. Her form-fitting tank top displays the long, lean muscles of her upper arm with each rep. Sweat glistens on her creamy skin, and the tiny grunts that seep from her pouty lips have me shifting in my shorts.
I’m suspended. Light-headed from the visual assault. The things I would do if she were mine. My eyes devour every inch of her body. I imagine myself creeping in behind her, digging my fingers into her hips as I grind myself against her ass to show her exactly what she does to me. It’d be so easy. Removing those tiny shorts to get to what’s underneath. All I’d have to do is bend her over—
“Oh my gosh, Blake! You scared the ever-loving shit out of me.” Her eyes are locked on mine through the floor-to-ceiling mirrors in front of her. She drops the weight and pushes herself up, placing a hand on her chest.
My gaze moves from her shocked face to her hand that is resting between her tits.
“Blake.” There’s scolding in the way she says my name, but I can’t pull my eyes away from her heaving breasts.
Her black workout top is cut in a low V. It must have some kind of push-up padding. Her breasts are pressed together to create the perfect valley that begs for my mouth.