FORCE: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (29 page)

J.

He had no idea why he was here.

The peace of this morning's ride had been shattered by the knowledge of where it would end up.  He was nearly jumping out of his skin the whole time the doctor asked him questions about the custom chopper.  The longer he spent in front of Emmy's building, the greater the risk he would stay until he saw her.

And he didn't have to wait long.  She had surprised him on the sidewalk, all smiles and sun-kissed hair.  The anger that had driven him home in a rage last night dissipated the moment she greeted him.  He hadn't noticed how bright her eyes were until that moment.

As hard as he tried to keep the wall up around his heart, she kept doing little things to knock it back down.  Her vulnerability, her hesitation, the way she flicked her eyes across his face as if he were a book she wanted to understand.  It beguiled him.  So much so that he found himself agreeing to being her friend, agreeing to spending the day with her, agreeing to set foot inside a cage when there was no snow on the ground, and agreeing to look at art of all things.  Her nearness confused him and inflamed him to distraction.

J. trudged up the steps to the Art Museum Plaza and turned back to look down the Parkway to Center City.  He took a deep breath and clenched his fists.  So long as she stayed out of reach, he could control his desire and ignore the feeling of her soft body pressed up against his.  So long as he didn't catch a whiff of her scent on the breeze, he could forget the taste of her tongue. 

The glass towers reflected the sky and gleamed in the summer sun.  Atop the Art Museum hill there was a slight breeze that blew the sweat from his brow.  He counted backwards from ten.  It was becoming a habit. 

"What do you see?"  Emmy was at his elbow, enjoying the view, undoing all his efforts to calm himself.  Her hair whipped about her face and she tucked it behind her ear, exposing her throat.  J. had to look away hurriedly.

"Buildings." He hadn't meant to mock her, but her nearness made it difficult to speak. 

She laughed as if he had made a wonderful joke, completely missing the sarcasm in his answer.  "Not too long ago, there weren't any skyscrapers in Philly."

J. nodded, grateful for the distraction.  "Teach told me that.  Nothin' could be taller than City Hall or something?"

"Yeah, we learned about it in Intro to Architecture."

J. was surprised.  "You're an architect?"

All the color drained from her face.  "I'm not really anything anymore." She looked down at her feet and J. ran his words back in his head, wondering where he had hurt her.

But before he could pinpoint the moment, she turned her back on the city.  "Let's go in.  My treat, right?"

"Okay, I guess."

"I'm dragging you to the Art Museum to keep me company.  I can pay."

"Can I ask you something though?" J. bit his tongue as the traitorous words spilled out.  He didn't want to press her.  He didn't want to get involved.  She was going to marry some rich asshole and live in a penthouse that cost more money than he'd see in his lifetime.  He didn't even know what he was doing here.  "Why'd you say you weren't anything?"

She opened her mouth wide in astonishment, then closed it with a pop. "Sorry, I was just being dramatic."

"Bullshit."

She pressed her lips in a tight line as the wind whipped across the plaza.  "You know what I liked about you?"

"Liked?" The past tense stung.

"Yeah, liked.  You just let me be.  You didn't ask me question after question to confuse me."  There was more rage in her voice than J. could understand. He felt his heart rate rise.  His body was ready to fight even as his mind scrambled to keep cool.

"I’m not tryin' to
confuse
you, Princess," he spat.  "You asked me to be your friend.  Well friends got each other’s back.  And it seems to me like you got a problem that you need back-up on."

Her mouth fell open again.  Without a word, she spun on her heel and made to run back down the stairs.  Everything in him told him to let her go, but his arms wanted her back inside them.  In two long steps he had covered the distance between them and clutched her close. Her face was wet with tears and she was shaking hard.  J. waited, smoothing her hair back from her face so that it didn’t stick to her tears.

She opened and closed her mouth several times before she found the words.  "I don't like saying things.  Saying things makes them true."

"Say what's gotta be said," J. replied, then ducked his head in embarrassment at hearing Teach's words coming out of his mouth.  He was asking Emmy to do what he couldn't do. 

