Two Weeks (10 page)

"All in the leg again, huh?" Ally mimics me, but forgets to turn her arm at the conclusion of the punch. After I mention it, she corrects the motion. I'm so impressed.

"This is really good exercise, so if you want to make a routine out of it in the future, it's well worth it."

"I like it. I don't have to worry about breaking the punching bag's nose or anything. Easy way to blow off steam." She concludes her sentence with a series of frenetic punches and I laugh.

"Do you want to learn more, or do you want to try sparring?"

She grins at me. "I don't think we're in the same weight class. Teach me more," she demands.

I shrug and take a step toward the bag. "Okay I want you to combine the two moves you know. Do a jab first, and then follow up with a cross punch. Circle."

Ally is so fierce as she goes at it. She pounds the hell out the bag and I'm consistently impressed. Either she's a lot stronger than I expected, or she's seriously upset about something and letting it out this way. Her ponytail shakes with the impact of every hit, and her muscles are rock-solid and taut from top to bottom.

"I think I'm ready to give sparring a shot," she says excitedly. "You'd better watch out,
Juggernaut
!"

I smile wryly. "Yeah, right." I pick up the gloves and slide them onto my hands. They're bulkier than my preferred gloves, but I don't want to hurt her when we're playing around. "I think maybe you need a nickname too."

"Call me the
Alligator
," she says.

"Crocodiles are more aggressive, you know," I say. "And you don't want to show any signs of weakness."

"But that doesn't sound good. 'Ally
the Crocodile
Moore.' That's awful." She frowns at me and I start laughing.

"Okay, you're right. You can be
the Alligator
. Get into your stance, Alligator," I say.

We go to my designated sparring area. It's equivalent to a regulation size MMA fighting ring, but there are no cages, just lines on the mat. Ally gets into position, raising her arms up defensively. I'm glad to see she paid attention to my instruction.

I go to tap my gloves against hers and she takes it as an open invitation to charge at me and start pounding away. It's clear she doesn't know anything about proper fighting etiquette. She hits me with a flurry of rapid punches, and I'm shocked by her strength. I'm even more surprised that she has any energy left after all the drills she did on the bag.

Most beginners would have collapsed by now.

I let her hit me a few times, allowing her to feel like she's winning. I can tell she's riled up, and it excites me in a wholly primal way. She grunts and groans, and the sheer amount of energy she expends is pretty incredible.

It's probably enough to power all of Red Lake.

However, if she were fighting with someone less experienced than me, she'd probably actually hurt them. It's a bit disconcerting; I'll have to discuss it with her later. For now, I allow her this uninhibited outlet.

It's clear that she doesn't think she can actually hurt me and is acting accordingly.

I block most of the punches, but eventually, I allow her to hit me in the gut. My abs are so strong that I barely notice it, but I pretend that she's really hit me hard. I stumble backward, faking pain. My arms lower and she continues hitting me repeatedly. It's clear that she's just depleting every reserve of strength she has left.

Ally charges and slams her full weight into my chest. Unsurprisingly, the first thing I notice is her breasts flattening against me. They're so soft and ample, even through the sports bra. She continues punching me, and I pretend to stumble.

An endless stream of guttural sounds spill from her mouth as she tries to pound me into oblivion. The only thing that sounds like English is the word
Max
, and it's uttered between every few bits of gibberish.

I wonder what that's all about.

Her cheeks are flushed crimson red and it's clear that she's going to blow up or malfunction soon. I swing a gentle jab her way in hopes of diffusing the situation, but she leans in too far and I connect solidly with her belly, an intense, uncomfortable
thud.

The arm that was supposed to bash my face in goes limp and she collapses in front of me. She intersected the punch too early, rushing her weight toward me and intensifying my playful blow. "Shit!" I shout.

Ally collapses, dismantled by my strike. She falls in the opposite direction and I drop to the floor, catching her in my arms again, cushioning her fall. We come to a stop together on the mat.

"I'm so sorry," I say. "You charged forward and I accidentally hit you."

