Fighting to Forgive

Eleven

Layla

Weekends are the worst. Not many people count down the minutes until the workweek begins. I do.

Before, weekends were hard because of Stewart. He’d be home, ragging about the house not being clean enough or complaining that I didn’t get his favored brand of whatever. When we moved, I thought weekends would be an adventure. A chance for Elle and I to explore our new city. But it seems my teenage daughter has had better luck making friends. She’s gone more than she’s here.

With the grocery shopping done and the laundry folded, I sit on the couch and stare at the TV. It’s not even on. I drop my head to the back of the couch and curse my free time. It’s in these moments, when I’m not actively engaged in some routine activity, that I think about Blake.

Last weekend, after our talk on his patio, I thought we’d become friends. He showed genuine interest when I talked about my life. He even seemed protective when he dropped me off, storming through the apartment flipping on lights and scaring away the shadows.

Then he tried to kiss me. Or, I think that’s what he was going to do. He moved to me with a look in his eyes that said if I didn’t want it, I’d better run. And I wanted it, just not like that. Just hours before, he’d had those delicious-looking lips all over another girl, not to mention his other parts. I panicked, and since then, everything’s been different.

At work, he’s less than an acquaintance, and barely acknowledges my existence. He goes out of his way to avoid me by ducking into the locker room when I’m around or sliding around a corner when I approach.

I hate to admit it, but I miss him. It’s not that I miss the way he looks at me, with his head tilted and a smile tugging at his perfect mouth, a look that makes me feel like I’m being eaten alive… in a good way. And it’s not that I miss the way he swoops in when I need help. I just miss him.

“Stupid and pathetic,” I whisper to no one.

With a body like yours, no one cares that you’re stupid.

I slam my eyes shut. “Leave me alone.”

The room is quiet except for the sound of my deep breathing. The memory of Blake’s face in the back of the SUV, eyes blazing mad and his full lips locked in a hard line. I throw my forearm over my eyes.

Gee, can’t imagine why he’d be avoiding me after—oh! I jump at the sound of my phone vibrating on the faux-wood coffee table. Probably Elle texting to tell me not to wait up. Phone call from an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Layla?” asks the perky, female caller.

“This is she.”

“It’s Raven, from Guy’s Garage… um, Raven Slade?”

“Oh, yeah. Hey, Raven.”

“Just calling to let you know your Bronco’s ready to be picked up.”

“Great. I thought it’d take forever to get the part you ordered.”

“Yeah, well, we would’ve had it to you sooner, but Blake insisted we check everything.”

I sit up straight at the mention of Blake’s name.

“He also made sure the crew down here knew it was a priority. Listen, it didn’t start because the fuel injector was thrashed. We replaced that, along with your timing belts. We checked the tires. They look pretty good, but I went ahead and rotated them. You’ve probably got a few thousand more miles before you need a new set. We changed your oil, air filter, and oil filter. I checked the battery. It could stand to be replaced, so I went ahead and did that. Oh, and your back left brake light was out. Threw in a new one.”

My mouth is hanging wide open, and I’m staring at nothing across the room.

“Layla? You there?”

“Uh…” Well, shit. I’m sure Blake thought he was doing me a favor, but there’s no way I can pay for all that, and it’s not like she can reverse the work she’s done. “I uh… don’t know what to say.”

“How about say that you’ll be here in ten to pick it up?”

“Sure. Yeah. Ten.”

“Great. See ya soon.”

The call ends, but I remain stuck in place on my couch, the phone to my ear. I contemplate calling Blake and asking him what I should do. He did say I wouldn’t have to pay for the use of a rental, which makes walking in there with not enough money even more of an insult. Besides, if his behavior over the last week is any indication, he probably won’t answer my call.

Out of options, I push off the couch and grab the Camaro keys. With less than a hundred bucks to last me until payday and zero available on my credit card, I’m going to have to beg for them to let me make payments. So humiliating.

