Wreck (Bareknuckle Boxing Brotherhood Book 2) (8 page)

“We could get out of here,” she said.

“And do what?”

“There’s lots of options, but I was thinking of seducing you,” she said.

“Ah, lass, I’d better not.”

“Is fatherhood cramping your hedonistic style, or have I turned you off women entirely?”

“Neither. I’m just trying to be less—”

“Profligate?” she suggested.

“High-scoring?” he offered with a grin.

“I’m sure your score’s pretty high, so what’s one more in the grand scheme of things?” She stood up and brushed the crispy crumbs off her Easy Dress.

“I like you,” he said.

“Good to know. Do you like me enough to nail me, or are you going out to pick up someone better?”

“I don’t want to wreck you, Shea. I know that you—”

“Love you? Yeah, I do. But that’s not your fault and it’s my problem. Don’t let that stand in the way of a good time.” She said it more brazenly than she felt, a flicker of fear running through her.

“I wish I was that brave. Never tell my brother, but I’m a coward. I could never say what you just said to me,” he said, reaching across the table and touching her cheek lightly with calloused fingers.

“So be brave now. Forget your objections and take me home.”

“Are you pressuring me to have sex with you?” he teased.

“No, I’m asking you to, Kyle.” she said seriously, taking his hand.

“I’d be honored to go back to your place, but I don’t want you think—”

“That it means anything about how you feel about me? I’m not nineteen. I know better. If it means more to me than it does to you, I’ll risk it. It’s easier to keep being a smartass and push you away like that, but I’ll take you however I can get you. I shouldn’t admit that, but it’s the truth.”

“Then let’s go,” he said.

“One more thing…you can quit trying to impress me. You impressed me a long time ago, and you keep surprising me every time I see you.”

“I’m not growing up fast enough, am I?”

“I won’t be sticking around for your coming-of-age, if that’s what you mean. I just want to get this infatuation out of my system, and I think a fling is the most sensible way to do it.”

“You’re such a romantic.”

“I never claimed to be. I date surgeons and pharmacists and drug reps…convenient guys I work with, who are out for a good time. You’re different from them. Maybe that’s why you got under my skin so easily.”

“If you think sleeping with me will cure the infatuation, I’m sorry to tell you that I’m not that bad in bed. In fact, I’m amazing.”

“Of course you are,” she said.

***

She could have told him a thousand times he was amazing, tremendous, magnificent. But she was speechless, breathless, and her heart was pounding too hard to speak or listen.

When his scarred hand brushed her thigh as he unzipped her boots, she bit down on her lip so hard it hurt. She sat on the edge of her couch, body thrumming with anticipation as Kyle took off her boots and knelt between her knees, his fingers trailing up her thighs. She gripped his hips with her legs and coiled her arms around his neck, kissing his mouth, eyes wide open as she watched his eyes darken with lust. His tongue was in her mouth. His hands seemed to be everywhere, teasing her nipples through her dress, brushing along her stomach, sliding up the inside of her thigh to stroke her. When his mouth found the pulse in her neck, she moaned.

Kyle drew her to her feet and kissed her neck, licking and sucking relentlessly until she was shuddering with desire. Backing away, she shuffled through a drawer looking for a condom, her eyes cloudy with lust. She pushed his jeans down and sheathed his jutting erection, her hand closing around it possessively. Without a word, she looked in his eyes and nodded.

Her gaze said,
Please
and
now
and
don’t wait.
With his hands under her bare thighs, he lifted her, pushing her back against the wall. Rucking her dress up, he pushed into her with one deep thrust, his forehead against hers, breath coming hot and fast against her bruised lips. As he pulsed within her, she rocked against him, legs wound around his hips, helpless against the onslaught of his powerful thrusts. Her breath came in short gasps as the cold spark of pleasure built with his every movement. Her heart pounded and her throat tightened, a shrill cry escaping her lips as she felt her climax rip through her body. His mouth covered hers, his tongue stroking hers and swallowing her cries as he pushed into her a final time. She felt the shudder of pleasure take him.

He eased her down the wall, and she crashed against his chest, finding that her legs wouldn’t hold her. He scooped her up and carried her to her bed, stretching out beside her. He kissed her temple, brushing sweaty hair back from her face. Shaken, she forced herself to meet his eyes, the smoldering blue stare unfazed by the explosive coupling they’d just shared. Shea blinked back tears valiantly and tried to think of something smart and saucy to say, but it was too much, too real and emotional for her to make light of it.

“Can I stay the night?” he whispered against her hair.

