Текст книги "Fighting the Fall"

Автор книги: Jennifer Snow

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Tattoo Face scoffed. “Do we look like reasonable people?”

“You look like people who want to get paid. That’s not possible until I get to a bank, There’s a check in my wallet I’ll need to deposit first,” Tyson said, his jaw clenched.

The guy hesitated, then poked his head back into the bathroom. “Looks like we’re all going on a road trip.”

After an intense, uncomfortable drive to the bank, with a knife at his throat and the sickening smell of pot stinking up his clothes, Tyson stormed up the stairs to his apartment. A mess awaited him inside.

What a fucking night. All he’d wanted when he’d left the bar was to go home, jerk off, and try to sleep, not have to deal with two crazy thugs in his apartment threatening his life.

“Tyson, I’m . . .” Connor started to say behind him.

“Shut up.” He didn’t need his brother’s bullshit. He couldn’t stand to even hear his voice at the moment. He unlocked the apartment door and went inside, surveying the mess. Tossing his keys onto the kitchen counter, he got to work. He picked up the lamp and set it back into the corner. Then he righted the coffee tables.

Connor got the vacuum from the hall closet and plugged it in.

Tyson grabbed it from him. “How many more of those assholes can I expect?” He was inches from his brother’s face, daring him to lie again. Dried blood stuck to the gash on his forehead and his shirt was still wet from being submerged in the bathtub.

“That was the last of them,” Connor said, a note of desperation in his voice.

Tyson pointed the end of the vacuum at him. “You better not be fucking with me, Connor, or I swear next time I will let them kill you.”

His brother nodded. “That’s it, I swear.”

“If only your word meant something, man,” he said, starting the vacuum and turning his attention to putting his apartment back together. “Go clean up my bathroom.”

Chapter 5

The text message from Dane the following morning set the tone for the entire day.

His grandmother in Illinois had passed away and he would be gone for the next few days for the funeral and to be with his family. Tyson had sent his condolences, but being down a trainer wasn’t ideal anytime, especially not now. Two of his guys were competing on the following month’s fight card. They needed all the preparation they could get and he was sacrificing too much of his own training time already.

Tyson groaned as the gym door opened and Parker entered. And then, of course, there was that issue.

A memory of the night before in the bar flashed in his tired mind and he wished there were someplace he could hide.

Too late. She’d already seen him staring.

Gone was the barely there dress and curly hair, replaced by her usual gym attire, yet his body still reacted to the sight of her. He had to get control of this attraction he felt toward her—nothing could come of it, despite her flirty invitations and his body’s willingness to comply. He quickly averted his eyes and scanned the gym.

Who else could he stick her with that week? Walker Adams was training for a championship match—he couldn’t mess with his routine. Bobby was working one-on-one with a new flyweight fighter, hoping to land a manager in the coming weeks. And the only woman training currently in the gym was fighting at one fifty and was known to be . . . aggressive. Some of the other guys at the same weight class were too nervous to spar with her—she’d snap Parker in half. Everyone else had their own shit going on . . .

That left him.

Fantastic.

He saw Parker look around the gym and an uneasy expression crossed her face when she didn’t see Dane.

Well, at least they were both on the same page.

Sighing, he walked toward her. “Dane had a family emergency and had to go out of town, so he won’t be in for a few days . . .”

Her eyes widened. “He was going to start teaching me grappling this week.”

Of course he was.

Getting tangled up on the mat with her was the last thing his “avoidance strategy” had in mind.

“Who’s going to train me?” she asked.

“I am.”

She stared at him, disbelief etched on her face. “You? The guy who said ‘Let’s be clear—I will not be training you?’” Her mimicry of his voice almost made him laugh, but there was really nothing funny about this ironic turn of events.

“Trust me, this is not my idea of a good time,” he mumbled.

“Well, put me with someone else.”

What was with this woman? At first, she’d been begging him to train her, now she wanted nothing to do with him.

He could sense she was pissed off about the night before and his rebuttal to her advances. Trying to explain to her he was a one-night-per-woman kind of guy wouldn’t work. From past experience, he knew that only drove women harder to prove him wrong. Convince him they were the one to change his womanizing ways. Then he was the jerk when they realized he hadn’t been kidding. And if he was honest with her and told her he liked her a little too much to use her body for pleasure, that would surely open a can of worms he needed to keep firmly closed. Even he didn’t want to take the lid off of that one.

His life was far too complicated and too busy as it was. Getting involved with Parker would be the biggest mistake he could think of.

“I would put you with someone else, but unfortunately, no one else has time.”

“Neither do you.”

