Long Shot: An MMA Stepbrother Romance (17 page)

If Natalie’s smart, she won’t even read my message. If she’s smart, she’ll stay the fuck away from someone like me.
 

As much as I want her, I have to admit that I can’t have it all, not if I want her to stay away from this crazy fucking world.

I never texted Josh back when I saw what he wrote. To me, it represented years full of hurt. At least this time he had the decency to tell me he was alive. Instead of responding, I went to sleep, dreaming fitfully the entire night. It’s been days since he left, and I’ve been going through my routines like a robot, slipping into my routine, finding comfort there. I’ve been thinking of Josh—dreaming of him—and getting off thinking about his touch.
 

This morning, I woke, and there was something off—a malfunction in my system. I intended to go to the hospital and wait for my shift to start in twelve hours, but I found myself turning onto Beach Road, heading for Josh’s apartment as fast as my Civic would go. He’d left me
shaking
with desire that day. And he hadn’t given me the courtesy of telling me
why
. I barely realize that I’m headed for him, driving to him, ready to subject myself to his inconsistencies all over again. But here I am, pulling up to the string of apartments that house most of Frank’s fighters.

When I pull up in Josh’s parking lot, I’m ready for a fight. My heart is beating hard, my body careening between worry and anger. And I wonder if this is how he feels when he gets into the cage, when he’s facing an unknown opponent for the first time.
 

I look around. His car is in the parking lot of the run down building—he’s always called it
beach chic
since Frank got him the place at seventeen, but it’s really just a shithole.

“Be here, come on, be here.” I don’t know whether I’ll tell him off or find him and melt into his arms. At this point, it’s clear I have no idea what the hell he’s up to, or what his grand “plan” is supposed to be. I get out of the car and slam the door, dashing for the steps that lead to Josh’s second-story apartment. “Beach chic my foot,” I mutter, preparing myself for the grimness behind the door. I knock on his door and wait. I knock again and try the doorknob. To my surprise, it’s open, and I push my way into an apartment I don’t recognize. I inhale sharply, looking around to see a spotless room, free of the trash, the beer cans, and, one time at least, a pair of pink panties draped over the arm of his recliner.
 

I hear footsteps on the stairs and whip around. “Who’s there?” My heart pounds hard, and I don’t know if I’ll see Josh on the other side of the door—or what condition he’ll be in. And with what he’s doing, there’s a chance I might see someone I really don’t want to see—one of Frank’s cronies or the man himself. The door opens, and I let out a long breath of relief, nearly falling against Josh’s couch.
 

“Natty? What the hell are you doing here?” Josh steps over and grabs my arm, and at once, I feel steady, like I’m where I belong. I look up at Josh’s face and see that he has a black eye forming. I lift my hand to smooth his brow, to place my fingers against his wound.
 

“What the hell are
you
doing here? You’re supposed to be recovering—and you were supposed to stay where that asshole can’t find you.”

“He thinks I’m with Ash. That’s what Ash told him, anyway. I went to the club to help one of the kids there. Ash was the one who drove me to your house—”

“He what? There’s one of them who knows where you are?” I can’t hide the panic from my voice. I think of what could happen if the club members can find us, what they can do if they get to Josh.
 

“Ash is fine. He’s on my side. He’s working outside of the club most of the time now. Nobody
wants
to work with Frank anymore, Nat. It’s just that they have to.”

“And you’re helping them get out?”
 

“I am. What? Did Summer tell you?” Josh smiles. “Well, what do you think?” He asks the question like he’s a teenager again, asking for my approval on his math test.
 

“What do I think? I think you probably should have told me what you were doing. I had no idea about any of this—you just told me about the fight.” He fidgets nervously, shifting from one side to the other. There’s a sheen of sweat on his body, and I know he’s been training. “And what the hell are you thinking? Going from your first exercises to training at the gym?”

“I worked through the pain pretty good,” he says. His eyes dart over my body, and I can’t help but feel a pang of desire so deep and immediate that I almost swoon.
 

“You shouldn’t be doing this—this fighting shit. You’re destroying yourself, Josh.”

“And you shouldn’t be here at all.” He stops for a second and makes a zipping motion across his lips. “Rewind. That was a shitty way to say what I mean,” he says. “I don’t want you to get
hurt
, Natalie.”

“Like I said before, Josh. It’s not for you to decide.” I close my eyes and think back to all those stolen moments, the times when I thought he might kiss me, the night I drove him home from the prom and we drank tequila, sitting on my back porch.
 

Pretty badass for a dork
, Nat, he’d said. He’d leaned in close to me and kissed my cheek, sending a tingle down my spine that had nothing to do with the tequila. It was easy back then because it was a crush—something that wouldn’t ever happen. But here I stood, in Josh’s apartment. Even after he’d left, even after he’d run from me, I was here. I purse my lips and look at him. His arm isn’t in the sling, and he’s sweaty. He’s been training for a fight that any good physical therapist would say he shouldn’t take, even if he is healing faster.

I glance to the kitchen counter and see a catalog of courses for the local community college, casually sitting on his kitchen counter, next to a certificate that says GED in bold letters. My stomach drops for a moment, and I think I might have entered a time warp or some alternate universe where my stepbrother figured out his life while I wasn’t watching. “What’s this, Josh? Can you step away from your fighter brain one minute to tell me what’s going on?”

“You know what it is. Says it right there on the front. I know you can read,” he says. He smiles a little bit, but the smile is sad, wistful. I flip through the papers, my eyebrows knitting together as my eyes skim over the letters.

“It’s your GED certificate. And there’s a transcript for classes from Dare County Community College. Statistics, accounting, a business services workshop.”