She doesn't seem to be concerned at all. "I'm a little sore from yesterday, but I'm fine. Is this going to become a regular thing?"

"The sparring?" I ask.

She smiles and her chest continues heaving up and down. I'm watching it hungrily, even though I don't intend to. "No, the
you-cradling-me-in-your-arms-because-I'm-a-total-klutz
thing."

I let out a gasp of relief—she's okay.

I love how she feels in my arms. In fact, the fit is so perfect it confuses me. I'm enthralled, totally filled with tentative, pulsing energy. Before I realize it, we're kissing and holding nothing back. I press my tongue into her mouth and it's so warm and inviting in there.

I crawl along her gums and then spiral my tongue around hers. She sighs loudly. I hate the fact that I'm wearing bulky boxing gloves. I cradle her and she nibbles at my lip with such aggression I swear she's pierced the skin.

When I realize I'm totally hard and pressed against her thigh, I pull away. I feel like I'm sending the wrong signal—or maybe
she
is. "Wait, Ally. Why were you shouting '
Max'
so much? When you were acting like a bat outta hell? Isn't he your boyfriend?"

"It's nothing," she says quietly. She seems depressed that we're not kissing anymore, but I feel like this is too dangerous even though I want it more than anything.

"Something doesn't add up here. You tell me you hate Red Lake and can't wait to get back to your pseudo-fiancé in wonderful Boston. And now you're blowing off steam and kissing me again and staying here for an extra two weeks. What the hell is going on, Ally?" I stare, mesmerized, into her powerful eyes.

"Well, he's being a dick," she says. "But that's all I want to say right now. I want this to be... well, not so serious."

"You're
sure
you don't want to talk about it?"

"I don't want to talk about it right now," she says matter-of-factly. "You have to trust me on this."

I shake my head. "Well, whatever it is, it's got you really riled up. I was certain you were going to chew through my throat with the fangs I didn't know you had."

"It'll pass," she says. "And it's not your responsibility to worry about the heavy stuff."

Once again, my head is spinning. She's sending signals I don't know how to interpret. She's aggressive, she's potent—and she's telling me not to worry about it. I remember how hopeless I felt yesterday when I thought I'd never see her again. Hell, I felt totally helpless earlier today.

And even with all of that, I'm the first person she came to after she decided to extend her stay. This is totally perplexing.

"No games," I say. "I don't know what this is, but I'm going to trust you." I don't want to get involved in a messy situation, especially not if it's going to cause me a lot of headaches.

But Jesus, I'm practically drooling over her.

"Good." She frees herself from my arms and stands up. "Now I want to fight again."

"We're done," I say firmly. "I know I'm already going back on my word, but I don't think you actually want to fight again. You're gonna be
really
sore tomorrow already. So I'm drawing the line. That's enough for today. We've already been at it for hours."

She gives me a dubious look. "Well, whatever."

"How are your ribs?"

"Better than ever. I was a little sore when I woke up, but I'm fine now. I took some ibuprofen."

"Okay, well, if you want to keep going, then let's lift weights," I say.

"Fine. Great." She looks excited again.

I share the contents of my water bottle and then we head over to the weights. This is a very interesting day.

***

Ally

I
don't know what got into me. I totally lost myself during the fight, unconsciously imagining an epic battle with Max as I hurled furious punches in Jackson's direction. There were serious glimpses of brimstone and fire and subjugation in my brain. I wanted to win. I wanted to
conquer
.

Against Jackson, that was nothing short of impossible, but my brain wouldn't listen.

And despite my rage, I had been stricken with such lust when he held me in his arms—yet again.

After I do some crunches and shoulder exercises until I can't anymore, I watch Jackson lift weights from my seat on an empty weight bench. He's clearly got a full routine to do that exceeds my current fitness level, so I'll have to sit this part out.

I'm shocked that Marlena was so sympathetic, especially since my company is so huge and global. I didn't want to lie to her so I told her the truth—that I had been dumped by both my best friend and my boyfriend and that I really needed some time and space. She had an answer for me immediately, and that answer was unequivocal
yes
.