Seriously? She was choosing now to be stubborn and give him a hard time? “Exactly. So maybe you should train elsewhere,” he said a little too harshly.

Her expression clouded.

Damn. He was taking his anger about Connor, his annoyance with Dane, and his frustration with himself out on her. He ran a hand over his head and forced a breath. “Let’s start over. Dane’s gone and I’m going to help you until he gets back,” he said firmly. Hopefully that was sooner rather than later.

She looked unsure, as though she were actually contemplating training elsewhere. Finally, he saw her set her shoulders. “Fine,” she called out as she brushed by him and headed to the locker room.

*   *   *

Tyson was training her. Great. She already felt like an idiot for throwing herself at him the night before and she’d been hoping to steer clear of him at the gym—at least until the embarrassment faded from her cheeks. Now, that would be impossible.

“Let’s start by weighing you. I haven’t noticed you gaining any weight since you’ve been here.”

He’d been looking that closely? “Okay,” she mumbled, following him upstairs to the cardio equipment area.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said when she hesitated.

She shot him a look. “Age and weight—two numbers women like to keep to themselves.” Or lie about.

He crossed his arms. “I could lift you and know exactly how much you weigh.”

“Well, then why are we using the scale?”

“Get on!”

Parker sighed as she stepped onto the scale, willing herself to be heavier, but also kind of terrified to see her 110-pound body disappear. She’d been training for more than a week and she felt stronger. She could even see muscles starting to form in the back of her arms and shoulders, but she didn’t expect to see much weight gain on the scale. Her diet consisted of mainly veggies, fruit, and tofu products. She’d been watching her weight since she hit puberty, when it had become an “issue,” according to her grandmother and her agent. She refused to watch as he slid the slider.

“Seriously?” Tyson looked at her. “One of my thighs weighs that much.”

She shrugged. “I’m an actress. Hollywood places a lot of pressure on us to be skinny . . . the camera adds pounds.”

“Well, I don’t think the camera can add as much weight and muscle as you still need to look believable in the role.” His gaze landed on the cage in the gym below and he looked longingly at the other guys sparring and training.

He had his own fight coming up. Working with her was taking time from that. And no doubt he thought the effort was a complete waste of time. “You know, if you need to go work out or spar or something, I can train for a while on my own . . .” Her heart still pounded whenever she thought about having to spend the day under his intense, watchful, unreadable gaze anyway.

He shook his head, turning his attention back to her. “You have been training, but it’s not working. What kind of meal plan did Dane give you?”

She frowned. “Meal plan?”

“Right. He didn’t. The guy barely follows one himself,” he mumbled. “Okay, well, that’s where I would have started.”

Which is why she’d wanted him to train her in the first place, she thought, annoyed that they’d wasted precious time already. But she held back the comment.

Huh, all of this new self-discipline and awareness she was supposed to be learning must be paying off.

“Okay, so what should I be eating?” Her diet was restrictive. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d even eaten something that looked vaguely like a carb, and she rarely ate breakfast, preferring coffee in the morning—or dinner, not wanting to eat too late in the day. Consuming the majority of her calories at lunchtime, there was still plenty of daytime to burn them off. Though lately with all the training, she had been starving . . . so maybe a few extra calories a day wouldn’t hurt.

“You need about three thousand calories a day,” Tyson said.

She laughed. “Not on your life. I don’t want to get fat. I just need to look toned.”

He picked up one of her arms, and bent it at the elbow. “There’s nothing to tone. This is skin stretched over bone.”

Did he just shudder? This was the first time any man had had a problem with her thin appearance, and her old body-conscious self-doubt returned. She pulled her arm away and folded them across her chest. “Okay. Three thousand calories. How am I supposed to do that—hamburgers and French fries?” She’d have to eat all day, every day, to consume that much food. He was insane. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure she was in such great, capable hands.

“No.” He checked the time on the wall and looked to be having some sort of internal struggle before saying, “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” she asked as she followed him back downstairs.

“Grocery shopping.”

Her mouth dropped.

*   *   *

Tyson picked up several cartons of egg whites and placed them into the cart at WinCo Foods a half hour later and then reached for a dozen eggs . . . then another dozen.

“Are you shopping for yourself as well?” Parker stopped him as he tried to put the eggs in the cart.

“No.”

“Well, I’m not a big fan of eggs, they kinda make me gag . . .”

“Get over it,” he said, slapping her hand aside and putting them in. He was taking time out of his training to grocery shop with her? He really must be out of his mind. And he didn’t need her resistance to his help. She was lucky to be getting it. He didn’t exactly include personal shopping on his usual coaching résumé.

