Full Contact (Worth the Fight #2) (13 page)

Immediately she stiffened. Could it be Dennis? Was he back?

But then she heard, “Jess. Please open the door.” She knew that voice. But she wasn’t ready to see the owner of that voice. And she was even less ready to deal with the events of the night before.

She’d been mad at Slade yesterday, but deep down she had still believed that they could work it out. Now she knew they couldn’t. She had to end it with Slade without him knowing why. If he knew Dennis was behind it, he’d fight for her, of this she was sure. He would confront Dennis, and he’d undoubtedly end up hurt or in prison.

It was like pulling off a Band-Aid. She had to end it, now, quickly. No looking back.

Jessica mustered up the energy to walk to the door and look through the peephole, just in case. Never again would she fail to check who was at the door. She let out a big breath, closed her eyes, and opened the door.

“I came by to apologize for yesterday,” Slade began. “I was out of line. I feel like a dick. I’m so sorry, Jess.” He looked genuinely remorseful.

“It’s fine, Slay. You don’t owe me any explanation.”

“Yes, I do.” He reached for her hand. “After all you’ve been through, how could I say all that bullshit to you? I was just having a crap day. She’s no one. I’d forgotten all about her. She used to come around a few times a year when she had a layover nearby.” He sounded nervous.

His apology was cute and so very sweet. And she knew she should be the one apologizing—he didn’t deserve her jealousy after having been nothing but loyal and adoring. And he
really
didn’t deserve his life threatened because of her.

“Slade.” She took a deep breath.
Make it fast. Clean break.
“This isn’t working out.”

His eyebrows furrowed as if he couldn’t comprehend what she was saying. “What’s not working out? The thing with Frances looked bad. I get it. But it wasn’t anything, Jess. She’s just my business partner. Nothing more. Ever. She doesn’t even date. Like, ever. No one. Not that that’s the reason I’m not with her. She’s not my type.”

“She’s everyone’s type, Slade.”

“Not mine. I prefer brunettes with a cute little Southern accent. And preferably a brunette who’s so blind as to how I feel about her, she gets jealous over an uptight redhead and a blond bimbo.”

“I wasn’t jealous!”

He gave her a look.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine. I was jealous. And maybe I’m all kinds of drama and you’ve made it clear you aren’t into that. So go back to your drama-free life. I can’t do this. I can’t handle women walking up to you every other day and falling all over themselves to get into your pants.”

“I like that you got jealous.” He ran the back of his hand down her cheek to her neck, and she flinched. Immediately he was concerned. “What happened? You okay?”

She flipped her hair over her shoulder, trying to hide her neck. She hadn’t had a chance to look in the mirror, but she was fairly certain she had a bruise from where Dennis grabbed her. “Didn’t sleep well. Stiff neck.”

“You sure?” He leaned in to take a better look at her face. “You don’t look so okay. You were crying.” It wasn’t a question.

She wasn’t sure how to answer.

“Shit. Now I really feel like a total dick. I am so sorry. None of those women mean anything. No woman has meant as much to me as you have, and you have to believe me when I tell you how sorry I am.”

It was now or never.

“I’ve decided to move back home. To Charlotte.”

“You’re what?”

“Coming to Tarpon Springs was a mistake. I was just too stupid to realize that at the time. Now, with Dennis out of my life, there’s no reason for me to stay. Hell, even the Om Spot is closing down.”

“Wait. What? How do you know that?”

“Oh…I…uh…I heard about it the other day,” she lied. “That was the thing I looked forward to the most. I can’t work in a bar for the rest of my life. I have to move on and I can’t do it here. And really, Slade, I can’t handle your past. It’s too much for me. There are women cut out for it, but I’m not one of them.”

“Are you serious? I thought we were building something here. This is bullshit, Jessica.”

“I like you. A lot. And there is no way to put into words how much I will always appreciate and will always remember how much you helped me after…” She couldn’t even finish the sentence; it was too humiliating, especially after last night.

His face softened, and he smiled. He brought his big hand to her face and pulled it toward him. His lips connected to hers and he kissed her tenderly in a way that said,
Let’s get married and have little Martin babies.
If she’d been at all unsure before, the kiss confirmed how madly in love she was with this man. The kiss was beautiful, soft and full of promise. It was the best kiss of her life.

Before pulling away, he gently placed a small kiss on her nose. “I like you too, Jess. A lot.”

“But I still have to leave,” she said, taking a step back. “It’s been great. I mean, you’ve been great. We’ve had fun, and the sex was out of this world. But I can’t do this anymore. It may not be Francesca this time, but it
will
be someone else and that would break me. I have to leave, Slade. I have to start to rebuild my life, and I just can’t do it here.” Her lip quivered. “I know this is going to sound like a cliché, but I want…no, I need us to remain friends.” She used the back of her hand to wipe away some of the tears.