She nodded. “I wish you would. I didn’t think, I mean, I thought you’d just leave…”

“I don’t want to just leave,” he grinned at her. “We’re not finished. Not by a long shot,”

Shea kissed him then, saying everything she was afraid to put into words. It had been a mistake, she knew that now, because everything she had felt for him was magnified by that intimacy, until her love for him was less a temporary problem to get over than a forest fire she was chasing with a cup of water. She made a noise that was meant to be a giggle at her absurd metaphor, but it came out ragged, like a sob. He kissed her softly, swallowing that sound, and tugging at her lower lip with his teeth as he eased her dress off of her. She reached over and switched off the lamp, alone with him in darkness at last.

He woke up alone at eight, in a strange bed with pale pink sheets on it, surrounded by fluffy pillows and watched suspiciously by a stuffed bunny on the nightstand. There was bird wallpaper everywhere, little tiny songbirds on a field of cream. He shook his head to clear it, wondering if he was waking up in a Disney movie. He found his phone in the pocket of his pants, which were on the floor. Seeing the time, he swore and started pulling on his clothes. He had a nine o’clock class to teach.

Looking around, he saw a sticky note on the lamp by the bed.

Early shift. I’ll miss you. See you tonight. XOXO Shea

He’d spent the night at her apartment and woke up by himself to a hugs-and-kisses Post-It note that assumed a standing date. He crumpled the note and let it fall to the carpet. He glanced at the time on his phone, debating whether it was worth the time to take a shower. Then he switched the phone off, shoved it back in his pocket.

Catching his reflection in the gold-framed mirror on her wall, he stared. Instead of the hard-living boxer he was used to seeing, it was the face of a man who had responsibilities—a daughter, a girlfriend, a class schedule to keep. “What the fuck?” He asked his reflection and stormed out.

He blew off the class, all his classes. He had no choice. Kyle Dolan was losing himself in some bullshit adulthood soup that had been dumped all over him. Six months ago, he’d been on top of the world, knee-deep in hot cocktail waitresses in Vegas and ready for his first pay-per-view bout. Now he was a washed up fighter teaching women how to kick some mugger in the shins, worrying about child support and whether his girlfriend had a good enough time last night. He was domesticated, a pet terrier on a leash instead of the wolf he’d once been. It was shameful, not at all how a real man lived his life.

The women he’d screwed, past and present, were lucky to have had the chance to enjoy themselves so much, and any consequent emotions or offspring should be their problem, not his. He should be in the ring, pounding out someone’s teeth and winning money for it, not filling out a time sheet and planning demonstrations at some two-bit fight school. It wasn’t even a fight school—it was a girly learn-to-stand-up-for-yourself bullshit routine, like ballet class or yoga.

No way was he going to live his life like this, waiting for an ex-girlfriend to give him permission to see his kid, waiting for his girlfriend to spill the secret about his kid to his family. Women were nothing but trouble. He found his way to Swagger as if by instinct, though he hadn’t been there in months. He saw the owner talking to a supplier out front and he nodded to the man.

“Neal, how are you, man? Just stopped by to see the boys, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure enough, Kyle. Don’t be long. They’ve got real fighting to prepare for.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kyle said good-naturedly.

He entered the familiar club, inhaling the beery, stale-sweat smell that had been so much a part of his youth. From the time he was a teenager, he’d fought in that ring, charmed free drinks out of a series of pretty and indulgent bartenders, shagged ring bunnies, and hung out with his friends talking trash and working out.

He stopped by the bar, said hi to Maggie, and drank the shot she poured him fondly. He threw back a second one for good measure, and the whiskey was just starting to heat his limbs as he strolled through his old stomping ground. Charlie and Stu were there, along with a couple of new guys.

“Hey, Dolan,” Charlie said, never breaking the rhythm of his speed rope.

“How’s it going, Charles?”

“Good, good. Are you back for more, you bloodthirsty Mick?” he returned.

“Nah, I heard Donny was in the hospital.”

“Punctured lung. Kid was fighting good, but that bastard from Philly kicked him.”

“You can tell Aaron we all jumped the guy after the fight. He was spitting out teeth when he left Mattapan,” Stu laughed.

“I’ll tell him that. Any big bouts lined up?”

“Ah, Billy Chang is coming in next month. Big fight for Stu here.”

“Chang? That don’t sound very Irish,” Kyle said.

“He’s not, but he’s tough as hell,” Stu said.

“Chang? What is he, Chinese? Probably about four feet tall,” Kyle said dismissively, enjoying the trash talk with his old friends.

“Dolan, if you hadn’t gone soft and thrown in the towel, you’d know that Billy Chang is the East Coast champion right now,”

“What did you say?” Kyle asked, fists bunching up.

“Come on, lighten up,” Charlie said. “Let’s have a beer,”

He put a hand on Kyle’s shoulder, and Kyle looked disgustedly at Stu, but went with them back to the bar. They were four shots deep when Stu started mouthing off again.

“I just dropped in for a visit. I may come for your Chang fight next month,”

“They’re selling advance seats. There’s a new girl doing videos now, and she’s already taking pre-orders on discs of my fight,” Stu said proudly.