He stopped in front of the meat section, and she shook her head, eyes wide. Oh hell no. “If you say you don’t eat meat, I’m done.” How was he supposed to transform this woman’s body if she was opposed to protein?

She placed her hands on her hips and her jaw clenched. “Fine. I guess I can eat cute, cuddly little animals for a few months,” she said tightly, looking disgusted as he placed several packages of skinless, boneless chicken breasts into the cart.

“When was the last time you tried to cuddle a chicken?”

She sighed. “Okay, I get it. But I’m better with fish. Can I eat that?”

Finally. Something out of her mouth that made sense. “Yes.” He led them to the seafood section and selected some salmon and halibut, adding it to the cart, which was filling quickly. He’d wait until they got back to the gym to tell her this was only a week’s worth of food.

“So will I be eating anything other than protein?” she asked as they moved on.

“Yes. But you will need at least two hundred grams of it a day . . . and because your body can only absorb so much at a time, you’ll need to eat about every four and a half hours.”

“Even at night? Cause I try not to eat anything after six.”

Oh for the love of . . . He turned to look at her, stopping the cart in the frozen fruit section. “Look, you need to forget about your own misconceptions about diet, okay? Starving yourself on tofu might have worked for this”—incredibly tempting body—“but if you want to look like a fighter, you need to listen to me.”

Her hopeful expression made him continue quickly.

“Or Dane, once he gets back.” Which couldn’t be soon enough.

She nodded, hopeful expression gone.

“So at night, you’ll have a protein shake. Set your alarm for around two o’clock, get up, drink it, go back to bed.” He tried to make it sound simple, but he knew this wasn’t going to be easy. The exercise was almost the easier part. But the goals were attained through proper nutrition. His father had put him through all of this when he’d started fighting. At six feet and 150 pounds, he’d had a long way to go to get to where he was now. It was tough—but he’d wanted it bad enough and it had paid off.

They would see if Parker wanted it bad enough.

She was nodding. “I can do that.” To her credit, she almost sounded convincing.

“Good. When we get back to the gym, I’ll write up a full menu for you . . .” More time he couldn’t afford out of his day. Opening a cooler, he reached for several bottles of Omega 3 fish oil.

She wrinkled her nose. Taking a bottle from him, she read the label. “Flaxseed oil. What is this for?”

He took it and dropped it into the cart. “An essential fat that your body needs. You’ll drink about half a bottle a day. Add it to your shakes, etc. It helps you burn fat while building muscle and it will add to your daily calorie count.” If she wasn’t used to eating so much food, the oil would at least help her reach the high caloric target he’d set for her.

She studied him. “How do you know so much?” She leaned against the cart handle and the swell of her breasts spilled over the top of her neon pink sports bra beneath her white tank.

He looked away. “It’s my job. It’s my life.”

“Yeah, I noticed that,” she said. “You live above the gym, you train other fighters, and you work out and prepare for your own fights . . . What else do you do?”

What else was there? She’d just described his life for the last twelve years. “That’s all I need.”

“What about a girlfriend?”

“You mean, what about a distraction? A headache? A pain in the ass? Someone to sit around and watch late-night television with while getting fat and lazy?” Nope. Not for him. Regular relationships didn’t work with his lifestyle. He’d seen too many fighters fall into that trap. Eventually, they got married and had kids and fighting wasn’t the most important thing anymore, so they started to lose. Then he’d also watched the same relationships fall apart over time, leaving the former fighters with nothing. He refused to go out that way.

Beside him, Parker was laughing. “No. What I meant was someone you could wrap your arms around, that would hug you back instead of the training dummy you make out with all the time . . . someone you could share a dozen eggs and a protein shake with at the end of the day . . .”

He felt his face curl into a grin.

“Someone to talk to besides that cactus plant in your office that really could use some water, by the way . . .”

Plants couldn’t argue or cause him any grief, he thought with a smile. One of the few living objects in his life these days that didn’t seem to have only one purpose—to piss him off.

“And someone to have mind-blowing sex with every night,” she continued.

His smile vanished as his gaze met hers—the look in them easy to read. He’d had trouble erasing that same look from his mind on the drive home from the club the night before. Well, if she really insisted on playing this game . . . He could give her something to think about as well. He took a step closer. “Who says I’m not already giving mind-blowing sex every night?”

Her mouth dropped and for once she had no snappy retort.

Satisfied, he took the cart from her and headed toward the checkout counter.

*   *   *

“See you tomorrow,” Tyson called to Walker as he left the gym a little past nine that evening, the last one, other than himself and Parker, to leave.