“You look like what’s-her-face.” The silver-haired man who introduced himself as Guy of Guy’s Garage snaps his fingers, his bright blue eyes on me. “She’s the little one. On that show Nashville.” His hands brace the countertop, and he drops his head. “What in the hell is that little girl’s name?”

Raven shakes her head and rolls her striking blue-green eyes. “Don’t mind him. He could be here for hours trying to figure it out.”

“Come on, Ray. You know who I’m talking about, right? She’s got a man’s name… Harlen, er, Haman, Hayden!” He shoves his big, oil-caked finger, into my face. “Hayden Panteen-tiere or some French shit. You’re tiny, just like her.”

The smile I’d been trying to hide breaks free. “Thank you. I’ve never been compared to her before, but I’ll take it.”

“Hot damn, girl. You’re her with brown eyes.” His gruff compliment warms my cheeks.

Raven shakes her head, directing a warm smile to the older man. “You need to lay off the nighttime drama and try some documentaries or something.”

He slams his hands on the counter, making me jump. “Tell me you don’t see it, Ray.”

She squints and studies my face. “I guess. I mean, she’s tiny and blonde.”

“Ha. See, I was right.”

She hooks her arm in mine. “Let’s get you to your truck. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than talk crappy TV with Guy.”

Yeah, I wish. Sad thing is, that’s the most fun I’ve had since… Nope. Not thinking about him.

She leads me out of the small office, a little bell above the door jingling as we pass through. “Nice meeting you, Guy.” I wave to him over my shoulder.

“Hey, can you speak with a southern accent?” He tosses his question across the room and out the open door.

I shake my head and laugh along with Raven as the door closes behind us.

The bright afternoon sun hits my eyes, and I squint into the parking lot. Shining and looking better than it did when I got it, which isn’t hard to do, sits the Bronco.

“Raven, wow. It looks like a different car.”

She shrugs and looks away. “Yeah well, we had it detailed and waxed for you.”

Oh, for crying out loud. Another thing to add to my list of IOU’s. “I’m sorry, but… look, I appreciate all the work you’ve done, but I can’t afford any of this. I realize this is what you do, and you were trying to hook me up, but.” I shake my head. “Is there a payment plan I could get on, or maybe—”

“It’s been taken care of.”

My eyes dart to the Bronco and back to Raven. That had to have cost a fortune. “By who?” I ask, but something tells me I already know.

“Blake. He insisted we get it in tip-top shape, no matter the cost.” Her smile is warm and a little too knowing.

I pull at the ends of my hair and flip them around my finger. “You’re not kidding.”

She shakes her head, the knowing grin getting even bigger. “No. I’m dead serious.”

“Why would he do that?” Granted, he must have agreed to this before he started avoiding me, but that makes all this even more ridiculous. Who takes care of the repair costs for a woman he doesn’t even know, or speak to?

A quick laugh bursts from her mouth. “I was just as shocked as you are, trust me.”

“Blake doesn’t strike me as a philanthropist.”

Her expression turns thoughtful. “Not usually. But, I think if you got to know him, he’d surprise you.”

Hard to get to know someone who won’t talk to me. Anymore.

I thank Raven and hand over the keys to her Camaro. We laugh and fall into easy conversation over our mutual love of classic hot rods. I thought she’d explode out of her skin when I told her about my old Trans-Am.

“I better let you get back to work.” I hop into the Bronco. “Thanks again, for everything.”

“We should grab a drink sometime,” Raven says as I reach to close the door.

That would eliminate another weekend without plans. “Sure. I’d like that.”

“Perfect. How about Friday night? I’ll bring my friend Eve.” Her bright eyes twinkle at the mention of her friend. “You two would get along great.”

Being invited into the inner circle between girlfriends is a huge honor. How could I say no?

“Awesome! Friday it is.”