“That’s about right,” he says, leaning into the sofa. In the past week, I don’t think I’ve once seen him in a damn shirt. There’s perspiration across his broad chest, and the fading afternoon light highlights the sharp, perfect lines of his muscles. His permanently tanned skin makes him look like he was made out of bronze. It’s a body built for fighting, and he always knew it. He ran away to make money, to break free from his mother and my father, but he stayed because his body was a beautiful machine, and he’d found the only thing he’d ever been good at. The papers I hold in my hand are evidence that something more happened while I was gone—more than getting sober, more than getting healthy, prepping to go pro. “They’re old,” he says, kicking his foot against the floor. “I did better last semester.”
 

“Dammit Josh. This seems like something you should have told me.”

“What’s to tell? I’m one of millions—another dropout who took the GED test. Another adult student at community college.” His expression is blank, but his tone drips with sarcasm.

“Why aren’t you proud of this?”

“I am, Nat. But I’m not exactly where I wanted to be. The inspection hasn’t gone through on the new place—”

“What new place?”

“A gym.”
 

“For Ash or—”

“For me, Nat. I made a down payment last month. It’s part of the reason I came to see you. I mean, coming to see you was kind-of a last minute decision. But I
was
planning to find you and tell you about it.”

“So you could tell me, and then run off again? So you could—what? Prove yourself, somehow? Lead me on?”
 

“Nat, you can’t want someone like me. I’m serious. You
can’t.
The pretty doctor getting involved with a fighter. I don’t even do relationships.” He shakes his head. “It ain’t right, what I did to you the other day. The shit with Frank, it’s more dangerous than I thought. He’s onto me—”

“And you’re doing what, exactly?”

“Helping the kids get out before he gets them hooked, mostly. Recruiting talent for the gym. Working with Ash to get a new place started. Simple stuff to get my life in line.” He looks down and cracks his knuckles. He winces slightly, but it’s enough for me to notice. I walk over to him and touch his shoulder gently, then check the stitches on his side, the healing pink skin on his forehead.
 

“And this fight is—”

“Security. It’s a chance at owning my own business, a chance at going pro and hiring good coaches, good management. It’s everything.” I nod. I get it now. Tears prick at my eyes, and I feel for a moment like I’m falling. I
get
it.

I was a passing thought, a stop on his journey. When he kissed me, I’d thought for a moment that there was a chance this was it, that this was what I’d wanted it to be for years, that this time he’d truly changed. He’d stopped by to impress me, to get what he needed, and yes, maybe there was some emotion there—some untidy, lingering desire from long ago. I step away, flustered, angry with myself for coming here, for invading his private choice to leave me behind.
 

“I can get you in with a good physical therapist, Josh. And with you training—at a reasonable rate—you could make the fight just fine. I’ll call Steph. She works at the rehab center in Currituck, but she’s down here a few times a week. She owes me a favor—she can work you in.” I start walking over to the door, but I stop just before I reach it and turn. The tears are starting to flow now, and I don’t want him to see. I turn for a moment, just to look at him, and he walks toward me, his movements more confident, filled entirely with purpose. If I hadn’t shoved his shoulder back into place, I’d think he’d never been injured at all. A shout is caught in my throat, and I cower like I’m afraid of his touch.

“Don’t go,” he says.
 
He catches me, his grip warm and strong. My body starts to melt, my mind only able to focus on the places where his fingers meet my skin. He pants and steps closer to me, his breath hot against my cheek.

“You told me I shouldn’t be here.”
 

“I’m an idiot. I didn’t mean it. Stay for right now, and in the morning, you can decide where you want to be.”

“In the morning?” I look to him for an answer, but he just brushes his fingers through my hair and pushes a stray lock behind my ear, sending tingles down my back. Heat pools between my legs, and a rush of wetness comes to my sex, even with that one touch. Even after my anger—after my certainty that he shouldn’t be doing any of what he’s doing—my body pulls for him like a drug. His touch makes my skin so hot, so needy that I nearly cry out in pain, in shock. He trails the fingers of his left hand up over my belly and cups my breast, pinching the nipple through the soft cotton of my shirt.
 

“I don’t know what to do, Josh. You tell me to go and then… Ohhh... you...” My voice catches in my throat as he reaches up to my breasts, cupping them gently and rolling my nipple with his fingers.

“You can go, if you want to, after this. But I have a way of making women want to stay once I get started with them.”
 

“You’re so fucking…” I pause and lick my lips, my breath coming in short pants. He moves his hand to my other breast and pinches my nipple ever so slightly, sending a shudder down the length of my body. “Confusing,” I moan. He presses into me, and I feel it again—his cock, hard and hot against my thigh. “Jesus, Josh.”
 

He snickers, and with his right hand, takes my shirt off over my head, letting my bra drop to the floor. “Selfless idiot Josh told you to go. But as you might be able to tell, I want you to stay, at least for a little. And then you can decide.”

He pulls me in and kisses me hard, his lips strong and searching against mine. I lean into him and press my body against his. Goosebumps light up my flesh, and I’m wired again, unable to move, bound to him in a whirlwind of electricity. He wraps his right arm around my waist and pulls me in, shoves me hard against the wall.
 

“Josh,” I whisper. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
 

“I’ve healed pretty good. And I thought you weren’t coming back. You can’t blame me for getting a little excited that you responded to my text.” His lips travel over my cheek and down my neck, to the place where my shirt meets my collarbone. I close my eyes, sigh, melt into him like I’ve always wanted. He kisses me there and nibbles my flesh. To my surprise, he
licks
me there. “It doesn’t have to be for more than one night—but let me—let us both have this one thing.”