Parker guzzled a bottle of water and waved to him. Sitting on the mat inside the cage where Tyson had been showing her various jujitsu moves all day, she glanced up at him. “What’s next?”

“We call it a night,” he said, removing his training gloves.

“But I thought we were . . .”

“We’ve done enough for today,” he said, not looking at her.

Great. They were back to this again. After their awkward shopping trip that morning, the training had started off rough with his reluctance to touch her . . . then her failing attempts to steady her pounding heart and focus her thoughts when he finally did lie on top of her on the mat to show her the moves required by her script. But after a few hours, they’d gotten into a rhythm. They’d both seemed to put aside the persistent, unyielding tension that existed between them and she’d learned a lot. More from him that day than she had from Dane in almost two weeks. Tyson was a champion fighter for good reason. The surprise was his sudden willingness and dedication to making sure she learned everything she needed to.

Now. in the silence of the empty gym, the air around them was once again strained.

She stood, her legs feeling stiff. “Well, do you mind if I stick around for a bit and use the speed bag? My coordination is still way off and there’s a scene that requires me to do it,” she said, hoping he’d offer to teach her whatever technique he used on the bag. She’d been mesmerized more than once watching the lightning-speed unbreakable rhythm he achieved.

“I actually need to do my own training now and I prefer the gym quiet and empty.”

He’d been working with her all day. She would let him train in peace. Clearly, he didn’t want her sticking around.

“Okay.” She picked up her discarded training gloves and started toward the cage door.

She heard him sigh behind her. “Parker, it’s fine. The speed bag is all yours.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded.

“Thanks.”

A few minutes later, her annoyance rose as the stupid, odd-shaped bag continued to fly in all directions, except where she needed it. She’d hit it, it would come back toward her, but when she hit it again, it went to either side or bounced back a third time far too quickly for her to get it again.

Why was this so hard? The other guys had no problem with it. There had to be a trick to it. She refused to believe she was that incompetent. She took a deep breath and started again. Two hits, three hits . . . okay . . . she was getting it . . . then gone—bouncing everywhere again.

“Damn,” she muttered. She had to figure this out. It was the opening, iconic scene in the movie. If she couldn’t get this part right, she was screwed.

“Square off.” Tyson’s voice behind her made her jump. She hadn’t heard him come closer.

“What?” She looked at her feet in fighting stance—the right slightly ahead of the left.

“Your fighting stance won’t work with the speed bag. Fix your feet,” he said.

She did.

“Open your hands while you’re learning and use your fingers to hit the bag instead of your fists.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re hitting too hard and too fast before you get the rhythm figured out. Start slowly.”

Her pulse raced in her wrists at the words—too hard, too fast, start slowly. Oh my fucking God.

He moved toward the bag and demonstrated. “The rhythm is easy to figure out if you pay attention. The bag will rebound three times for every hit. When you hit it, it will go forward, back, forward again and that’s when you hit again when it comes back to you.”

She watched as he hit the bag . . . counted the rebounds, then hit the bag again.

So there was a trick. She offered him a grateful smile as he moved away from the bag. “Thank you. That helps.”

“Sorry you weren’t taught this before. Dane’s a great coach and awesome fighter, but he’s been doing this shit so long, he forgets that new fighters need to be shown the basics—things he takes for granted because he can do them in his sleep.”

She nodded.

“Go ahead and try,” he said, standing back and folding his arms.

He was going to watch? “You can go back to your training. I’ll keep working on what you taught me.”

“Go ahead.”

His simple, quiet authority made her knees weak. “Okay.” She did as he instructed, squared off with the bag, opened her hands, hit, counted, hit again, and repeated the motion several times . . . it worked. She knew it didn’t look graceful and effortless like when he did it, but she’d work on that. At least she knew what she was doing now. She stopped and beamed at him. “It works.”

He laughed and the sound caught her off guard—so rich and deep and smooth. “Of course it works. I’d never lead you astray.”

Their eyes met and held for too long. The silence of the empty gym was deafening as she struggled to figure out what was going on behind his.

He looked away and she released a breath. “I think I’ll head out now. I can work on this again tomorrow . . . thank you again.” She picked up her training gloves and water bottle and turned to leave.

But his hand caught her wrist and a second later he was swinging her around to face him, closing the gap between them. He released her wrist and grabbed her hips with both hands, pulling her roughly toward him. “Why is it that you’re the last thing I need right now, but the only fucking thing I want?” he growled.

Oh God.