Driving away, my heart feels full. Between Raven’s offer of friendship and Blake’s generosity—even if it happened before he decided to hate me—I feel hopeful about my future here. I groan when I’m hit with what I’m going to have to do on Monday. I can’t imagine how much all this work cost, but I’ll have to chase Blake down to thank him and of course offer to pay him back. The thought of talking to him again sends butterflies throughout my body.

Guess I’m not ready for the weekend to end after all.

Blake

Shirt off, face down, shorts and boxer briefs tugged low on my hips, Doc Z administers another round of cortisone to my back. Seems I must be immune or something. The shots only buy me a few days relief.

“I’m upping the dose here.”

A sharp pinch and then a burn forces my eyes to clench shut. My mind takes me to her.

It’s been over a week since she was at my house. Five days at the training center trying to stay away, avoiding her when she’s around. It’s not easy when she’s everywhere I look.

And is it just me, or is there a sudden fucking influx of blondes in Vegas? Shit, they’re everywhere I turn. I’ve had to limit my exposure, going from training to home, with one outing to Red Betty’s to see Ataxia play.

Lucky me, Rex doesn’t have a show at The Blackout until this weekend. I’ll be skipping out on that face-to-face. Now that Layla’s buddy-buddy with Mac, I’m taking a pass on those shows. Sure as shit, she’ll be there, dressed like a rock goddess in all her casual hotness that no girl can pull off like she can.

Fuck. I rein in my thoughts to avoid an uncomfortable situation with my dick and the good doc.

“It’s a guessing game with the doses. You keep up on the pills and the shakes. Those should help.” The doctor’s murmured instructions are the same he’s been drilling into me for the past two weeks. At least it takes my mind off her.

“I’m on it. Shakes and pills.”

“Done here.” Doc Z crosses the room. The sound of him shuffling medical shit followed by the snap of his latex gloves signals I’m good to go.

I right myself and pull on my T-shirt. “Thanks for staying late to hook me up.”

The shot takes time to kick in, but already I feel amped. Other than the annoyance of my back, my training has been spot on. Even after hours of sparring, I’m breathing well and have energy to spare. Most days I have to spend an hour on the treadmill to burn the shit off. Wade’s a jackass if he thinks he can take me. I’m in the best shape of my life.

I wave off Doc Z then head into the locker room. It’s seven thirty at night. The place is deserted. I grab my iPod from my locker and decide to hit some weights before I crash for the night.

Walking across the training room, I take in the posters on the walls. The fighters, both past and present, who’ve left their mark on the sport—the warriors who dedicated their lives to the advancement of MMA. To think how far it’s come—from the world of underground fighting to cable television, and now mainstream. Fuck, if Gibbs gets his way we’ll all be made into dolls to be sold next to those boy band dolls—what the hell?

The light in the weight room is on. I thought I was the only one here. Cool, I’ll have a spotter.

I push through the doors and—holy shit—I’m met with a sight that sucks the oxygen from my lungs.

Facing away from me, she’s at the bench. One knee on, one hand on, the other foot on the floor. Her back is arched, and her black spandex-covered ass is pushed out in a dick-throbbing invitation.

Her elbow set firmly at her hip, she rocks her arm up and down in perfectly executed triceps curls. Her form-fitting tank top displays the long, lean muscles of her upper arm with each rep. Sweat glistens on her creamy skin, and the tiny grunts that seep from her pouty lips have me shifting in my shorts.

I’m suspended. Light-headed from the visual assault. The things I would do if she were mine. My eyes devour every inch of her body. I imagine myself creeping in behind her, digging my fingers into her hips as I grind myself against her ass to show her exactly what she does to me. It’d be so easy. Removing those tiny shorts to get to what’s underneath. All I’d have to do is bend her over—

“Oh my gosh, Blake! You scared the ever-loving shit out of me.” Her eyes are locked on mine through the floor-to-ceiling mirrors in front of her. She drops the weight and pushes herself up, placing a hand on her chest.

My gaze moves from her shocked face to her hand that is resting between her tits.

