Torn - Part Four (The Torn Series) (5 page)

“He’s here!” Riley announced when I walked in. The place was too clean for my tastes but it was pretty packed. Despite her announcement and her smile, she never stopped moving. Pouring beer and taking money at a bar that was three customers deep.

I was too early. I thought the crowd would have thinned out at an hour from closing, but I was wrong. She was there with only one other bartender which didn’t seem right considering the number of people they had to serve, but they seemed to be keeping on top of things. Riley even managed to reach through and pass me a beer without breaking her stride.

The guy she was working with was either Martin or Shawn, but that was all I knew. She hadn’t really gotten into physical descriptions. Or much of any descriptions at all.
You never asked
, I scolded myself. But I was there now, and based on the smile that ghosted her face when she looked my way, that was all that mattered. That was enough.

I sighed with relief when they finally announced last call. I was getting tired just watching her.
Bartending might actually be good endurance training
. Maybe I’d missed my calling. It was worth thinking about, especially as winter descended and I found less work.

“Sorry we had to ignore you, didn’t expect so many people tonight,” Riley’s coworker said when they finally locked the front door after the last patron had stumbled out. “There was a birthday party, and you know how it is. One party’s a magnet for another, everyone wants to be in the bar where everyone already is.”

“No worries, man, nice to meet you. I’m Mallet.”

“Martin.” I shook his hand. From what little I’d gleaned, Martin was the more levelheaded of the couple. “She’s just finishing up in the back, we’ll get out of here soon.”

“No rush.”

Martin gave me an assessing up-and-down look and made no attempt to hide it. “So. You’re Mallet.” His grin wasn’t entirely friendly but it wasn’t outright hostile, either.

“In the flesh.”

“Some flesh,” he winked, “You must make a career of working out.”

I flexed an arm. “The harder I am, the more it hurts to hit me.”

Martin laughed at that. “So when will we all get to see you fight? Riley talks about it all the time, we’re dying to check you out in action.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “I hope you aren’t hitting on me.”

“I know too much about the trouble you’ve given our girl for that,” he said, “Though I can appreciate a human work of art when I see one.”

There it is
. “Thanks, I think,” I mumbled.

Martin smiled - this one was warmer. “I don’t mean to come off so confrontational,” he said. “She’s a nice girl. We just hate to see her hurting.”

I rubbed my eyes, feeling a headache threatening to grow. “You don’t want to get into a posturing match with me, buddy,” I said, “I’ll only say this once. I’m not going to hurt her again. Our shit’s sorted. So you can either get off my case or be the asshole friend who hates her boyfriend. Your call.”

Martin sat back in his seat. “Boyfriend?”

“That’s the part you heard?”

His grin broadened, and he reached out to shake my hand again. “Truce. I’m off your case. I can speak for Shawn, too, but not for the ladies. Good luck, there.”

I snorted. This Martin guy was all right. Still, I thought I’d rather face that Crusher Nosebreaker bastard again than go up against Riley’s girlfriends. Some battles, simply losing is the best outcome you can hope for.

○●○●○●○●○

I worried needlessly. Adele and Vanessa were both suckers for a hot body and the old Catone charm. I flattered them both immediately, let them squeeze my biceps, and all was well - at least for the moment.

Maybe Riley had talked them down earlier. Either way, I was grateful they weren’t going immediately for the jugular.

They said the same thing Martin had said - “We want to see you fight!”

I was sitting between Riley and the redhead - Vanessa? - on the couch. Martin was on a chair and Shawn and Adele were on the floor. The coffee table between us was littered with red solo cups and bowls of chips and pretzels.

“I have a match after Christmas,” I said, hesitating for just a moment. Did I really want the added pressure of Riley’s friends while I was finally facing my brother? I needed all the support I could get - at least I could count on them to cheer my name while I was on the mat, for Riley’s sake.

“Hot guys grappling? I’m so there,” Shawn said. Martin shot him an amused look. “Will it just be you or is there more than one fight?”

“There should be a few,” I said, “But I’m the big finale.”

Shawn winked. “Indeed.”

“Shawn!” Riley exclaimed, blushing. She was leaning into me possessively.

“What?” he said. “He’s not into dudes. That means I can flirt all I want and not worry about stealing him away from you.”

“Is he making you uncomfortable, Mal?” Martin asked, shooting his partner an admonishing look.

“Not at all,” I grinned. I could think of plenty of other fighters who wouldn’t be so cool with it, though. My brother, for one, might have knocked their heads together.

“I guess we expected more of a meathead jock,” Adele said, “No offense.”

“I am a meathead jock. I’m just not an asshole.”

“That’s debatable,” Vanessa muttered at my other elbow. I let the statement pass. I probably deserved it. As long as she wasn’t escalating to outright hostility, I could deal.

“We’re dying to see Riley perform one these days, too,” Martin said, breaking the tension. Riley groaned. “What?” he asked. “We didn’t meet you until after you quit that band.”

“You wouldn’t have liked our stuff, anyway,” she said, then to me, “Martin likes country music. Can you believe it?”

“And classic rock,” he said defensively.

“They would have liked your shows,” I said to Riley, “I wasn’t a punk fan but I was into it, too.”

“Stop,” she said, blushing, “You were into it because you were flirting with me.”

