Shifting Gears: The Complete Series (Sports Bad Boy Romance) (49 page)

“He’s at Grandma and Grandpa’s for a few
days. My dad bought him a little bitty Honda 50. Yolanda has a conniption every
time he rides it and usually thinks of an excuse why he can’t. So now, he wants
to live at my parents’ house.”

“Oh wow, I think I’d be a little nervous
about that too.” Justin was a tiny little thing. I couldn’t imagine putting him
on a motorcycle already no matter how small it was.

Greg shrugged and said, “He’s got all the
protective gear and my dad coached him a lot before he let him ride. It’ll only
get up to about 50mph…”

“Only! He’s six!”

Everyone at the table had to weigh in
their opinion on that. It was pretty much a split verdict with the women on the
side of caution and the men on the side of motorcycles and speed. After that,
the football game on the big screen got exciting and we all turned our
attention to it. The excitement in the air was palpable as everyone cheered for
their team and I’d all but forgotten that I was only going to have one drink
and then go to the laundromat. I stole a glance at Paul every chance I got, drank
too much and ate too little. In the final quarter of the game the score was
something ridiculous like forty to seven and the bar started clearing out. My
friends disbursed one by one or two by two. That was when I started telling
myself that I should leave too. My inner self was looking at Paul and telling
me to throw caution to the wind and go talk to him. I was a little drunk…I
needed one more drink first…

“Hey, Jessie, I’m taking off. Are you
going to be able to get home okay?”

“Sure.” I looked up at Greg and smiled. He
smiled back and said,

“Have the bartender call you a cab, honey,
okay? If you need a ride back for your car in the morning, Yolanda or I will
bring you, just call us.”

“Sure,” I said again. He leaned down and
kissed my cheek.

“I mean it, do not drive.”

“I won’t,” I said. I watched him go, once
again thinking about how lucky I was to work for such nice people. After he was
gone I looked over and saw Sam talking to Paul again. I told myself it was now
or never. I went over and casually said, “Hey, Sam.”

“Hey, Jessie, this is Paul Delport. Paul,
this is Jessie Cooper. She’s one of the assistant trainers at the gym. You
might be lucky enough to work with her sometime,” Sam told him. “She’s great.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said. Paul’s pale blue
eyes gave me a quick once-over, probably still wondering why my clothes were
such a mess.

His face was impassive as he said, “Yeah,
you too.” He turned back to the television and as Debbie came back from the
bathroom, Sam said,

“Hey, Debbie and I are going to take off.
Are you okay?”

“I’m good,” I told him. I gave him a hug
and Debbie a kiss on the cheek and watched them go. When they were gone I
turned back to where Paul was now sitting alone at the bar. I sat down on the
stool next to him where Sam had been and ordered another drink. When he heard
my voice he turned and looked at me. He still didn’t say anything. It was
slightly unsettling.

“Good game?” I asked. I knew it was a
terrible game. That was why all of my coworkers had given up on it and gone
home…but it was a conversation starter.

“No,” he said.

Okay, so I guess you have to be talking to
someone interested in conversing in order for a conversation starter to work. I
wasn’t quite ready to give up though, so I said, “So are you new to the gym? I
hadn’t seen you there before today.”

He proved that he was the king of one-word
answers. “No,” he said, before returning his attention to the big screen. It
was obvious that he’d rather watch the end of a terrible game than make
conversation with me. I wasn’t the type to try and force myself on a guy. I
stood up off the stool and the room spun a little. Damn it! I was going to have
to get a cab. I fished into my bag for my phone and realized the week just got
better and better. I remembered running out of the house like a crazy person that
morning…without charging my phone, still. Shit!

“Excuse me,” I said to the bartender. He
was at the other end of the bar tending to about ten young college types that
had just come in. “Hey! I was just wondering if you could call me a cab!” He
acted like he didn’t hear me at all. “Hey!”