“Blake.” There’s scolding in the way she says my name, but I can’t pull my eyes away from her heaving breasts.

Her black workout top is cut in a low V. It must have some kind of push-up padding. Her breasts are pressed together to create the perfect valley that begs for my mouth.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” She drops her hand to place it on her cocked hip.

My eyes slide up the supple flesh of her neck, over her full pink lips, and stop at her glare.

“Ah, there he is.” She flashes a smile. “You finished?”

“Mouse, sweetheart, I haven’t even started.” I run my teeth along my lower lip, trying to ease the burn of wanting to be all over her.

She turns from the mirror toward me, her face stone. But her chest is rising and falling faster than it was when I walked in. Keeping my focus on her eyes, which is nearly impossible given her half-naked state, I prowl forward. Her breath quickens, so much so that her shoulders are moving along with her chest.

I move in close without touching. Her lips are parted, and her breath is coming in pants, sucking me in along with the air in the room. A light sheen of sweat on her skin intensifies her vanilla scent and sends my body into a raging state of arousal. If she so much as swayed toward me, she’d feel it. Fuck, I wish she would.

“Your workout? You haven’t started…” She tilts her chin up high to keep eye contact with me, and she stutters in her attempt to clarify my words.

Staying away from her was a mistake. Hanging out with her was like subjecting myself to poison little by little in order to build up an immunity. Instead of helping me, my avoiding her only made me more susceptible.

She’s irresistible in a way I’ve never felt before. Her draw is so intense that I notice every detail—every freckle, the delicate curve of her jawline, and the way her pulse thumps beneath the tender skin of her neck. My stomach clenches, and pressure builds between my legs.

“Blake?” Her voice hitches. The lust burning between us so palpable it’s scenting the air.

“Fuck.” I lick my lips. “I need to taste you.” Sliding my hand behind her neck, I sift my fingers into her hair below her loose ponytail.

The weight of her head falls into my hand as she gives herself over to me. With a pounding behind my ribs, I lean down while pulling her up. “One taste.” The desperate pleading in my voice sounds foreign in my ears.

I grip her hair. Her eyes flutter open, the brown so deep it’s hard to tell the difference between the iris and the pupil.

“Ask for it,” I demand and fight getting lost, drowning completely, in her lustful stare.

Her thick, dark lashes flutter as if they’re trying to stay open. “Ask?”

“Won’t do it without your permission, sweetheart.”

Something heavy flares in her eyes before she pushes it away. “Please.” Her plea is voiced on a whimper.

A jolt races up my spine. She’s begging, but I need to hear the words. “Please what, Mouse?”

“Kiss me.”

With fuckin’ pleasure.

I reach down and cup her ass, and a gasp of surprise seeps from her lips. Her palms lay flat against my chest, her fingers finding purchase in my shirt. Pulling her close, I slide my thigh between her legs. I flex my hips into the heat of her body. So fucking hot.

Taking her mouth in a slow caress, her soft lips ignite my craving. With a gentle pull from my grip on her hair, she tilts her head, allowing my control of the kiss. As much as I want to take over her mouth, to dominate her, I force myself to stay in control. I run my tongue along the seam of her mouth, a silent but unmistakable request. A moan rolls up from her throat and her lips part.

Here’s my taste. And what a fucking unbelievable taste it is.

Her wet mouth combined with the sweetness on her tongue explodes in my gut. I dig my fingers into her ass, pressing her down against my thigh. I know I’m pushing it, but it’s impossible to hold myself back. And fuck me, she grinds into me with her eager little body, rubbing her breasts against my chest and her inner thighs against mine. I suck her tongue deep, trying to consume all the sweet from her wet flesh like the starving man that I’ve been.

It’s not enough. I want more.

Our mouths move together, synchronized in perfect rhythm. Overcome, I nip at her lip, pulling with my teeth then soothing the ache with my tongue. Her hands slide down to dip beneath my shirt. She pushes her hands up, the soft skin of her palms skating along my abs to my chest, leaving behind a trail of goose bumps. Skin to skin, no barrier between us, she must feel my heart hammering.