“That’s great, man.”

“And when I get to Vegas, I won’t fuck off and go home empty handed,” Stu chuckled too heartily.

“I took a hit to the kidneys, Shaughnessy. I’ve seen you drop to the ground from one of those more than once.”

“You left yourself open. I saw the video. You went soft before you ever quit.”

“I still fight at Wreck.”

“Yeah, we heard. Local losers who can’t get on at Swagger. Too bad about that, pretty boy,” Stu scoffed.

“That’s it. Outside,” Kyle said, flipping the table and glaring. They all jumped with the shock of his sudden movement. A shower of glass breaking filled the silence.

“Outside? Like you’re not going to throw a punch in a goddamned fight club? Are you gonna slap me with your gloves and get out your dueling pistols, too?” Stu snorted. “Can you fight like a real man, or do you need your brother to teach you how down at your sissy girl school?”

Kyle smashed his fist into Stu’s mouth. He didn’t go for the jaw, for maximum impact to throw him off balance. He hit for pain, and if Stu’s howl was any indication, he’d succeeded. Blood poured from Stu’s mouth, and Kyle cracked his knuckles for emphasis. Stu gave him the finger. Kyle turned around and walked off, muttering imprecations under his breath.

There was blood on his hand, and he tried to wipe it on his t-shirt, but it wouldn’t come off. He wandered into a bar he knew well and caught up on the local gossip with a few beers. Remembering his fight in a few hours, he ordered a sandwich to try and soak up some of his midday alcohol consumption. When he took out his wallet to pay, he saw the sticky note—not the one he’d thrown on the bedroom floor, but the first one, with Shea’s number on it. He stuffed it back in his pocket, embarrassed—either by the fact he’d defaulted to hedonism at the first sign of adulthood or that he couldn’t even enjoy being a bad boy because he felt guilty now. This, he thought, was a symptom of growing up…being unable to have fun. He ordered a shot of whiskey to wash down his sandwich.

A couple of hours slipped by while he chatted up the barmaid halfheartedly and downed a few drinks. By the time he dragged himself to Wreck, he was barely in time to change for his fight.

“You know this is a shit club,” he told one of the trainers. “Goddamn crooked floors tilt to one side.”

“Try coming to work sober,” The man said with a roll of his eyes.

“I’m perfectly fine,” Kyle said clearly, showing that he wasn’t slurring and could hold his drink.

He stepped into the ring, a little shaky on negotiating his path between the ropes, and grinned at the crowd.

“He’s wasted,” he heard the trainer mutter to the owner on the sidelines.

“You,” Kyle said, pointing his finger ostentatiously, “are a liar. I am not. Fucking. Wasted.” He wagged his finger at the trainer, and the crowd laughed uproariously, “Hear that? They love me. I’m a fucking
legend
,” he said.

As soon as the ring bunny cleared out with her sign and the bell rang, he staggered forward uneasily and took a wide swing that barely clipped his opponent. The crowd laughed again. Kyle felt his jaw clench, his blood pound in his ears at the embarrassment. He crowded the man to the ropes and unleashed a barrage of body blows, an onslaught as relentless and powerful as it was sloppy. There was no beating him, because he just kept coming. He took a hit right to the nose, shook his head to clear his vision from the quick tears that always followed such a blow, and soldiered on, pounding his opponent until the man put his hands up to protect his battered face and sank to the mat in defeat.

“Laugh at that, you idiots? Am I a clown now? I can kick the ass of any man in here, drunk or sober goddammit,” he roared. The owner took him by the elbow and practically dragged him to the locker room

“Here’s your check, Dolan. Go dry out,” he said grimly as he left.

When he came out of the locker room, fully dressed but still woozy, the nosebleed had stopped for the moment. He was surprised to see the barmaid he’d flirted with earlier.

“Hi, darlin’,” she said in her adorable Georgian drawl.

“Hi, Katie,” he said.

“Kelly,” She corrected, smile still in place.

“Yeah, I knew that, babe,” he said.
“Wanna celebrate?” she offered.

“I could go for a drink,” he said, and she bought him a whiskey. He raised the glass to her and drained it in one.

“Another round?” she asked.

“No thanks. I would, but I’ve had enough,” he said, meaning everything.

He managed to get the door to the apartment unlocked without too much banging and cussing, but Aaron was waiting for him on the other side.

“Where have you been? You blew off all your classes today. I had to teach them myself to keep from giving out refunds we can’t afford to pay out. What the fuck is going on with you?”

Kyle ran a hand over his head and gave a rueful half-smile.

“Your knuckle’s bleeding. You’ve been fighting again,” Aaron said.

“What, are you gonna tell Ma?” Kyle snapped and went in his room, slammed the door.