“You need a ride home?” I heard Paul’s
smooth, masculine voice behind me and turned back toward him. He was standing
up, looking at me, waiting for an answer I suppose.
“I was just going to have the bartender call me a cab,” I told him. “I didn’t
charge my phone last night and that was why I was late to work today. I was so
frazzled about that and wearing dirty clothes that I forgot to charge it
again.” I stopped there because I realized once again I’d given too much information
and his eyes were beginning to glaze over slightly. “Anyways, I just need to
call a cab. I had a little too much to drink.” I was trying hard not to slur my
words and sound like a drunk. I didn’t think it was working.

He shrugged and said, “All right. It
didn’t look like the bartender was paying much attention. I’m leaving so I
thought if you want a ride…”

I suddenly wanted a ride very badly. “Are
you sure you don’t mind?” The man of many words just shrugged again. That could
have meant anything, but I took it as an
“I
don’t mind at all.”

“Okay, thanks,” I said, accepting before
he took back his offer. “I only live a few blocks from the gym.” He
acknowledged that with…well, nothing. He just headed for the door and I
followed him.

I followed him out to the parking lot. He
didn’t look back to see if I was there even once. I could’ve been lying passed
out in the doorway of the bar and the guy would’ve never known. I was not even
a little bit surprised when he stopped next to a big, black Ford F-350 with a
lot of chrome. I couldn’t imagine him in anything else.

“Nice truck,” I said. He unlocked my door
and pulled it open. He didn’t say
“Thanks,”
but I thought I saw a miniscule trace of a smile playing around his lips. Lucky
smile, I’d like to play around those lips. Geez, I’m drunk. Hopefully something
stupid like that doesn’t slip out on the ride home. I reached up to grab the
pull bar and haul my drunken ass up into the truck. Once again I was humiliated
as Paul had to take me around the waist and practically lift me in.

“Thank you,” I said. He responded to that
by closing the door and going around to his side and getting in. I slipped on
my seatbelt as he started up the truck. As we pulled out of the lot he asked,
“Have you worked for Greg long?”

Wow! Conversation! “Not long,” I said. I
was getting sleepy now, so it was even harder to manage my words. He seemed to
suddenly be interested in talking to me though, so I was going to do my best.
“I graduated from USC this past June. Greg had given me an internship while I
was still in school, so between that and my permanent job now, it’s been about
a year I guess.”

He nodded and said, “Greg’s a good guy.”

“Yeah, he is. I got lucky.” My head was
beginning to feel almost too heavy for my neck to hold up. I only prayed that I
wouldn’t get sick. “Sam was actually my savior. He was one of my part-time
instructors at USC and he introduced me to Greg. I love working there and
they’ve all become really good friends. I owe him a lot.”

“Yeah, Sam’s the best conditioning trainer
that I’ve ever had,” he said. “He definitely knows what he’s doing. He knows
the difference in his athletes too. He doesn’t try to train me like a baseball
or soccer player.”

That was actually one of the most valuable
things I’d learned from Sam myself. “How long have you been fighting?” I asked
him.

“About eight years,” he said.

“Eight years? Were you in middle school
when you started?” He laughed. The change in his face that the laugh brought
about was enough to send my stomach rushing up into my throat. He was gorgeous.

“I was eighteen when I started. I was a
wrestler in high school.”

As I was doing the math in my alcohol
soaked brain, I felt my eyelids trying to close. No, no no! That would be just
too embarrassing. I could see it now, passed out, drooling and in dirty clothes
to boot. I had to fight it.

“So are you any good?” I said, realizing
that no matter how hard I tried my words were still running together.

He laughed again. I liked it a lot. He
really should do that more often. “I’ve won a few championships and
tournaments,” he said.

“Like what?” I asked. Most athletes loved
talking about themselves. This guy was obviously not most athletes. It was like
pulling teeth to get any information out of him.

He said, “When I was twenty-one I won a
King of the Cage Championship. I went to Japan in 2010 and won the UFC Japan
Tournament there, and last year I won the UFC TUF Middleweight tournament.”

