Totaled (41 page)

“It’s bud,” I told her resulting in a confused look from her. “Nip it in the bud, not butt. Your mother owns a flower shop, for crying out loud.”

“Whatever. You knew what I meant.”

“I know,” I chuckled. “Well, that’s exciting. I can’t wait to hear how it goes.” Hearing about her impending date made me think of Drew.

It had been about six weeks since we came home from Atlanta with Liam, healthy and without any restrictions, other than the doctor’s heavy encouragement that he no longer fight, which wasn’t up for discussion anymore as far as Liam was concerned. We made it back just before the fourth of July, which pleased me because fireworks were one of my absolute favorite things in life. It was a perfect holiday with my family and friends, barbecuing all day and watching the beautiful blasts of color in the sky from Drew’s oceanfront deck with his arms around me. The sensation of his kisses on my neck as he stood behind me and hearing him whisper “I love you” into my ear were some of the best feelings I’d ever experienced.

The weeks that followed were hectic and busy but what happened in Atlanta ended up bringing us closer together and I was head over heels in love with him. There was no other way to describe it. I had never felt so happy and content with every single thing in my life before. I adored him and was addicted to how he made me feel, hooked on all things Drew Dougherty. I was devoted to making him happy and indulgent in receiving his love and affection. I couldn’t get enough. It would never be enough.

He had another fight coming up already and the intensity involved in his training leading up to his second fight in the UFC was extreme but necessary. Once the interview that he had with Vince Johns was published, the calls rolled in non-stop. The unthinkable happened yet again and Vince Johns, the ruthless and vicious sports journalist who was rumored to have made the toughest athletes cry like babies, wrote the warmest, most flattering piece on Drew. The sports world was surprised beyond belief. I was shocked as well and wondered what the hell exactly had gone down in that interview, but Drew would never talk about it. He simply said that Vince Johns was misunderstood and that he’d found a way to relate to him and almost bond.

The article did expose the facts of his past, but told the story in a way that made you empathize with someone who survived, somebody who grew out of the ashes of abuse and tragedy to turn out okay. To excel, in fact. The story pulled on the heartstrings of both men and women and humanized Drew in such a way that his fan base grew, turning him into somewhat of a phenomenon overnight. My man was famous. It was weird and sometimes difficult to soak in, but part of me liked it.

Pleased with the way Chris Gibson and his team handled things in Atlanta, Drew hired him as his full time agent. His representation and all of the connections that came with it garnered another fight and at least four companies vying to sponsor Drew. Chris declared that endorsement offers would soon follow and sure enough, the calls were already rolling in. Drew was excited and eager to get something put into place, but Chris encouraged him to wait, insisting that his hesitation was deliberated and calculated. He had been in this business long enough to know how to play the game.

Thinking of his quick rise to success made me smile and miss him, despite him being right down the road at the gym.

“What are you smiling about?” Sue barked, startling me out of my reverie.

“Oh. Sorry. I was just thinking about something.” I was embarrassed to be caught in my mushy thoughts.

“Thinking of Drew, huh?” There was a bite to her question, suggesting that she was perhaps a little resentful.

“Sorry. I can’t help it.” I didn’t want to apologize anymore. I wanted to shout it from the rooftops.

“It’s okay. It’s nice to see you so happy.” She smiled at me with sincerity. “I want you to be happy. You deserve it. I just miss you.”

“Aww, bestie! Thanks. I miss you too. But I’m not going anywhere.” We embraced one another in a one-armed side hug around each other’s shoulders and walked out of the water and back up to our chairs.

Chapter Forty-Three

DREW

“Patience!” Pat yelled from outside the octagon. “You’ve
got
to be patient!”

That was easier said than done. When you felt like the tendons in your shoulder were being pulled from your bones, separating from the muscles fiber by fiber because your opponent had you in an arm bar, it was immensely difficult to be patient. But I reminded myself that this was practice. I had to relax, focus on my breathing, feel my opponent’s energy and movements, and anticipate the next move. Recalling my experience in combination with forecasting my challenger’s next assault, I wiggled slightly for leverage and swiftly got myself released from the hold.