"I don't think you could understand what it's like."  She pressed closer to him as she said this, shivering in spite of the heat radiating up off of the stone plaza.

"I may surprise you."

"I doubt you could." She pulled back and gazed out over the Parkway, a million miles away.  "Things just...happen to me.  As if I'm a reflection in a mirror instead of a real person.  And what's worse than that is that I'm okay with this.  I don't want to make waves.  I don't ever want to fight."  She shuddered.  "I tell myself it's better to make other people happy, even if it means I'm not.”  She barked out a wild laugh as her tone rose up higher, verging on hysterical.  "And what's even worse than that?  Is I don't even know
how
to be happy anymore.  It's scary to be happy because it forces me to realize I'm usually sad.  So I just feel nothing."

"I don't think you're feeling nothing.  Sure doesn't sound like nothing to me." J. said carefully.

She laughed again, manic.  "No you're right, I feel awful.  I feel angry, and hurt, and so fucking ashamed of what I've let myself become.  But what can I do?"

"Decide what you want to do."

She looked at him, tears streaming down her face.  "He scares me.  I'm so fucking scared, J."

Red rage flared brightly in J.'s skull.  "Then you get out.   Right now."

She nodded for a moment, then shook her head.  "You can't understand.  Look at you.  Big tough biker.  Nothing scares you."

J. laughed grimly.  "That's not true at all.  But you can't let them see your fear.  You have to stand up for yourself, Emmy."

"How do I do that?" Her voice was broken and ragged.  She looked at J. as if begging him to give her the answer. He wished he had learned all of those sayings that Teach was always spouting, the calm philosophies that boiled life down to its essence.  But all he could remember was what being behind bars had taught him.

"You fight back."

She shuddered at the word. "I hate fighting."

"I can teach you."

She looked at him in such utter surprise that he laughed out loud.  "You said it yourself.  I'm a big tough biker.  You think I haven't taken my lumps? I've given more."

"You mean, like, actually fight?"

"Not fight, if that scares you.  But defend yourself."

J. watched her, fascinated, as a million little expressions played across her tear-stained face.  She smiled shyly at first, biting her lip nervously.  Then she pursed them in thought.  They were the color of ripe raspberries and J. wanted to kiss them again.  He wanted to kiss her and tell her that her fight was his now.  He would be in her corner and if she asked him to, he would grab the man who was hurting her by the throat and show him the meaning of pain.  He wanted to tell her that her worries were over, that she was safe with him.  He wanted to say a million things to make her smile and to wipe those worry lines from her forehead. 

"Here, c'mere.  Let's go down to the grass." He grabbed her hand.

"I thought we were going into the museum?" she protested weakly.

"This is way more important.  And besides," J. flashed his dimples at her, hoping to dispel some of her anxiety, "I'm better at fighting than art."

She clasped his hand.  "I'll have to teach you," she relented.  "About art."

"You know about it?"

"I was an art student.  Up until six months ago."

"Why'd you stop?"

Her brow furrowed again and he raised his hand in understanding.  "Okay, got it.

"I wanted to make something that would change the world.  Make some beauty out of all the ugliness."  Her voice was soft and wistful, barely carrying over the breeze.  "But I just gave it up."

"Start over then.  Right now.  Remember the toast you made last night?"

She looked up at him, eyes wide.  "You remember?"

"New beginnings."

"You do remember."  And in two steps she was in his arms, those raspberry colored lips on his once more. 

Emmy

"First you gotta plant your feet. Like this, see?"

I spread my feet in the soft grass, trying to imitate J.'s pose, feeling ridiculous while doing so. 

"No, not all rocked to the side like that, see?" He nudged me on the shoulder and I lost my balance, stepping heavily to one side.  "See that? I barely touched you and you went down."

"I didn't go
down
," I pouted. "I just stumbled."