I shrugged. “You were good onstage.” It was true. The genre didn’t matter - Riley had talent and anyone who’d seen her perform would agree.

“You’ve got to play for us one of these days, lady,” Shawn said. “I’ll dust off my old guitar for you!”

She shifted uncomfortably. “One of these days,” she said, nodding, “I’m a little rusty right now, but some other time.”

“Oil her gears, Mal,” Shawn said, “We want to hear her!”

I didn’t reply. She obviously wasn’t loving the idea.

She fell into silence as the conversation veered away from her music and as the drinks flowed. I accepted a cup from Martin - some sweet concoction that I drank just to be polite - and watched her face as her smile became more forced.

I pushed my drink aside. I figured it must have been tough for her to be around so many people drinking while she was trying to abstain. I didn’t know quite how deeply her problem ran - hers or her family’s - but I didn’t want to make it harder on her than it needed to be.

I kissed the back of her hand. She finally looked up from whatever daydream she’d been lost in and smiled at me. “Aww,” Shawn said, his words slurring, “Y’all are too cute.”

“Y’all?” Martin sounded taken aback. “Get ahold of yourself, boy, your south is coming out.”

Even Riley laughed. Her smile was a relief. And I couldn’t wait to get her home.

○●○●○●○●○

It was nearly sunrise when we finally left. Adele claimed the couch, and Riley and I walked Vanessa to her building only a few blocks out of our way.

“You okay?” I asked when we were finally alone. Riley had her hands stuffed in her pockets and her head down. I felt a little guilty for drinking at all in front of her while she was on her self-imposed ban.

“I’m fine,” she said softly, lost in thought.

“They sure can drink a lot,” I said, shaking my head. “I didn’t plan on having any but I didn’t want to be rude, either.”

“It’s okay,” she said.

“Riley.”

She blew out a breath. It lingered in front of her in the cold air like a cloud. “It’s not the drinking. I’m fine.”

“Then what’s on your mind?”

“Music.” She said it in a near-whisper.

I wasn’t expecting that and wasn’t sure what to make of it. “What about it?” We stopped outside her building. “It hasn’t been that long, I’m sure you’re not as rusty as you think.”

“I know. It’s hard to explain. It’s like… sometimes you’re on and sometimes you’re off, right?”

“Yeah. I get that.” Sometimes a fight just didn’t go my way no matter what I did and no matter how well I trained. Some days you just couldn’t get it together and there wasn’t always a tangible reason for it, either.

“I just feel off. I’ve felt off ever since… ever since I quit the band. I’m afraid I don’t know how to start again.”

“You will,” I said, “And I’ll help.” I pulled her close. “Hell, baby, I’ll help you remember how to sing right now.” Maybe it wasn’t quite the right time to change gears, but I had no idea how musicians or artists worked. I did know how to make her feel good, though. And feelings were important for art and music, right?

Well, that was my reasoning and I was sticking to it.

She giggled and ran her hand gently up my side. “Cripple. How do you propose doing that?”

“On my back,” I said. I let my hands fall lower and cupped her ass, squeezing her against me. “I can handle a little action.” That was more than enough talk and enough emotions for one night anyway.

“Mmm,” she said, tracing a finger down my jaw, “You want me to ride you, Mal?”

“Eh. I guess,” I shrugged, teasing her, “If you have time. I might be a little tired, though.”

She reached down and squeezed my quickly swelling erection through my jeans. “He’s not tired.”

“If we let him have his way all the time then we’d never leave your room.”

She pressed her body against mine. “Surely he can have his way for an hour or two?”

The look in her eyes made me groan. That hungry, heavy-lidded look that made my dick rock-hard and my brain go fuzzy.

“Make him wait any longer and he might freeze right off,” I said, ushering her toward her front door, “Get us upstairs. Then he’s all yours.”

○●○●○●○●○

Her hair was getting longer. It flowed wildly around her shoulders as she bucked and writhed atop me, swallowing my dick inside her body, swallowing up all of me.

I tried to remain still aside from my hands roaming her body, her curves and her breasts. It was impossible. I longed to flip us over, to ravage her, to take her. My hips lifted to meet her, and my jaw clenched against the bone-deep ache in my side. God, how long was this going to take to heal?

“Stop,” she said, stilling me with a hand on my chest. “You’ll hurt yourself. You’ll make it worse.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do.” She settled back against me, taking me deep inside of her. I gripped her hips tight. “Don’t worry, baby,” she whispered down at me, her hair tickling my neck, “I’ll make you come.”

“Not until you do.”

“Then touch me here.” She guided my hand to her clit, positioned my finger just where she needed it.

My eyes locked on hers as I circled and rubbed her sensitive bud. Her eyelids fluttered. She ground against me, then bounced, her breasts bobbing opposite her rhythm. I grasped one with my free hand and twisted and tugged her nipple.

“Fuck, oh God, Mal,” she breathed, riding me harder. She sang a wordless song of ecstasy as she came; the sight and the sound drove me right up to the edge; the heat and the pulsing of her body around me very nearly drove me mad. “Keep going,” I urged, my fingers finding her hips and urging her along.

She rode me through her orgasm, until I finally exploded inside her, buried deep, right where I belonged.

Damn. It had been too long.

She echoed my thoughts, saying, “That was damn near as good as the first time,” with a contented sigh.

“Really? The first time was the best time?”