Fighting Love (Love to the Extreme) (4 page)

end tables matched the head- and footboard of the bed.

Another flat-screen, though much smaller, sat on top of the dresser.

She appeared and leaned against the doorjamb. “Good thing I bought that TV a few months

ago when Mom came to stay, or you’d be SOL. I don’t share the remote.”

“I don’t mind suffering through your shows.”

“Really? You’d watch Real Housewives with me?”

He grimaced. He’d forgotten about that one. Julie was a reality TV junkie.

She snickered at his expression. “I may just make you watch it with me now.”

“My worst nightmare.”

“Unpack,” she said, nodding toward the bed. “I’m going to throw on some dinner. How’s

spaghetti sound?”

“Trying to ease me in lightly, huh?”

“Don’t get used to it.” She pushed off the frame and turned to leave. “Tomorrow’s meatloaf.”

“Ugh.” Julie’s meatloaf was horrendous.

The twittering of her laughter followed her down the hall. She knew she sucked at cooking.

Problem was, he wasn’t any damn better. He lived off take-out and protein shakes.

He sighed. Unpack. His gaze landed on the envelope. First he needed to make sure he had

everything he needed to file his claim. Taking a seat on the bed, he opened it and withdrew the

contents. An inventory checklist he’d made just a few months ago, along with photos, and a flash

drive that had a video of everything he owned. Had owned.

Oddly, he hadn’t bothered to get rental insurance until after he’d been kicked out of CMC. He

figured his sudden dip into Responsibility Land was mostly thanks to Julie’s “grow up” comment,

which had really kicked him in the teeth at the time. Even so, as he’d taken the photos he’d felt

kind of stupid, thinking he’d never need them. Boy, had he been wrong.

Maybe there was something to this growing up thing, after all.

He set aside the flash drive and started to leaf through the pictures. And froze. A thousand

emotions bombarded him. Remorse. Anger. Resentment. Longing.

The photo had been taken right after he’d won the championship. Drenched in sweat and

blood, he held the gold belt raised above his head in triumph, his mouth wide open with a yell.

Damn. The pain of loss slashed through him like a sharp knife.

His gaze strayed to the woman standing beside him, grinning up at him with the soft glow of

adoration in her eyes, and his chest tightened with affection.

Julie.

God, she’d been so proud of him that night. Who would ever have guessed that, just eight

months later, the night he’d defended his belt for the first time—and lost—she would end up at

the jail, waiting in the pickup area with arms crossed tightly across her chest, disappointment

etched on every inch of her face as a guard escorted him out of the cellblock. Even now, four

months after her scathing, “You really need to grow up,” those words still rang loud and clear in

his ears.

He leaned his head back against the headboard with a sigh.

Maybe it was about time he took them to heart.

…

Julie held a pot under the running tap until it was three-quarters full. After she placed it on the

stove, she wiped her hands across the sides of her jeans and sighed. A weird current had buzzed

through her ever since Tommy walked through the door. One she couldn’t exactly explain. It

wasn’t unease…more like tension.

Crazy. He’d been here many times since she’d moved in two years ago, and she’d never felt like

this. But it was different this time, wasn’t it?

He wouldn’t be leaving after dinner to go home. He would be staying overnight…for a while.

Which meant she would have to deal with the constant ups and downs she had with Tommy.

The ups being when she was completely in the “friend” zone and just laughing and having a great

time with him. The downs were when she was overly aware of him in a way a best friend shouldn’t

be. Those moments were not his fault. They were hers alone, and she did her best to keep them

under control.

Unfortunately, she was on a high-speed, belly-lifting downward plummet right now. The only

thing that was going to cure it was getting used to Tommy being here all the time.

“Need any help?” he asked as he stepped into the kitchen.

Her heart stopped for a second, then started to beat erratically. Jesus. He’d showered. The

soot had been scrubbed off his handsome face. Freshly shaven cheeks showed off the strong

curvature of his jaw and his full masculine lips. Loose fitted jeans rode low on his hips, but the

damn shirt had to be a size too small, hugging every freaking muscles of his upper body, from his

ripped biceps, to his broad shoulders, to the wide expanse of his chest. Thankfully, the material

loosened around his waist. Why? Because she knew everything was tight there too. Damn him. Got

to get used to him being here, girl.

“Not really.” Everything was either frozen or from a jar. She spotted the portabella mushrooms

sitting farther down the granite-topped counter. She always added extra to the sauce. She pointed

with her knife. “You can cut those up.”

“I’m on it.”

He slid behind her, hands resting on her hips, chest grazing her shoulder blades. Closing her

eyes, she gritted her teeth, almost groaning when the front of his jeans brushed the back of hers.

Damn small kitchen. She should’ve bought a bigger house. A mansion, maybe.

Yeah, right. That still wouldn’t have been enough room.

“Need something to cut with,” Tommy said, not moving away.

“I got it!” Quickly leaning over, she grabbed the entire butcher’s block and shoved it toward the

mushrooms. He quirked a brow at her but remained silent as he finally stepped past her and

withdrew a knife. Thank God.

She knew she was acting weird. She couldn’t help it. His presence dominated the kitchen,

made her very aware of how close he was standing while he chopped the mushrooms.

How they were now—oh my God—living together.

No, no, no. Not living together. Tommy was just staying here. Big, big difference.

The rest of the cooking didn’t get any easier. A lean forward as he grabbed the oil brought

focus to his strong arms. An accidental brush of his hand against hers as he dumped the

mushrooms into the sauce while she stirred sent a rash of goose bumps over her. Then an

intentional electrifying touch as he took the wood spoon from her and told her to sit down in the

living room.

