Midwest Fighter (Kendall Family Book 2) (10 page)

From the intensity of the light pouring into the room, I’m betting I missed my morning session with Manny by hours, and he won’t be impressed after all he went through to arrange next week’s match. I roll out of bed and drag my fingers through my wild hair as memories from the night before skate through my mind. The way it all played out—each of us thinking the other had moved on with someone else, then discovering it wasn't true, then her coming to find me—made it seem everything happened for a reason. And the way we had been so gentle with each other…I allowed myself to feel something for her.

“I wasn’t sure if I should wake you,” Sharlo’s voice trills from the doorway.

Looking up, my eyebrows lower on their own. In my NIN concert T-shirt, hanging off one creamy shoulder, and nothing else, she’s mouth-watering hot. With my naked dick stirring back to life, my eyes slowly drag up her toned legs before settling on her hand holding out a plate with toast and eggs. “You made me breakfast?”

“I would’ve done it sooner had your arm not been locked around me as tightly as a pit bull’s jaw,” she answers with a sexy little laugh. She gently pushes the plate into my stomach. “Afraid I’m not as brilliant in the kitchen as your sister, but I’m able to fry an egg and make toast without setting off any fire alarms. You were sleeping so sound that I decided you wouldn’t be coming downstairs anytime soon.”

Fuckin’ A. She’s on track to being the perfect woman for a guy like me who isn’t really relationship material to begin with.

“I’m late for training.”

Crossing her arms, she shrugs her bare shoulder. “Then I suggest you eat quickly. Don’t imagine you’ll be worth much without a little protein to start your day.”

Setting the plate on the dresser, I pull my underwear on from the night before and shift my weight from one foot to the other before looking her in the eye. “I had a good time last night.”

“Oh, I know,” she sings with a smirk. “No need to rehash what transpired. Consume your calories and be on your way.”

“Come with me,” I blurt, unsure how else to tell her that I don’t want her to leave without sounding like a desperate loser.

Interest sparks in her blue eyes. “You want me to watch you fight?”

“I’ll mostly just be slugging a bag and shit, but yeah, I’ll probably spar a little. I’ll introduce you to Manny and some of the guys.” Stepping closer, I dip my chin as my lips twitch with a little smile. “They’d probably welcome the chance to strut their stuff for a gorgeous woman. The place gets pretty boring when you’re locked inside all day.”

She brings one of her fingers up to her mouth and gnaws on an already short nail. While looking down at the floor across the room, her lips bend with a smirk. “I suppose I could borrow something from Evelyn’s closet.” Her eyes draw up to meet mine, filled with uncertainty. “You’re sure you want me there?”

I dip my chin with a nod. “I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t.”

“Okay, then,” she answers, breaking out in a wide grin. “Just give me a moment to reschedule a meeting with Charlie’s sister and I’ll be all yours.”

Looking into her gaze, something hardens in my gut. Shit. I haven’t even known her that long and I’m already worried what I’ll do when she leaves. We may not have much time together, especially since I have to get back to Minnesota to help Uncle Orin and Hunter with planting, but I don’t want her out of my sight while I’m in the city. I have no idea what to do with the sudden need to have another human being close.

W
hen James invited
me to tag along to the gym, an offer I knew at once I’d be unable to turn down, I expected there to be sweaty blokes and an electrified atmosphere. What I wasn’t expecting was the rustic accommodations, the kindly old champion who takes a fancy to me from the go, or the way my stomach dips and bends with the sight of my surly warrior receiving the brunt of another man’s fists. I’m at a loss when trying to find ways to prevent myself from running over to the ring and begging him down on my knees to stop. I’m convinced I won't be able to handle watching him in a real fight.

“You alright, sweetheart?” a deep voice asks behind me. “You look…tense.”

I turn from my bird’s-eye view in the armchair to see a giant of a man looming over me. With wild brown hair and piercing green eyes, wearing a sleeveless T-shirt and gym shorts, I’m unable to look away. As the size of his muscles are comparable to James’s, it’s clear he’s here to train, as well. The man has a look about him that’s both dangerous and intriguing due to a deep scar dividing one eyebrow and another one along his rather thick jaw.

His wide lips spread with a friendly smile as he tips his head in the direction of the ring. “That your boy up there?”

I’m unable to answer, not because I’m blinded by the man’s beauty—which, in all fairness, is a lot to take in—but because I’m not exactly sure
what
James is to me. Calling him my “fuck-mate” seems a bit crass, all things considered. Though we haven't discussed the status of our relationship, it seemed our bodies did a fair amount of talking on our behalves. Regardless, there’s no room for us to explore anything beyond a good shagging. He’ll leave before long and I’ll be left alone once more, no matter the feelings that I may have begun to develop.

After a deep breath, I answer with, “The bloke in the blue gloves.”

