Game On (A Bad Boy Sports Romance) (29 page)

              “Gemma, I -” Marc started again, but I held up one finger to stop him. There was nothing more that needed to be said. We were here for one reason and one reason only: to heal his injuries and get him back to fighting condition.

              “Now, let’s get started on those stretches,” I said.

              The rest of the session passed by in awkward near-silence, the two of us struggling to pretend we didn’t care about the wide canyon spreading out between us, driving us painfully and irrevocably apart.

              I’m back in the ring during the fight that brought me to the floor, pounding away at my opponent. Once again, I bring him up and slam him down on the ground, adrenaline coursing through my body, fuelling every ounce of ferocity I have within me. I’m unstoppable.

              The crowd cheers me on again, and the emcee is announcing my triumph. Confetti streams around me, and as I look to my right, I see my woman coming up onto the ring with me. She’s absolutely stunning, her blonde hair flowing free behind her as her freckled face beams at me. When she wraps her arm around me and stretches up on her toes to plant a kiss on my face, my heart is filled with comforting fire, and everything feels so right.

              I feel the emcee raise my arm again, and before I know it, I’m incapacitated, collapsing to the ground again, but my girl’s face is over me, her arms wrapping around me as she tries to keep my head elevated.

              “Marc? Marc!” Gemma says before directing the emcee to call for the medics. “Stay with me, it’s going to be okay,” her voice says, and it’s the most calming sound I could ever have hoped to hear, like the voice of an angel calling me out of purgatory.

              “I know,” I say, pulling her closer, our lips so close. “Because I won. And I’ve got you.”

              Her breath is desperate, and I close the distance between us, pulling her into a deep, passionate kiss, our tongues exploring one another, my hands moving around her body and grasping every piece of her I can get a hold of. Reckless and uncaring that there are a thousand eyes on us, national television broadcasting our every move, I strip her jacket from her shoulders, and she giggles as I work her bra off, revealing those ample, supple breasts. I put my hands on them, drawing her into me as her hand goes to my cock, my crown bulging with urgent need for her.

I’m going to fuck her right here, in front of everyone, so everyone will know she’s mine.

I pull her pants down, relishing in the sight of that wet, hungry cunt, and I stand to my knees and put her on the ground under me, looking deep into her eyes that are full of excitement and lust as I ram my spear deep inside her…

The sound of my phone buzzing on the table woke me up with a snort, my empty beer bottle clattering to the floor beside me as I immediately clutched my neck.

I’d fallen asleep on the couch, and it was only nine in the evening. And now there was a crick in my neck.

Before I could gather my bearings, I looked over to the table where my phone was lit up. It was a call from Selena.

Another one. This was the ninth one today. And it was about to be the ninth missed call, just like all the rest. As I let my head fall back onto the pillow behind me, I let out a deep sigh before something between my legs caught my attention. I had a fierce hard-on, stiffer and more ready than it ever got during sex dreams. It hadn’t been that stiff since…

I ran a hand over my face, remembering the details of the dream I’d just had. Fuck.

I looked down at my body, my rippling muscles bulging through the muscle tee I was wearing. Every last muscle and sinew and tendon in it was fine-tuned to perfection. I knew I had earned every ounce of strength I had, and I did that by listening to the unique needs and drives of my body. Following my instincts was something that was second nature to me, and I owed to that everything that I now had.

But why did my body have such a strong desire for something I couldn’t have?

There could be no mistake that my body wanted Gemma. It needed her. Hell, every part of it seemed to have an insatiable urge to fuck her. I hadn’t been the same since the first time we’d fucked in the gym, and now that my body had a taste, it wouldn’t be satisfied until it had more.

I’d never been at war with my own source of strength before, and to say it made me uncomfortable was a vast understatement. But what could I do? Gemma was my physio. She made it exceedingly clear that what happened that one time could not happen again. There was no doubt that she didn’t want this to happen.

That didn’t mean she didn’t want it to happen anyway, though.

I was a pretty simple guy, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t read nonverbal cues. That last physio session with Gemma had been awkward as hell. But still, I couldn’t shake from my mind that all those half-started conversations had come from her as much as they had from me.

Maybe she really did want me as badly as I wanted her. I wondered what went through her head when she was in the same position as me, alone with her thoughts. Did her mind ever wander back to images of me, ploughing into her with all my might, pumping myself through her body and filling her up with my seed like my cock desperately demanded I do?

My hand moved to my cock, stroking it absent-mindedly as I thought of her hair dancing along my chest as I bounced her on my shaft…

But I gave my head a light shake. Focus, Marc. You need to get this off your mind so you can get back into shape ASAP. Otherwise you won’t be bouncing anyone on your dick for a while.

Grunting, I got to my feet and went to change into my gym clothes. Whenever these kinds of thoughts buzzed around my head, the best way to handle it, I’d found, was to head to the gym and work them out physically.

The walk to the gym was as calm and quiet as it got in this part of Vegas. Must not have been a lot going on around town. Even as I did something as simple as taking a walk, though, my mind drifted to Gemma.

I wondered what she’d be like walking along beside me. Maybe we’d hit the gym together, shooting the breeze and talking about the latest gym gossip as we headed to lift weights together in the late hours of the night when we couldn’t get to sleep for restless minds. Or maybe we’d go on walks around the city on our off-days, her in a sundress that flowed around her knees, teasing me while we laughed together.