J. looked at me, face suddenly serious.  "And you stumble in a fight, you're a goner."

I pressed my lips together to hold back the sarcastic remarks.  When was I ever going to be in a fight?  I'm not a fighter.  This was a waste of what little time we had together.  The energy that had propelled me out of the house this morning was starting to ebb. I wanted to lie down and look at the clouds, with my head on J.'s shoulder.  I wanted him to kiss me again and again and listen while I talked about happy, funny things. Things that ignored the darkness inside of me.  I wanted him to go back to leaving me be.  I didn't want him to care so much.

"You payin' attention?" The note of annoyance in his voice snapped me back to reality.  We were on the grassy lawn in front of the Art Museum.  Children splashed in the fountain, screeching loudly.  It did nothing for my composure. 

"Yeah I am," I grumbled.  "Plant my feet.  How's this?"

He looked at me appraisingly.  "Slide them out further.  About this far apart."  He slid his hands down to rest on my hips.  My breath caught as he gently squeezed, cupping the ample flesh down there. 

I blushed. "Stop it."

"Why?" He slid his hands up to the small of my back.  A jolt of pure electricity shot up my spine at his touch.

"There are people," I protested.  Someone would know me.  Robert had a million friends in this city.

"Fuck 'em," he rasped, and his lips were on mine once again.  He pulled me close to him, pressing himself into my stomach.  "You know what you do to me?" he groaned into my mouth.  "You feel that?"

I moaned as his tongue parted my lips.  Resisting him took too much effort in the face of the onslaught of his desire.  My body went limp in response even as my mind still screamed out warnings of being discovered.  Kissing J. made me feel like I was ethereal, like something shimmering and intangible. 

I felt like a million little minnows were swimming through my veins, little streaks of flashing silver.  My pulse started to race and a low, throbbing note began to sound deep within me.  With a wordless cry, I flung my arms around his shoulders, pulling him down to me, pulling him closer, inviting him to touch me everywhere he could, right here on the lawn.

He suddenly pulled away with a hoarse moan and walked several paces away from me.  I stood there frozen as he threaded his fingers together and planted them on top of his head.  He was breathing hard, his broad shoulder rose and fell, spreading the patch on his vest wide across his well-muscled back. It felt like an hour passed by before he finally turned back to me.

"Thought you just needed a friend," he laughed grimly.

For once in my life, I spoke the first words that came to my head.  I didn't calculate.  I didn't weigh their consequences.  I just said what I felt.  "I think I just need you."

His face broke open into a wide, beaming smile, so beautiful it made me laugh to see it.  My heart pounded in reaction to my boldness. 

"Okay, girl, now pay attention," he barked, and widened his legs into fighting stance.

My head reeled.  A minute ago he was kissing me as if his life depended on it.  Now we were practicing again?  My newfound boldness prodded me to speak up.  "I don't want to fight.  I want you to kiss me again."

"And I want you to look that fiancé of yours in the eye and tell him it's over." The emerald shards in his eyes blazed in fury that I knew wasn't directed at me.

I understood in an instant.  He was frightened for me too.  He wanted to do something to help.  This is what he could do.

"Okay, hip-width apart, got it," I nodded.

He smiled at me.  "Now, don't do anything with your hands yet.  Put them on your hips."

I did as he asked.  "I look like my mother," I remarked, catching a glimpse of my shadow. 

"She yell a lot?"

"Not as much as my dad."

"Hmm," J looked like he wanted to ask more, but thought better of it.  I was grateful.  How many tragic stories could I burden him with in one day? "So now you can feel your hips.  I want you to rock them back and forth."

"Like this?"

He laughed.  "No, not like you're shaking your ass." He flashed a dimple. "Though, thank you for that."

"Shut up."

"No like this. Twist them."  He twisted his hips back and forth, thrusting one forward, and then the next.  The effect was hypnotic. 

"Thanks for that," I echoed, my gaze falling to his crotch as he thrust.

He raised an eyebrow.  "Damn, you're a little nasty, aren't you?"

"I'm not exactly sure," I confessed, twisting my hips like he was. Though I had to admit, moving that way in front of him did feel strangely electric.