“Perfection!” Pat praised. “All right, boys. I want everyone to do a few minutes on the treadmill to cool down and make sure you stretch well. Tomorrow is our rest day, and we all need it.”

I couldn’t have been happier that I actually had a day off. Ever since Atlanta, I felt like my life was going ninety miles an hour. It kind of was. I wanted nothing more than to relax at home with Bree in my arms, preferably naked.

I breezed through my cool down, stretched a little too quickly, and raced home. I would rather shower there anyway. Stopping at the flower shop that Sue’s family owned on the way home, I earned a few looks from other patrons, probably from me smelling like a sweaty locker room, but I didn’t care. I got a few bouquets and a box of rose petals quickly and was in and out.

After showering, I tried to give it my very best effort in romanticizing the house. Rose petals were scattered, leading a path from the front door into the bedroom. The blinds were drawn and candles were lit, creating a soft glow throughout the rooms, and I turned on some soft piano music in the background. Her favorite wine had been chilling all day and knowing that she would be arriving any minute, I poured her a healthy serving and set it next to a plate of chocolate covered strawberries on my kitchen counter. The whole scene screamed Valentine’s Day cliché, but I knew she would swoon. I wanted her to feel special.

A faint knock on the door made me almost instantly nervous. She didn’t wait for me to answer to walk in. I don’t even know why she ever knocked. She had been given a key weeks ago, but always (out of courtesy, she maintained) knocked to announce her entrance. It was stupid but kind of cute. Standing around the corner in the hallway, I heard her gasp when she became aware of her surroundings. I walked toward her slowly and waited for her eyes to meet mine. I cherished the look on her face when she lit up. The moment I received that look was worth all of the effort and then some. She sauntered over to me and immediately jumped into my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist and kissing me with reason and purpose. The degree of my desire for her in that second was unlike any time before. I wondered if she felt as lost in me as I felt in her. Could she feel how swollen my heart was with love for her? Could she hear how loudly my pulse was thrumming through my body, racing from her touch? Did she need this sense of flying and free falling as much as I did?

Her assault of my lips, those hungry kisses, suggested that she was feeling all of those things and more. We were always on the same page. Always in perfect sync with each other. But I had wanted this time to be different. I wanted to show her how deeply I loved her.

I gently set her down in front of me and brought both of my hands down, linking my fingers with hers. “So you missed me too?” I asked playfully. “Do you want a glass of wine?”

Smiling in affirmation, she answered, “I would love one.” She turned to see more of the display I had arranged and walked over to the kitchen counter to retrieve her wine. “This is an impressive little set up.” She took a sip of her glass after swirling it around, closing her eyes when the liquid hit her tongue. “One would think you were trying to get into my pants with all of this.” She gestured her hand like a
Price Is Right
girl showing a showcase prize.

Looking down at her beautiful body draped in a short sundress, I joked in return, “You’re not wearing any pants.”

“Touché,” she quipped as she sauntered over to the kitchen bar.

I met her at the counter and accepted the strawberry that she offered up to my mouth. She had also eaten one and was starting to say something, but I interrupted her mid-sentence to kiss the dab of chocolate that still lingered on the corner of her lip. I teased her with my tongue, enticing her to open her mouth for me. We kissed slowly, savoring each other. Our kitchen kiss turned into a living room kiss, which migrated into a traveling down the hallway kiss, getting hungrier and more urgent with each step closer to the bedroom.

“I love you,” I whispered, stepping back a couple feet. I looked into her piercing blue eyes and didn’t break contact while I carefully reached for the hem of her dress, pulling it slowly up and over every curve of her body. When she stood before me wearing a strapless bra and lace panties, a smug and challenging expression on her face, I nearly lost it. But I wanted to take this slower. I refused to rush this night.