“Amazing,” I said. It was the last thing I
remember saying. I hoped…later on anyways when I sobered up, that it was all I
had said. My mouth is sometimes uncontrollable when I’m awake and alert. God
only knows what I might say when I’m out of control of it.

CHAPTER
THREE

I woke up with a pounding headache and
cotton mouth. God, I hate it when I let myself get drunk. I know better, I
don’t drink that often and so when I do, it doesn’t take much. I rolled over
slowly, trying not to make myself nauseated on top of everything else. That was
when the panic started to settle in my chest. I wasn’t at home. I sat up too
fast, and set the unfamiliar bedroom into a spin. I sat really still until it
stopped and then I took another look around. I realized I was sitting in a
king-size bed in my bra and underwear in a definitely masculine bedroom. Damn
it! What the hell did I do?

I sat there for a long time, racking my
brain. Who did I leave with last night? I vaguely remembered promising Greg I’d
take a cab home…but then he left…and Sam and Debbie left…Oh God, what did I do?
I wasn’t in the habit of going home with strangers. As a matter of fact, I
could say that at twenty-three years old I hadn’t done it yet. Surely I didn’t
do it last night. I wouldn’t have…would I? I looked around the room. It was
neat for a man’s room, but obviously male. There was a big framed poster on the
wall of a fighter with a giant UFC title belt draped across his shoulder. I was
sure I knew who that was, but my head hurt too bad to come up with a name. The
mirrored dresser was covered with men’s deodorants and colognes and the
furniture was all dark, heavy wood. There were wooden blinds on the two windows
and sheer blue curtains hanging on them that matched the comforter I was
covered up with. None of that really gave me a clue about where I was. Shit! Oh
God, I remember Mark was there last night. Did I sleep with Mark? Oh God, I
hope not! He’s my client. How unprofessional would that be? How would I face
him? I’d have to quit my job!

I finally realized that I wasn’t getting
anywhere sitting in the strange bed in my underwear. I had no idea where to
begin looking for my clothes though. I stood up and pulled the light blue
comforter off the bed and wrapped it around me. Like the intruder I felt like,
I tiptoed over and cracked open the door. All I saw was a hallway, still no
clue where I was. There was a picture of a pair of boxing gloves on the wall.
The evidence that I’d slept with my client was piling up.

I could hear the soft sounds of a
television down the hall. I had to get this over with, so I followed it. When I
got to the living room I was surprised to see a kid sitting on the blue couch.
Everything there seemed to be blue…The young boy’s attention was glued to the
sixty-inch television in front of him and he was playing what looked like a
fighting or boxing game. He was maybe ten…or eleven or twelve…I knew nothing
about kids. He was cute. He had dark hair and little freckles across his nose.
Geez, what the hell was he going to think about a strange woman coming out of
his…Dad’s bedroom? Oh man, I hoped there wasn’t a mom around somewhere too. I
started to turn back around but it was too late to make my escape. The little
boy was staring curiously at me now.

 
“Hi,” I said.

“Hey,” was his reply.

“I’m Jessie.”

“Victor,” he said. Then he turned his
attention back to the game.

I looked up on the mantle behind the
television hoping maybe there would be a picture there to solve this mystery.
Victor was obviously not a talker. He reminded me of Paul Delport. Oh my God!

“Victor?”

He looked back up at me. “Yeah?”

“Is Paul Delport your dad?”

“No,” he said.

Whew! That was a close one. If I went home
with Paul, there’s no doubt I’d slept with him. I wasn’t a slut, but I was no
fool either…

“He’s my uncle,” Victor said.

I felt my face lose all of its color. I
was about to ask the boy another question when I heard the front door open. I
looked over to see Paul coming in. He was in a pair of running shorts and a
tank top. He had his iPod tucked in the waist band of his shorts. He had on his
running shoes too. My brilliant detective skills deduced that he must have been
out for a run. Unfortunately, even in my state of panic, his gorgeous
masculinity did not go unnoticed.