“Fuck friendship. You’re more to me than that, and I know you feel the same way. When are you leaving?” His jaw was clenched tight, and he was taking long deep breaths, as if trying to hold back from saying more.

“Not sure. I’d like to give Patsy and Jett two weeks’ notice, and I need to pack up. But sooner rather than later. My lease is almost up anyway.”

“So I have a few weeks to convince you not to leave.” His eyes narrowed, and he seemed to relax a little.

“Slade, my mind’s made up. Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“Tomorrow night, dinner.”

“I’m not going on a date with you, Slade.”

“You said you wanted to be friends, right?” He reached for her, then led her over to the couch, where he pulled her down onto his lap.

“Always. Although friends don’t sit on each other’s laps,” she said.

“Says who?”

“Says the friendship rulebook.”

He stood up with her in his arms—the man was strong!—and gently placed her on the couch, then sat down next to her. “Okay, friend. Now you’re not on my lap. Dinner, tomorrow.”

But Dennis had told her she couldn’t be seen around town with Slade. That was one of the conditions.

“I don’t know, Slade.”

“Come on. What’s the worst that can happen? You have a nice meal. I hear all about Charlotte. You listen to me bitch about Tony.”

She blew out a deep breath. He was taking this better than she’d thought. Better than she was taking it, actually. “No. One thing will lead to another and…no. No dinner. I’ll call you later this week.” She rose and guided him toward the door.

He opened the door, then turned around. He wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her roughly toward him. They were chest to chest, and she had to hold on to his biceps to keep balanced.

She closed her eyes. Being this close to him sent chills down her spine. His smell was intoxicating, his blue eyes mesmerizing. His grip was tight and firm, and pressed up against him the way she was, she could feel how hard he was.

His eyes locked with hers. He bent down and kissed her, chastely, on the cheek, and wiped away the remaining tears. Then he let her go. She swayed, and he placed his hands on her shoulders to steady her.

“If you think you’re leaving this town, you’ve lost your fucking mind, Jessica. Goodbye,
friend.
” He winked and left.

Holy crap!

A week later Slade stood in front of the window of the Om Spot staring at perfectly rounded globes encased in tight black yoga pants. Fourteen women stood bent over, all facing a mirror on the opposite side of the room, their hands wrapped around their ankles, asses up in the air. Any depraved voyeur would have a field day.

But the only ass he was seeing belonged to a woman with long brown hair. She had him enthralled. She’d had him enthralled for the last year, actually, ever since he’d seen her at one of his MMA fights. He hadn’t been able look away then, and today was no different.

Slade had been having breakfast at EE’s, the diner across the street, and afterward his feet, of their own volition, had carried him to the Om Spot, where he knew Jessica practiced yoga every morning.

The stubborn woman apparently didn’t want him, or so she thought. But Slade had been relentless. He’d showed up at her house, and she would make an excuse about having to leave. When she was at work, she would try to avoid him.

Yesterday things had changed, though. He’d walked into EE’s and had heard Jessica’s laugh before seeing her. She had been sitting in a booth with the guy who had been her physical therapist—the same one Slade suspected had been hitting on Jess during her sessions. She had been so involved in whatever they had been talking about that she hadn’t even noticed Slade walk in. The man’s hand casually grazed her arm, and Slade, not one to get angry often, saw red. He had wanted to knock the guy’s teeth out. He was touching Slade’s woman! He stormed right back out.

It had all become clear to him at that moment. Jessica really didn’t want to date him anymore, and the “let’s be friends” stuff was her way of letting him down easy. He should have known better—he’d practically invented that line, and here he’d been groveling for the last week. Wasn’t karma just one big fat ol’ bitch!

That was the moment he stopped calling her. Granted, it had been only twenty-four hours, but still, he was resolute in his decision.

And as for watching her at the Om Spot, well, he’d done that while they had been dating too. Hell, even before they’d been dating, when she was with Dennis. But it’d just been because he’d happened to have breakfast across the street. Maybe he’d been having breakfast at the diner every day, but that didn’t have anything to do with watching her doing yoga. It was only because Esther made the best pancakes. Nothing to do with those deliciously tight yoga pants, or those enticing poses that reminded him of all the sexual positions he wanted to try out. And it was most definitely not because of that booty. Nope. It was Esther’s pancakes that had brought him all the way to the diner. Every single damn day. And her pancakes were the reason he was here today too.

“Nice ass,” a husky voice said from behind him, startling Slade. He turned around to see Travis, his head tilted as he followed the shifting globes through the window.

“What are you doing here, Texas?”

“Guess I could ask you the same thing, boss.”

“Stop staring. You look like a pervert.” Slade playfully smacked the back of Travis’s head.

“Look who’s talking, perv.” Travis’s eyes still had not left the window. “Bro, is that Jessica over there? She has the best ass of the lot.”