My body roars to take her. To bury in deep and lose myself forever. But I promised her one taste. As much as I’d love to spend the next few days ravishing her body, showing her what it’s capable of feeling, I won’t take advantage.

Slowing the kiss, I suck at her lips before moving down her jawline. The fragrance of her skin concentrated below her ear sends a groan of need from my chest. She arches her neck, opening up to me. The combination of her sweet skin and the salt of her sweat makes me hunger to taste her everywhere. I lazily glide my lips from her collarbone to her ear, trailing the tip of my tongue along her pulse.

I can’t help pulling her earlobe between my teeth. “Fuckin’ hell, Mouse. You’ll be the death of me,” I whisper and rest my forehead against hers.

The room is quiet except for the sound of our heavy breathing. I hold her close, reluctant to let her go, knowing that this is my only chance to have her in this way. I close my eyes and absorb the feel of her body in my arms. She’s so small and breakable, I’m overcome with the need to protect her. But that’s not my job. She doesn’t belong to me and never will.

“Why now?”

Her question brings my head back and my eyes to hers.

“You’ve been avoiding me. So, why now?”

She deserves an answer. A really fucking good answer. Truth is, I’m a pussy.

I move my hand from her hair and cup her nape. “I want you. But I’m no good for you.”

Her head bobs. “I thought, the other night when I shared all that stuff, I thought I scared you off.”

“No. But the shit I felt when you opened up like that wasn’t right.” How do I explain my unhealthy attraction? The fact is that a woman alone in the world, with a kid, brings out a primal urge to protect. It’s the ugly leftover from my past. Years of taking care of my mom and little brother, and throwing myself up as a barrier between them and the General, made me a slave. And I’m nobody’s bitch. “You, Axelle, you girls deserve steady. I’ll never be that guy.”

“But… that kiss.” She studies the spot where her hands rest unseen beneath my shirt. Her eyebrows pinch together like she’s seeing me for the first time. And she doesn’t look happy about what she sees.

“The kiss was hot, Mouse.” Hottest damn kiss I’ve ever experienced, but she doesn’t need to know that.

Her hands drop from my chest, and she pulls against my hold. “Let me go.”

“Can’t do that, sweetheart.” I flex my fingers at her neck and hip.

“Blake.” She glares at me, and I watch the violent storm build in her eyes. “Let. Me. Go.”

I should, and I will, eventually. But knowing that this is the last time I’ll hold her this close and feel her soft skin beneath my palm, I’ll milk the clock and soak up every second. “Just wanted a taste. Didn’t know how good it’d be.”

She rocks back with a grunt, but I hold her flush to my body. After a second of resistance, she sags in my arms. “Blake…” Her whispered refusal dies on her lips along with her fight. She leans her weight into me and grips the sides of my T-shirt.

My eyes slide shut, and I’m stuck somewhere between What the fuck and There is a God. Holding her like this, feeling her give herself over to me like she did before our kiss—Fuck. If I let myself feel what I’m burying deep, I don’t think I’ll let her go. Ever.

I lean down and bury my nose in her hair, my thumb tracing circles on the bare skin of her lower back. So soft, so fuckin’ sweet, so—oomph!

Sharp pain explodes between my legs. I double over, holding my balls, and drop to my knees. Shiiit.

“Next time a woman tells you to let go? Let. Go.”

Her purple and black Nikes walking away are all I see from my fetal position on the floor. I pinch my eyes shut with a groan and roll as the pain surges from my nuts into my stomach. Motherfuck. I swallow hard, fighting my gut’s attempt to jump out my mouth. My lungs burn and struggle as I suck air through my nose and grind my teeth.

I curl up tight and prepare for the ten minutes of hell that I’ll have to endure before I can chase after her. Or, fuck, at this point it might be better to quit while I’m down.