I still haven't even told my parents that I'm not leaving. They won't mind me sticking around, in fact, they'll be ecstatic. Still, they might already think I'm gone.

I already called the rental car company and had them update my account. And I've already changed the flight. Everything came together so neatly it feels like it was meant to be. I barely had to try.

I'm actually thrilled to use up this vacation time, to more or less discard it. It's yet another remnant of Max. We were planning a long vacation to Europe, so we'd both been saving up as much as we could. That's the only reason why I've got so much time saved up—and I don't want to remember that reason anymore.

"Are you doing okay over there?" Jackson asks. He's sitting up on the weight bench, his hands holding the bar of the bench press.

I realize this is going to become a regular thing because of my random flashes of erratic behavior. He's concerned, and that's sweet. But I'm also not ready to spill my guts to him, especially if my goal is to not get too close...

...but I'm still not so sure I can even pull it off.

After what happened earlier, it seems that my rebound plan might go perfectly. This might be a couple of weeks of bliss before I return to real-life hell. But I've never tried to have a two-week stand with someone, so I don't really know what I'm getting myself into.

"I'm fine. How the hell are you? You look like you might fall apart any minute now." His muscles are so swollen and huge, like they couldn't get any larger without exploding and drenching the room with spatters of blood. He looks like he's ready to go on stage for a bodybuilding competition.

He laughs and it echoes. "Nice try. Are you sure you're not talking about yourself? I haven't even seen you lift a finger in ten minutes."

I blush a little. "I'm just taking a break, I swear."

Jackson smiles and then lowers back to the bench. He's lifting at least three-hundred pounds.

"Aren't you supposed to have a spotter or something?"

"Probably," he grunts between reps. He's unfazed by my suggestion. "But I like working out alone. A spotter doesn't fit into that so well."

"So are you saying I should go then?" I ask, cocking an eyebrow at him.

He screams loudly and hoists the bar back up until it's nestled safely in the frame. His chest is heaving. "If I didn't want you here, you
wouldn't
be here."

"Jesus," I chide. "Did you really need to scream like that?"

Jackson stands and starts laughing. "You're like an alien that doesn't understand anything about this but wants to know everything." He holds his side and continues laughing. "The screaming helps you get through fatigue, to achieve those last, ever-so-sexy, crucial reps when it feels impossible otherwise."

I feel dumb, but it's more of a playful dumb than an incompetent dumb. "I always wondered why people screamed like that at the gym. I assumed they were just narcissistic."

Jackson wipes his forehead with a towel. "Well, there definitely
is
a little narcissism when you work out this hard. I mean, I know I look objectively good. I know it when I'm in the ring. I know when I see the pictures from the fights—"

"So humble," I say snidely.

He shakes his head. "You cut me off. What I was going to say is that it's not the only reason why I do this. I do it because it feels good, because it's a nice goal to have, and because it makes me a better fighter. The aesthetics are just a bonus." He winks at me. "But I do take naked photos of myself to track my progress. So say whatever you want about my ego because I probably deserve it."

Staring at this incredible, sweaty hunk of a man, I can
only
think about the aesthetics—and now I'm thinking about him totally naked.
Just great.
My stomach muscles tighten.

Even though he's only wearing a pair of shorts, removing them would obviously cross a big line. I think about how incredible he probably looks naked and how much I'd love him to have his way with me. And that unmistakable hardness I felt earlier, well...

I can't believe how fired up I feel, especially when I was just in a committed, long-term relationship only a few days ago. It's like I haven't seen a man in a decade and this is the first one that happened to cross my path.

My brain floods with lust, and my nipples harden beneath my sports bra. I hope that they aren't showing through the thin material. My guts clench as he approaches me. I'm really confused. This whole arrangement is so exotic and risky I barely understand it.

I kind of wish he'd bend me over the weight bench and—

"Do you want a beer or something?" he asks. "Or a protein shake?"