A low growl escaped Slade. That was his woman’s ass Travis was ogling. “I’m not staring. I was walking by on my way to the gym.”

“WtF’s over yonder, boss.” Travis pointed in the opposite direction.

“Shut up, Texas,” Slade hissed. “Come on. We got work to do. I’m going to start docking your pay, asshole.”

Travis merely laughed.

Jessica felt like someone was watching her—the small hairs on the back of her neck were standing up. Bent over with her hair sweeping the floor, she peered through her open legs to see Slade staring at her ass. He was so focused on her derriere, he hadn’t bothered shifting his eyes half a foot down to her face. She wished she’d worn a little lip gloss, maybe some mascara…Gah! What was wrong with her? Slade was off-limits. She needed to remember that.

For a week after she’d told him it wasn’t working out between them, he’d called her numerous times a day, though she wouldn’t allow herself to spend any time with him. But she missed him terribly. The man who’d been by her side for just a few short months had made a deep and real impact on her heart in that time.

She must’ve looked so miserable that yesterday her very handsome (and very gay) physical therapist had seen her at EE’s and taken it upon himself to join her for coffee. He made her laugh with his wry comments about local town gossip, and when she left the diner she felt a little better.

But yesterday Slade’s phone calls had just stopped. And though she knew she was doing her best to protect him, she wasn’t sure if her heart could handle the cost.

It had been a long day at WtF Academy, and Slade had jumped off his bike outside his house when Chrissy stopped him.

“Have to get ready for a date,” he told her. “What’s up?”

“With Jessica?”

Slade took a deep breath and then blew it out. It was now two weeks since Jessica had broken up with him, and one week since he’d spoken to her. “No, Chris. Not with Jess.”

“Why? I don’t understand. I just don’t get it.”

Slade ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t understand either. But screw it. I’m not holding out forever. I called her more times than I want to think about, and then I saw her on a date last week. At this point, I’m pathetic. She doesn’t want to date me.”

“No way.” She paused to think about it and then repeated, “No way, Slay.”

“Chris, I appreciate your concern, but I’m done talking about this. She’s not interested. She dumped me. In fact, I think she’s seeing her physical therapist.”

Just then Jack walked over to them, Drogo by his side. The dog began to snarl as soon as he was close to Slade. “Who’s not interested?” Jack asked.

Slade rolled his eyes. “Guys, I’m not—”

“Jessica. He says she’s not interested in him, but she is. I know it. Those weeks she lived here with Slade while she was recovering, she talked about him all the time when I’d come over. And then when they finally got together, they were both so cute. I’d never seen my brother so happy. Those two were inseparable for months.”

“I don’t need a play-by-play,” Slade cut in. “She said she couldn’t handle all the women I’ve been with. I told her they don’t mean anything and she should just get over it, because I wasn’t with anyone else.”

Chrissy groaned and punched his shoulder. “No woman wants to see her boyfriend with other women or think of him with other women. And she especially doesn’t like it when the exes come up to you while you’re on a date with her. You’re so clueless, Slade!” She let out a breath. “And you told her to just ‘get over it’?” She shook her head.

“I wasn’t cheating on her,” Slade repeated. “It’s not my fault those women keep hounding me.”

“It still makes you look like an ass,” Jack said.

“A slutty ass,” Chrissy added. “Look, Slay, don’t give up. Trust me. Everything worth anything is worth fighting for.” She looked up at Jack, who looked down at her and smiled.

Slade rolled his eyes—their sweetness was starting to get on his nerves. “Well, I’m not going to sit and wait forever. I have a date tonight.”

“No,” Chrissy insisted. “Call Jessica. Fix it.”

“Looks like the Tarpon Springs slut finally got rejected,” Jack said with a teasing grin. “And now look at you all sad.”

“Fuck off,” Slade said with a scowl.

“I’m just messing with you, brother. Rest up. I’m sure you’ll be over Jessica as soon as you’re under whomever you’re going out with tonight,” Jack said. Then he let out a surprised “oof” as Chrissy elbowed him in the ribs.

Slade shook his head. “I’m done with this conversation. Have a good evening, guys.”

Annoying as Jack was, Slade thought as he walked away, he was right. As soon as he moved on, he’d forget about Jessica. And moving on meant meeting another woman. Tara was on the menu tonight. And if anyone could help get his head out of his ass, it was a sexy blonde.

Jessica hated first dates. Loathed them. She hadn’t gone on a first date in over five years. She’d never actually been on a first date with Slade—they’d just fallen into a relationship because of the circumstances. But here she was, going on another first date.

She was supposed to meet Jeffrey at the restaurant in a half hour, but she was still standing in her small walk-in closet with a towel wrapped around her body and her long chestnut hair dripping down her back. Maybe she should just cancel.