His grip tightened and his thumbs bit into her flesh at her waist. Her breath caught under his intense stare and she swallowed hard. Suddenly, being this close to him, alone with him, wanting him, seemed like a terrible idea. He was right. She was the last thing he needed right now, and another broken heart was the last thing she wanted. “Tyson, I . . .”

Her words were lost as he lowered his head to the base of her neck, placing unexpectedly soft kisses along her collarbone. The gentleness of his lips were a stark contrast to the rough hold in which he pinned her against his body.

Oh shit. This was not good . . . not good at all.

But who was she kidding? This felt more than good. It was amazing. But this idea wasn’t good . . . noooo, this idea was terrible. Yet, she’d been the one to start it the night before in the club. She should tell him to stop before this went any further.

She didn’t.

His tongue slid the length of her neck, until he captured the tip of her ear between his teeth, biting gently. He swore under his breath and the warmness caused goose bumps to dance up and down her spine.

She gripped his forearms and closed her eyes, desperate to think clearly.

His mouth grazed her skin as it traveled across her cheek. His gaze locked with hers as his lips hovered just inches away from her mouth. “Parker, I’m not a good guy. I’m not the right man for you or anyone else. You need to know exactly what you’re getting into right now.”

What was he trying to say? That he wanted to fuck her and that was it? Her legs were trembling beneath her and her heart pounded so loud she could hear it echo off the gym walls. Did she care? Was she really concerned with being another hourglass-shaped notch in Tyson Reed’s bedpost?

She released a breath, moving in closer to him, eyes locked, impulsive decision made. “I don’t . . .”

“Whoa, sorry, didn’t know you were still with someone,” a voice at the back of the gym made them both jump.

Tyson’s hands immediately fell away from her body and she stumbled backward, flattening herself against the wall to steady her unbalanced legs. Her pulse raced even faster at the untimely interruption.

“What the hell are you doing down here?” Tyson asked, looking just as frazzled—and relieved?—as she was.

“I was heading out to grab something to eat, thought I’d see if you wanted something.” He glanced toward her and added, “Hey. I’m Tyson’s brother. Connor.”

Tyson shot him a murderous look.

“Hi,” she croaked, still struggling to catch her breath.

“I’m fine and so are you. There’s food upstairs,” Tyson said tightly.

“Protein shakes, chicken, and eggs is not food, man,” Connor said.

“Well, order something,” Tyson said.

“It’s faster to run out,” the guy argued.

Parker watched the exchange feeling as though she were witnessing something she shouldn’t be. Quickly, she made her way across the gym. “I’m going to head out. Nice to meet you,” she told Connor as she passed him.

“You too. Sorry to interrupt your training,” he called after her with a knowing grin.

Tyson threw a training pad at him, catching him on the side of the head.

“Ow, Jesus, man,” the guy said, holding his head.

Parker didn’t bother going into the locker room to change. She needed to get as far away from the gym and Tyson as possible. Grabbing her bag, she tossed her stuff inside and headed toward the door.

Tyson called her name as she pushed it open.

She paused and slowly turned toward him.

“Good job today,” he said, his eyes burrowing into hers.

She swallowed hard as she nodded. “Thanks, Coach.”

*   *   *

When her alarm sounded at two a.m., Parker groaned. This couldn’t be necessary. Waking up every night to drink a five-hundred-calorie protein drink?

Still, she tossed the bed sheets aside and made her way downstairs to the kitchen. She retrieved the egg whites, the frozen fruit, the flax oil, and the coconut milk and added everything to her blender. Yawning, she mixed the ingredients, and tried to force her eyes to stay open as she poured it all into the Punisher Athletics training cup Tyson had given her earlier that day. It had a metal ball at the bottom to help keep the shake from going lumpy, he’d said.

Gross.

She sloshed the thick purple shake around and then took a gulp. Tyson better be right. This better work. If she got a fat ass from all of his nutritional guidance, she’d kick his.

The liquid held a faint fishy taste and smell from the Omega 3 oil and she shuddered, suffering through another gulp. This was disgusting. There had to be an easier way.

Finishing it quickly, she turned off the light in the kitchen and made her way back to bed, thinking about their trip to the grocery store that day. It had surprised her that he would take time from his day to help her, especially after he’d made it clear he had no interest or intentions of even training her.

But like he said, this was his life. The gym, training, and preparing for fights was all he did. Oh, and give mind-blowing sex, apparently.

Climbing back into bed, she lay staring at her ceiling—suddenly wide awake remembering the feel of his hard, sweaty body pressed against hers and his soft, unexpectedly gentle lips against her flesh. He wasn’t the right guy for her, he’d said, and he was probably right. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if her coach was as good in bed as he was in the cage.