The man’s eyes light in interest and his smile grows. “I figured as much since I hadn’t seen him around before. Manny set up a match between me an’ him for next Friday. I’m looking forward to knocking him out.” Bending down, he rests his hand on the back of my chair until our faces are ghastly close. “How’d a goofy bastard like that manage to find himself a gorgeous British woman? Care to let me in on the secret, babe?”

“First off,” I say between clenched teeth, “I’m not your ‘babe’
or your
‘
sweetheart’, and the mere act of calling me such when I don’t know you from Bob makes you a sexist
twat
. Secondly, you apparently haven’t spent any time watching James fight if you think you’re going to ‘knock him out’, as you say. And—”

“Oh,” the man interrupts, one side of his mouth tilting with a wicked smirk, “I
like
you.” Moving his hand from the back of the chair, he squeezes my shoulder in a way that’s far too intimate coming from a complete stranger. “I enjoy a woman that’s up for a good fight. Gives me something to look forward to in bed.” If I didn’t already see him as a cheeky monkey, the suggestive wink he passes me would’ve sent me over the edge.

Sucking in a deep breath, I become frozen in place. “I’d suggest you remove your hand before James
literally
removes it on your behalf.”

“You think I’m scared of your man?” Releasing a low, irritatingly brass chuckle, his fingers continue touching me in a way that makes my skin crawl. “I could beat him with one arm tied behind my back.”

I’m ready to twist his arm behind his back and tell him to sod off when a great commotion arises from the ring. Gigantor and I both swing our heads around to see James’s opponent crash to the mat. He’s barely laid flat before James dips between the ropes and marches toward us, face pinched in irritation. His trainer shouts his name with an air of confusion, but James doesn’t slow his approach. I
almost
pity the bloke at my side, but I’m not that daft.

“Get your fucking hand off her,” James warns him in a deadly tone, nostrils flaring about as if unable to control the anger stewing inside. The way the veins in his arms pulsate, I would guess he’s clenching and unclenching his fists inside his gloves.

“Just giving your girl a proper welcome,” the man says, lifting both hands into the air. “No harm done.”

“I could see clear across the goddamned room that you’re making her uncomfortable,” James bites out. “Touch her again and I’ll snap your fuckin’ arm in two.”

Bloody hell.
Knowing he’s about to lose his cool, I pop to my feet and wrap my hand around his sweaty bicep. My intimate parts perk to life with the familiar scent of James after a workout. It stirs up a queue of memories from the first time we shagged. “It’s alright, luv. This
‘man’
is nothing to get excited about.”

“Breaking my arm wouldn’t make for a very fair match next week,” he tells James with another chuckle, either too moronic to understand I just insulted him or smart enough to know going after me with James at my side is a shit idea. “Though it’d probably be your only chance at beating me.”

The intensity rolling off James when he glares back at the man, eyes narrowed, is enough to make anyone soil themselves in fear.
“You’re
Freddie Vaughn?”

“If you want to back out, I’ll understand,” Freddie says with a nod of his head. “Your girl might be tempted to move along once I’ve rearranged that pretty face of yours.”

“No need to be a wanker!” I scold him, scowling. “I suggest you
back away
before I show you the kind of self-defense moves my dad insisted I assimilate at a
very
young age.”

Freddie shakes his head, chuckling far too hard for someone dangerously close to getting their ass kicked. “Is this girl for real?”

Just as James starts toward him and I’m stepping in to hold him back, their trainer appears at our side. His wrinkled gaze jumps between them. “That’s enough of that, boys. Save it for the ring.”

“Can’t wait,” Freddie tells him as he cracks all the knuckles on one hand. The guy must have a death wish because his smirk returns when he glances back my way. “Looking forward to seeing your beautiful face in the crowd,
sweetheart.”

I do my best to physically restrain James before they start a row as Freddie struts off toward the bench press.

“You’ve had a long week, son,” Manny tells James, his gaze all at once gentle. “Take the rest of the day off, spend it with this lovely lady. A little downtime can be just as good for the soul as training at the gym.” Lips quirking with a grin, his eyes swing my way. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Sharlo. I’m counting on you to take good care of this young man. Make sure he’s in prime condition for next Friday’s match.”

My stomach flutters when I realize I’m promised at least another week with James before he’s to leave. I take the old man’s frail, wrinkled hand between mine and smile. “The pleasure was all mine. And I promise to have him in tip-top shape.”

James appears too distraught for words when he simply dips his head in compliance. As soon as Manny’s stepped away, James slips an arm around my waist and brings me tight up against him. “You okay, little butterfly?”

“Of course,” I answer, setting my hand on his chiseled breastbone and looking him square in the eye. Being in close proximity to him this way and hearing the nickname makes it ever so tempting to drag him back to my place and spend the afternoon shagging. With the way he’s looking back at me, I wouldn’t expect him to put up any sort of fight either. “You must’n worry yourself over these kinds of things. I’ve lived in the city on my own long enough to know the difference between someone who poses a serious threat and someone simply in need of a good tongue thrashing. That big oaf knew
exactly
who you were and was merely trying to ruffle your feathers.”