No, Jessica. Time to put on your big-girl panties!
she growled at herself, and began rummaging through her closet.

She had met Jeffrey one morning when she was having breakfast at the diner. He wore adorable black-rimmed glasses and had looked almost scared to approach her. It was endearing. His mother, Esther, who owned EE’s with her husband, had given him the push he needed by introducing him to Jessica and telling her he was an accountant at a small investment firm. When he invited her out, she was about to politely decline, but then realized that it was important for Dennis to see that she wasn’t with Slade anymore. And so she said yes. Plus once she was back in Charlotte she’d need to rebuild her life, and dating would undoubtedly be involved in that. If she was going to start dating again, she thought, she needed training wheels, and Jeffrey Fryer was the training wheels.

Jessica picked one of her four little black dresses. Two were more for a nightclub scenario, and one was more suitable for a more formal affair, but the one she held in her hand was perfect for the restaurant he had chosen. She paired the dress with red stilettos. She loved high heels but wasn’t skilled at walking in them—she spent most of her days in sneakers. But one of the first things she’d noticed about Jeffrey was that he was tall; therefore, she could pull off the stilettos. And anyway, men loved high heels, right? She dried her hair, then flipped her head over, fluffed, and whipped it back. She applied light makeup, looked in the mirror, took a deep breath, grabbed her keys, and walked out.

What the fuck had he been thinking, letting Jessica lead him around by his dick for months? He must have really been hit in the head hard during his last underground MMA fight, because that was not his usual MO. Not for Jessica, not for any woman.

Tara had been flirting with him for months. She worked in the shop where he bought a lot of the equipment for the fighters he trained at WtF Academy—his gym. He still couldn’t get over the fact that he had finally achieved his dream of owning a gym.

Yesterday as he was picking up some wrapping tape that went under the fighters’ gloves, she’d sashayed over to him to help him figure out which tape to purchase. There was only one kind. She’d twirled a lock of blond hair around one of her fingers while the other hand gently touched his forearm as she went on and on about the tape as if she were talking about splitting atoms rather than tape. Her black T-shirt showcased her big tits beautifully. And if there was one thing Slade couldn’t resist, it was perfect tits. After all, everyone knew he was a breast man. Jessica’s ass had been just a momentary lapse in judgment.

“Tara, is it?” He brushed her name tag with a finger, purposely having slight contact with those magnificent tits. She didn’t shy away. In fact, he could’ve sworn she moved a little closer to him.

“Yep. Tara.”

“Tara, I’m Slade.”

“I know.” She smiled. “I’ve seen you fight.”

“Oh, really? I hope I won.”

“Don’t you always?” she shot back, eyelashes fluttering, her finger still twirling her blond hair—textbook flirting.

“So, Tara. You know what I think?” He leaned closer.

Right on cue, she giggled. “What?”

“You and I need to have dinner together tomorrow night.”

“I’d love to.” Continuing to work through all the items from the
Vapid Girls’ Flirting Handbook
, she reached over and sensually wrapped her hand around his wrist, drawing his hand toward her. Then she took a pen from the counter behind her and wrote her number on his palm.

“Call me,” she had said with a wink.

That evening he had texted her that he’d pick her up at seven the following day, and she’d immediately replied with “Okie dokie” followed by some happy-face emoticons. She was exactly what he needed. Simple fun. No baggage. No complications. No drama.

So now here he was. As soon as his bike came to a stop, she opened the front door and practically skipped toward him. She wore a tight canary-yellow dress, very short, with sky-high heels. He wasn’t sure how she made it to his bike without falling, her shoes were so high. He’d never understood how women could walk wearing those kinds of shoes, but they did…she did.

“Oh, you came on your bike.” She kept her smile, but it looked fake, albeit well practiced. He’d been inconsiderate, again; women didn’t want to go on a date on a motorcycle—the dress, the shoes, the closeness. Jessica had told him this before, and with Jessica he’d always been considerate, taking into account when the bike would be appropriate and when it wouldn’t. But now with Jessica gone, it hadn’t even occurred to him not to come on his bike. “Yippee. I love motorcycles,” she said. Well, maybe this particular woman was fine with the bike, he thought. Or at least she was pretending to be.

Before he had a chance to say anything, she swung her leg over, giving him an unintentional (okay, probably intentional) glimpse of her silky thong.

“Ready,” she squealed. But her hands shook slightly as she wrapped her arms around his body. Clearly, this was all some sort of show to demonstrate what a cool chick she was. That was fine by him, because today was about simple. If she wanted to play that game, he’d play right along with her. He pushed on the starter with his black boot. The bike roared to life, and he throttled up while she yelped behind him.

When they arrived at the steakhouse, she squealed again: “Oh, I love this place.” He parked, helped her off, and they sauntered toward the entrance, her hand hooked around his forearm. But when they reached the door and she saw her reflection, she yelped again.