"Okay!" He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Stop before you kill me.  I'm only human."  I immediately blushed and looked down, my heart nearly hammering out of my throat.  "Emmy, stop that, you're gorgeous, own it."  He was looking at me impatiently.  I nodded my thanks, too flustered to speak.

"Now then, you got your feet planted, you got your hips loose.  Now what I want you to do is hit me."

"What?"  I threw up my hands in alarm. "I'm not going to do that!"

"I can take it, believe me," he prodded.  "What you're going to do is make a fist, like this," he held up a huge hand and balled it up.  "See how all my knuckles are at the same level?  You don't want one sticking up above all the other ones." He formed my fist into an imitation of his.  "Tuck your thumb down, you're gonna break it.  Okay now."  He stood back and turned to the side.  I want you to punch me in the arm.  When you throw the punch, twist your hips like we just practiced."

"Wait, I'm confused."

He turned back immediately and held up his fists.  "Pull back on a twist, throw the punch on a twist.  Back and forth." He demonstrated slowly, twisting his body in a fluid motion.  It almost looked like dancing.

"Okay, I think I got it."

"Okay," he turned.  "I'll count to three.  On three, you hit me right here," he tapped his muscular bicep right where it was encased in his tight black t-shirt.  "Aim carefully, please," he grimaced.  "One, two...."

On three I let my fist fly.  In spite of my careful aiming, it merely clipped him across the shoulder, missing its mark by a mile.  "Are you okay?" I gasped.

"Did a mosquito just land on me?"  He was laughing but his face was serious.  "Twist your whole body into it.  Follow through; don't stop short when you feel the contact.  Think about punching
through
my arm."

I nodded and focused on the spot he had indicated.  "One, two...three!" I counted and this time my fist connected solidly with his arm.  The impact travelled back up my arm, and made my teeth clack together. 

"Better!" he shouted. 

"Are you still okay?" I marveled.

"I told you, I'm fine.  You worry about landing three punches in the same place before you worry about me."

"Okay fine," I said and focused again.  The summer sun shone off of his dark skin, revealing hidden layers to the deep, rich color.  I saw browns and reds and deep blue-blacks all painted over the canvas of his skin.  The muscles underneath revealed the hidden topography of him.  I wanted to trail my fingernail down his bicep, tracing down to the valley of his forearm and let my lips follow suit. 

Instead I punched him again.

He sucked in his breath.  "Nice!" he hissed.

"I'm sorry!" I couldn't help it.  It was ingrained in me to apologize.

"Shut up," he intoned.  "Again."

I focused on that spot and hit him again.

"Okay!" he cried and walked away.  "Time to switch arms."

"Did I really hurt you?"  I couldn't keep the excitement out of my voice.

"Getting hit three times in the same place will hurt anyone."

"Oh."

He caught the disappointment.  "Yes Emmy, you hurt me."

I laughed and clutched at his hand.  "Yay!  I mean I'm sorry and all, but, yay!" And without hesitation I kissed him again.

It felt like the most natural thing in the world to press my lips to his.  And when he caught my face in his hand to kiss me more deeply, I wondered if this was how it was supposed to feel.  That sensation of falling and flying at the same time.  I suddenly understood love songs.

He pulled back gently and brushed back my hair.  "I'll take a couple more punches if it gets me more of that," he grinned.

The rest of the afternoon flew past far too quickly.  I was aware of the swiftly moving sun even as J. taught me to block, to slip out of holds, to throw elbows.  I was exhausted, and grass-stained, and sore by the time I finally called for mercy.

"I have to get back, J."  The fear that his presence had tamped down flared back up again.  "He doesn't like it when he comes home and I'm not there."

J. kissed me hard, bruising my lips and making me gasp.  "I want to see you," he rasped.

"You will," I promised and once again I heard the truth in my words.  I needed to see him again.  If it meant I had to explode my life and run away, I would do it.  Sammie would help me.  J. would help me.  I had people on my side.  I smiled, feeling a blooming confidence that had withered for so long.  "I'll see you really soon."