Julie didn’t argue. The kitchen was getting way too hot to handle.

By the time he handed her a plate with a heaping portion of spaghetti and a slice of garlic

bread, she was ready to shatter. She grabbed the glass of wine she’d placed on the coffee table

and took a long gulp.

A draft swept through the room, and she shivered. Without thought, she picked up the remote

to the fireplace and clicked it on. As soon as the flames ignited, she realized what she’d done.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

She was wound tight enough without setting the freaking mood.

She shot a peek at Tommy, who was shoveling marinara-coated noodles into his mouth.

Not that he was conscious of it. She was alone in her acute, painful awareness of him and the

awkwardness of her inappropriate feelings, while he chowed down on spaghetti, completely

oblivious to her torment.

And why was that surprising? Hadn’t the man already encouraged her to freaking date while he

was here? Not that she had any plans not to date. Her unanswered attraction was the bane of her

existence. She tried to date as much as her schedule would allow her to, hoping to find the guy

who would make her forget Tommy Sparks. So far, she’d either not met this fantasy man or he

didn’t exist.

Wonderful.

She refused to believe the latter. She was not destined to be in love for the rest of her life with

a jerk who waggled his eyebrows in encouragement when he talked about her having a date with

another man. No. Way.

“What’s on TV tonight?” he asked, yanking her from her thoughts.

Silently thanking him for the distraction, she said, “It’s a channel-surf night, actually. You don’t

have to sit with me. It’s okay to eat in your room.”

He paused with the fork halfway to his mouth. “Is that what you want me to do?”

“No…no.” Yes. But she couldn’t actually say that, or she risked setting a very bad tone for this

new living situation. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t want you thinking you have to keep me

entertained.”

She mentally cringed at her word choice. Thankfully, he didn’t notice.

“I don’t. I’m right where I want to be.”

“Good.” She forced a cheerful smile. “Good.”

So not good.

For the next twenty minutes, they ate in silence while she flipped through channels, finding

nothing, absolutely nothing, to take her mind off the man sitting beside her. Every time he shifted

on the couch, she wanted to bolt from the room and lock herself away. Tormented by the wish

that he was really shifting toward her to throw his arm around her and not because he was

grabbing a napkin to wipe his mouth or placing the plate on the coffee table.

God, she hated when she got like this. For the most part, she had a pretty damn good hold on

her attraction to Tommy. Being best friends for all these years, they had developed a certain

routine. When he put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head, it was the equivalent of

when he used to put her in a friendly headlock as kids. He told her he loved her so often it was

nothing more than a, “Damn, you’re awesome.” In those moments, he was just a friend to her—a

best friend. Her person. As she was his.

But every once in a while, like now, she became hyperaware of the man. How close he was.

Every movement. And that gnawing need she’d lived with for so many years started to drive her

insane. The need to be with him as a woman. To touch him. God, the dirty things she would gladly

do to this man when she felt like she did right now…

All he’d have to do was give her one of those smoldering looks she’d seen him send other

women, and she’d be across this couch in less than a second.

She actually wanted to laugh at herself. As much as she talked a big game in her head, she

really didn’t know how she would react if Tommy ever did look at her like that. Probably slap her

palm across his forehead to make sure he didn’t have a fever.

Finally admitting defeat, she clicked off the TV and dropped the remote beside her. “Nothing’s

on.”

As he took a chug of his soda, he shrugged. “TV’s overrated.”

“Says you.”

“I think we can find something else more productive to do.”

So could she, but she highly doubted she was thinking what he was thinking. “Like what?”

“We could talk.”

“Talk?”

He smiled, a stupid half-lifting of one side of his mouth that made her heart slam against her

chest. “Yeah, you know, put words into sentences.”

“We talk all the time, Tommy.” She hated the way her voice had a breathless tinge to it, hated

how he made her feel butterflies with one damn look.

Seriousness stole away his lighthearted expression. “Not lately. You’ve been working a lot of

hours and I’ve been shooting the fall catalog for Athletic Life.” He scowled. “I never imagined I

would be making a living modeling in catalog spreads for a small sporting goods store. Earlier this

week we were shooting the fishing poles.” He rolled his eyes to her. “ Fishing poles, Julie. I hate

fishing.”

“Did they make you wear those rubber boots that come up to your hips?” she asked, trying to

get back the lighthearted way they’d been all afternoon.

“Yes!”

He shifted his body toward her, bending a leg onto the cushion so it almost touched her thigh

as he propped an elbow on the back of the couch and leaned his head on it. She swallowed, her

gaze straying to the masculine knee so freaking close to hers. Mere inches. Not nearly far enough.

So much for trying to keep it light.

Where are the dogs when you need them?

As if she’d somehow telepathically summoned them, she heard the flap of the doggie door and

eight paws racing toward them. Lucy jumped onto the couch and curled up on Julie’s lap. Warrior,

tail wagging, tongue lolling out of his mouth, eyed the space between Julie and Tommy.

Tommy laughed and scooted back, allowing the dog to settle between them.

Thank you, animals. The physical barrier she needed to keep her cool.

She gave both mutts a good head-ruffle for their unknowing cooperation.

“How are things at the vet clinic?” he asked.

“Good. Busy. But I’m not complaining. I know I was resistant to hiring help, but Melody ended

up being an excellent addition.” Julie was a veterinarian, and her practice was just starting to

thrive.

“See? If you’d just listen to me more often.”

She lifted her hands in a sign of concession. “You were right.”

“Holy shit, say that again.”

She suppressed a smile. “Don’t push it, bub.”

Tommy had been the one to urge her to hire a second vet, flat-out stating she was working too