His parched lips part and the brilliant tongue all my favorable bits have gotten to know appears to wet them. “Let’s blow outta here. I could use something to eat.”

“I know the perfect place to grab a bite.” Running a hand across his clammy chest, I throw him my most playful smile. “As long as you promise you'll leave room for
dessert.”

James is too distracted by watching Freddy across the gym to realize I’m being cheeky. Again I’m plagued with the sickening feeling that I’ll enjoy watching their row about as much as I care to endure another Brazilian waxing in this lifetime.

* * *

A
fter stuffing
our gullets with some of the best burgers the borough has to offer, we head out on foot for the subway that will return us to Brooklyn Heights. James has been surly since we left the gym, having very little to say during our meal and giving me the coldest of shoulders. It would seem he’s still dwelling on our interaction with that Freddy bloke. Determined not to see it spoil our remaining time together, I take his large hand in mine and veer off the sidewalk toward the street, motioning for the first unoccupied cab to come into sight.

“I thought we were taking the subway,” James says, frowning.

I toss him a playful wink. “Change of plans.”

He opens the back door and waits for me to slide in before sitting at my side.

“Calvary Cemetery,” I tell the driver. “The old part.”

“You got it,” the old bloke answers with a tilt of his head.

When the car pulls away from the curb, James draws his eyebrows together. “You’re taking me to a cemetery?”

“Nothing you see back home will compare to this one,” I promise, turning toward him. “The sculptures alone are worth a visit. And it’s past time you see a bit of the city, consume some of the local culture. I’d hate for you to travel all this way and see nothing more than four walls and the faces of those poor blokes you’ve been intent on rearranging.”

After a short ride, the cab pulls up to the gates. As James insisted on buying my lunch, I insist on paying the driver before he leaves us alone at the mouth of the place I’ve always considered so fascinating. Seeing as James still seems reluctant to enjoy himself, I loop my fingers through his and lead the way through row after row of mausoleums and intricate headstones.

I first became interested in the old cemetery when one of my art professors at the university cited the beauty in some of the mausoleums and statues. I never told a soul of my strange ritual, not even Richard back in the days when I was daft enough to believe he was my true love. This became my sanctuary, a place to meditate and clear my thoughts. Though it’s not exactly quiet with the madness of the Expressway so nearby, I was able to find my own kind of peace when discovering the beauty there was to be found in something so morbid.

Once we’re afforded a brilliant view of the Manhattan skyline, I settle down in the grass beside my usual spot, pulling James down with our intertwined hands. His fingers leave mine, and he sighs deeply while running a hand through his mussed hair. Upon seeing him glance around with reluctance, it occurs to me how imbecile I’ve been bringing him here so soon after his dad’s death.

“Is this alright?” I ask, trying not to cringe.

His gaze settles on the skyscrapers and he nods. “The city looks so small from here.”

“I’ve always adored this view. Wish I could afford something like it. Mind-boggling how over a million people are on that island and it still stays afloat, eh? And to think there are
twice
as many people buried in this cemetery. It’s madness.”

James settles back on his hands, seeming to take it all in with a new appreciation when he gives the headstones surrounding us another sweeping glance.

“Take a proper look at this,” I tell him, pointing to the one nearest my side. It’s rather small and obscure, the faded letters becoming more difficult to read from the elements of nature. But I know it by heart, having read it dozens of times. “It reads ‘here lies an unknown woman. Though she was young and beautiful, her life remains a mystery. May she rest in peace.’” Looping my arms around my bent knees, I smile up at James. “When I was a student, I spent oodles of time sitting here in this very spot, pondering what it would be like to be this woman—to pass without my loved ones knowing I’d gone on to the next realm. Or possibly not having anyone who gave a shit about my existence. Before I met Nolan, I was in this rather confounding state of my life in which I was far too caught up in things that made me unhappy. My parents’ divorce, Mum moving back to England, my cheating asshole of an ex, the fact that I didn’t have a lot of mates, and the idea that I may never find a lucrative job with my art studies. I was a miserable git, unable to see past my misfortunes to celebrate the small things in life. Unable to realize there were things worth going after and worth doing no matter my small misfortunes.”

When his gaze averts to his feet, I reclaim his hand. Though he doesn’t pull away, he’s still unable to look my way. “We only have one shot at this life, James. Once it’s gone, we become nothing more than a mere name etched in stone,
if
we’re lucky enough to have found people to love us. Your dad was a lucky man to have so many children left to carry on his legacy. And from the size of his memorial, it would not only appear he touched many lives, but filled a respectable number of hearts as well. Though I didn’t know your dad aside from a few conversations at Ev’s wedding and the fact that he was a Fred Astaire at heart, I doubt
any
parent would want to see their child in so much pain rather than living their life to the fullest as they did. From what I’ve seen, you’re the thread holding your family together. As noble as that may be, I worry you’re too caught up in protecting them to focus on what makes
you
happy.”