She reached behind her back, unhooking her bra and releasing her raspberry pink nipples, already taunt from her arousal. Although my palms itched with the need to touch her, I didn’t. I only watched, waiting patiently. Still holding each other’s gaze, she covered her breasts in a way that wasn’t to hide them, but to touch herself, as if she couldn’t wait another second for contact. Her hands slid down to her panties and she removed them slowly, wiggling her hips back and forth in a side to side motion as she worked the fabric down low enough to step out of them.

“I love you, too.” She brought her hands to my chest, spreading her fingers out over my pecs. She gracefully pulled my shirt up and over my head, my skin tingling in every spot her fingers came into contact with. She stood on her tiptoes to reach my collarbones, sprinkling her soft kisses onto my neck, chest, and ribs, lower and lower until she kissed each ripple of my abs, working her way down. When she dropped to her knees and began unzipping my shorts, I drew in a deep breath and couldn’t resist looking down. Meeting my eyes through her long lashes as she licked the underside of my crown, she smiled, knowing exactly how crazy she was driving me. She pleasured me with her talented mouth until I couldn’t take another second of not being inside of her. I felt a stupid sense of pride in knowing that mouth hadn’t been around anyone but me.

I composed myself enough to make love to her slowly and languidly, honoring every inch of her body with my hands, tongue, and lips. My cock, too, I guess. The connection we felt ran so deep and so strong that it was almost too much. Better than any drug, better than any win, better than any other feeling you could ever imagine. We came together, looking each other in the eyes, and I knew in that moment that she was it for me. Nothing else in this world would ever matter as much as she mattered to me.

Catching our breath, still entwined with each other, she spoke first.

“Drew?”

“Yes?”

“I’m so happy.”

“Me too, baby. Me too. You make me the happiest that I’ve ever been in my life.”

“I do?”

“Yes. You do. I don’t ever want this feeling to end. I never want to get off this train. I don’t ever want to spend another night without you next to me. You are my beginning and my end. Every decision I make in my life from here on out, I want to make with us in mind, with you. You make me want to be a better man. All this time I felt broken and confused, but this, to touch you, to feel something real, it has healed me. I want to be
your
rock. I want to be your first and your last.”

As she listened to me profess my love for her, a tear slipped from her eyes and slid down her cheek. I reached up and caught it with my finger, kissing her cheek in that very spot. I kept my face close to hers and really looked into her soul.

“The moment that I kissed you, Brianne Murphy, I fell. And I don’t ever want to stop falling.”

Chapter Forty-Four

BREE

It had been a couple of hours since we had finished making love and while I felt relaxed, I just couldn’t seem to calm my mind. My racing thoughts had always plagued me and kept me from falling asleep quickly and smoothly, but this was different. I wasn’t anxious or stressed about my day. I wasn’t thinking of all of the things I had to get done or what I needed to make sure not to forget on my long list of errands. I was just so happy. Almost giddy even. I knew love would feel good and warm and fuzzy, but never could I ever have imagined a man more perfect a fit for me than him.

I was lying half on my stomach, with my right leg draped over his and my head resting on his massive chest, listening to the gentle but strong beating of his heart. He had fallen asleep about an hour ago. We lay tangled in each other’s limbs, talking for a while, and then I noticed his breathing change and his leg muscles twitch a few times. When I tried to wiggle out of his embrace, he stirred and grabbed hold of me, not even willing to let go of me in his dreams. It felt nice, so I nestled in and enjoyed it.

The exhaustion was finally setting in and I allowed my eyes to close, enjoying being lulled to sleep by his steady breathing and drumming heartbeat. Drifting closer and closer to sleep, I relaxed all of my muscles, exhaled a deep breath, and gave in.

Sometime after I had fallen asleep, I was awakened suddenly when I felt him jerk his legs and arms up all at once into the air, violently. I was thrown off of him by the action and woke up, startled. He remained on his back, but he was grimacing and starting to mumble something, sounding angry. As I rose up onto my knees beside him on the bed, I looked over his tortured expression, certain he had to be having a nightmare. Unsure of what to do, I tried to speak softly to him.

“Drew? Hey, I think you’re having a dream. Shhh…it’s okay, wake up.”

His right arm, the closest one to me, lashed out, and a tightly clenched fist struck my right thigh.