After they depart, I figure this session is over so I leave the cage. Maybe I should have let him get a few hits in first so I could at least get a workout of some sort. Ignoring the whispers and stares of the other fighters and employees, I snatch up my hoodie. As I go to shrug it on, I catch sight of her out of the corner of my eye.
Britt is watching me. Our gazes meet and I expect her to flinch or turn away. She doesn’t. Those clear blue eyes stay fixed on mine. When I realize I’m standing with my hoodie halfway on, I yank it over my head, pissed I let this woman get under my skin. A tiny little girl. With cock-sucking lips and a tight round ass and the ability to completely distract me.
I flip up the hood, letting it fall over my brow. The feeling of being watched doesn’t diminish. Another quick peek has me locking eyes again with the petite blonde.
What the fuck? Why isn’t she afraid?
I don’t like this at all. People are supposed to turn away, not study me. If they look too hard, they might see everything I don’t want exposed. And Britt? She’s already closer to exposing me than anyone I’ve ever known, and it’s only been twenty-four hours.
I have a feeling when it comes to Britt, fate has already determined I’m screwed.
* * *
“Come in and sit, Killer. Por favor.” Gabriel directs me to his office by extending his hand.
I follow, knowing what’s coming. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. My temper, my strength, my inability to control myself in the cage—more bullshit lecturing, I’m sure. Gabriel grabs the chair behind his desk, bringing it around the front to face the only other chair in his office.
“Sit.” His tone is firm but kind. Not one you argue with, so I comply, staring at the hem of the sweatshirt with my hood pulled up over my eyes.
Gabriel takes his own seat and I wait for the verbal thrashing. Nothing happens. He makes soft noises—breathing, the slight rustle of clothing, but no words.
The silence overtakes the room, crawling up my legs and making my skin feel too tight. My heart is pounding in my chest. What the hell? I love silence. I live for silence. How is he using it to make me so uncomfortable?
Against everything I am, I tilt my head to go eye to eye with Gabriel, bracing myself for the anger. The fear. When our gazes meet, Gabriel gives me a huge grin.
Is this guy crazy?
“There you are,” he chuckles. “I was wondering if you were ever going to look at me when we talk.”
My mouth falls open, but nothing comes out.
He laughs again. “I can do all the talking, Killer. Don’t worry.”
His humor is disconcerting, but encouraging. “You’re not mad?”
Gabriel is nonplussed. “Why am I supposed to be mad? Because Raoul can’t take a hit? Or because he didn’t think to block it?” He waves an uninterested hand my way. “N?o. Of course not. You spar, you get hit. That’s the game.”
“But…” I blink rapidly. “But you said no hard hits.”
The kind man puts his elbows on his knees, leaning forward and steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. “I know what a liver kick will do. Did you hit him hard?”
I shake my head and huff. “No.”
Gabriel smiles, leaning back. He spreads his hands wide. “Bom. So no problem.”
My mind flicks through all the reasons Gabriel should be furious right now. Just as quick, I calculate all the reasons he wouldn’t be.
“You know I didn’t hit him hard or where I wanted to. You know I held back.”
He laughs, a rich, throaty laugh. “Of course I know. I watched your film. I talked to Rafael. Hell, meu filho, just looking at you I know your striking potential is much, much higher than what you showed me with Raoul. I’m certain he would have been knocked out by that kick if you used your potential.” Clapping his hands together, Gabriel traps me with his dark gaze. “Now, you’re the one who has to deal with Raoul complaining. I think that is punishment enough.” Gabriel winks.
I’m floored. This man, he gets me. Like really gets me. And oddly enough, he’s not intimidated by me in the least. He sees something in me most people don’t. Potential.
Britt
Today is K day. That’s what I’ve called it in my head all week. It’s a full day of watching K train, offering advice, and helping out when needed. He’s only been here a week and a half but it seems like much longer. Probably because I spend every free second thinking about him or stealing glances in the gym.
When did I turn into such a basket case?
I laugh. Who am I kidding? I’m always a basket case, just not usually at work, and definitely not over a fighter.
I grab a drink to soothe my dry mouth and smother the flames of desire building at the thought of watching K fight. Clutching the bottle, my hand trembles so much a tiny bit of water splashes out, splattering on my desk and keyboard.
Of course.
“Crap.” I grab a roll of paper towels and mop up the mess. Thankfully, only a few drops hit the actual keyboard and the rest landed on my desk.
I’ve been a wreck, obsessing over K, wanting what I shouldn’t want. Craving more of that feeling I had when wrapped in his powerful arms when I should be avoiding him. But if K can bring me the kind of peace I’ve struggled to find…