Maybe we’d get up to less innocent things together, and I’d take her out to the park one evening, where we’d find a secluded spot, and she’d beg me to rip that pretty dress off of her and pound her until she was the one who needed a few sessions of physio.

Holy fuck, Marc, get a grip.

My inability to focus only agitated me more as I got up to the gym and headed through the doors, the receptionist giving me a nod before going back to their book as I headed onto the gym floor, out of sight.

I wasn’t really supposed to do any intensive exercise with my recovering injury. I was fitter than I’d been all week, and I felt absolutely great, but I figured a little resistance training wouldn’t hurt anything. Better than dead-lifting weights with one arm, I thought with a chuckle. Though when all this was over, that didn’t sound like a bad idea to show off my regained strength.

I made my way to one of the punching bags, tossing my gym bag aside and flexing my arms a little in preparation. Nothing worked out a little aggression like pummelling something until I was exhausted.

But if I wanted to work myself that much, I’d be here all night.

The sounds of my fists connecting with the punching bag filled the empty room, and after a few minutes, my quick breaths joined it. I tried to get my mind to take me back to the ring, back to a place where there was a real, deadly opponent squaring off with me, ready to tackle me to the ground and put me out of consciousness in a competition for fame and glory and money.

But there was so much else filling my mind.

What the hell did Selena want, anyway? I couldn’t have been less interested in talking to someone in the entire city. With this newfound aggravation about Gemma swarming my thoughts, there was no way I’d risk talking to her and adding more stress to my life.

I wondered if word had gotten to her that Nick Dewsbury was talking to me about making me a poster child. I’d shot Nick an email about some of the terms and conditions I wanted included in my theoretical contract, but he hadn’t gotten back to me yet. Kenny had warned me that they’d fight me on a few of the points I should be firm about. I knew it definitely wouldn’t be above Nick to go to Selena, thinking we were still together.

He probably would have reached out to her as a fellow ad worker, trying to get her to make me cave for less than what I was asking. I wondered how Selena had reacted. Maybe he’d offered her a spot along with me, and that was why she was so desperate to get in touch with me again?

Or maybe she really was sincere, and she just regretted breaking up with me while we were both totally shitfaced at Haze. She was a cutthroat model, but she wasn’t above human emotion, just like anyone else.

As I jumped around the punching bag, I realized that neither of those options changed my opinion about wanting to talk to her in the slightest. If she was just after money, then it was an easy decision to brush her off, I could make my own way just fine without her, with people like Kenny at my side.

And if she really did want to get back together, well, if there was one thing my time alone this round had told me, it was that me and Selena weren’t a good match for each other. I realized that I didn’t miss her at all, and to boot, my body and my mind were utterly focused on Gemma. She was the one I wanted beside me in bed every night, and she was the one I wanted to fill up at every chance.

Fucking hell man, get it together!

Each time those lustful, downright romantic thoughts invaded my mind, unbidden, I got that much more aggravated. My knuckles were almost bleeding from how hard I was pummelling the bag, and I had to stop for a moment, as I realized my motions were going out of the realm of healthy exercise and into animalistic brutalizing, and I was risking making my shoulder worse again.

My chest heaved as I stepped back, swinging my arms back and forth as I looked up at the ceiling to take slow, steady breaths. It wasn’t because I was exhausted - I could have gone for another few hours at this rate. But I needed to settle down.

Unfortunately for me, the footsteps I heard coming into the room belonged to someone who would only serve to do the opposite.

“Well, well, Marc. Didn’t expect to see you here this late.”

I looked over at the man and gave him a curt nod, hands on my hips as I breathed. “Dante.”

Dante was trouble. Everyone knew that. He was another of the gym’s regulars, and when it came to exercise, he was just as fit and agile as anyone else who went to The Fighting Chance. But he wasn’t the kind of guy many of us associated with outside the ring.

He was with the mob. And he was proud of it. Worse yet, given his connections, he was more likely than anyone else to be in the know about the secrets and back-alley deals that surrounded the fighting world, and he always used it to his advantage.

“I can understand that, though,” he said, dropping his bag not far from me and squaring up with a punching bag of his own. “Less people around at night means less people to get on you about your injury.”

“Careful, Dante,” I said, resuming my punching, a little harder and more focused than before.

“I don’t mean it like that,” he backpedaled insincerely. “I mean, I can just hear those assholes now, getting on your back over trying to work out like a normal person when you ‘should be recovering,’ ” he said with a dark chuckle. “I come out here later at night for the same reason.”

“When you aren’t out doing dirty work, eh?” I said, smirking as I gave another solid wallop to the punching bag.

“Yeah, when I’m not smuggling millions’ worth of cocaine across the border and killing rival kingpins, right?” he shoots right back. “Hey, at least I keep work and pleasure separate, unlike some of the people around here. How’s that physio going, by the way?”

“Warning you, Dante,” I said, this time holding back the fire in my chest at that remark. I came here to work off steam, not build it up, I reminded myself.

“Aw, did I hit a raw nerve? Maybe you’d like Gemma to give it a nice massage and ease the tension.” He grinned, and at that, I abandoned my punching bag and strode towards Dante.

“What was that, asswipe?”

“I wouldn’t walk away from the bag, Marc, Gemma will be disappointed if you can’t pound her like you’ve been pounding away at that thing.”