Takedown Teague (Caged #1) (12 page)

There were several things that made me think I wasn’t really awake.  The main reason was the temperature—I was warm.  It was always freaking freezing in my room, and I was positively warm all over.  There was also this simply fantastic scent that filled the air around me.  The scent itself seemed warm, too, and clean and calming and completely feminine.

That part didn’t make any sense unless I was having some kind of wet dream.  I didn’t fall asleep with women after sex.  Usually I would just get up and go home.  Something about this felt different though—not quite as dreamlike but still surreal.  I was on my left side, and running all the way down my body, I could feel the heat from another form.

My eyes opened slowly, and I was met by the serene, sleeping face of Tria.

Wrapped up in my arms.

Somehow, I had managed to roll all the way over to her side of the bed and snuggle up against her.  One arm was up under my head, which was right above hers on her pillow, and the other was wrapped tightly around her middle, holding her body against my chest.  I could feel the steady beat of my own heart right up against her side and the warmth of her skin from my shoulder to my ankle.

Shit!

I had told her I wouldn’t do anything like this, and here I was practically accosting her in her sleep.  I closed my eyes for a moment, trying not to get lost in the scent that must have been coming from her hair.  I remembered all the bottles she had in the bathroom at her place that ended up shoved in her purse and wondered which of the contents made her smell so good.

Praying I wouldn’t wake her up in the process, I slowly pulled my arm back and rolled over to my own side of the bed.  I lost most of the sheet when I moved.  Tria’s fingers were wrapped around the edge of that now as well.  I shook my head at myself, grabbed the slight edge of the sheet I could still reach, and stared at the window until I fell back asleep.

I had no idea how long it had been since the first time I woke up. I only knew I was warm and content again.  The scent was all over me, and the soft body was turned toward me this time.  There was a small hand pressed lightly above my beating heart.

There was also one additional complication.  I had somehow managed to get my left arm underneath Tria.  Now I had her wrapped up in both arms, and she was lying with her head resting against my shoulder.

Fuck!

Very slowly and carefully, I extricated my arm from underneath her and gently placed her head back on the pillow.  I shifted away and quickly moved back to my side of the bed.  I was instantly cold because the blanket was still wrapped securely around Tria, and both it and the sheet were pretty much inaccessible unless I moved back to her side of the bed again.  I reached up with one hand and ran it over my face.

I was never one to overthink things, but how the fuck was I going to deal with this?

No matter how many times I woke up and moved away, I ended up curled around Tria as soon as I fell back to sleep.  Throughout the night and into the early morning, I seemed to be drawn to the warmth on the other side of the bed.  I kept moving back every time I realized I was doing it, but as soon as I fell asleep again, I moved right back to where she was.

I didn’t know what to think of it.

When I woke up to daylight coming through the window, I was on top of her pillow but alone.  My right arm and leg were splayed across Tria’s side of the bed with both fingers and toes hanging off the edge of the mattress.

At least I had the blanket again.

Her scent still covered the pillow and the sheet though it wasn’t as strong as it had been when I woke up next to her.  That was assuming I didn’t dream all of that shit, because I still couldn’t wrap my head around why I would do that in the first place.

I rolled myself over, dropped my feet to the floor, and shook my head to clear the fuzziness of sleep.  Standing up, I made a quick trip to the bathroom where my cock was refusing to cooperate with me long enough to pee.

“You won’t go up when I want you to,” I muttered under my breath, “and you won’t go down when I want you to, either.  Moody little bastard.”

I flushed, rinsed off my hands, and then ran my wet hands over my head and face.  The hair on the back of my head was getting a little long, and I was going to have to get it cut this weekend before there was enough there for someone to hold on to and use against me.  The top was a little longer, but I always kept the back and sides pretty short.

Moving slowly out of the bathroom and through the living room, I could hear soft techno-pop coming from the kitchen.  When I went around the corner, I saw my CD player on the table just a few feet from the stove where Tria was dancing around with a spatula in her hand.  She wiggled her hips in time to the electronic beat and occasionally moved in to poke around in a frying pan sitting on one of the elements.  As she lifted the spatula, I could see the edge of a pancake before she flipped it over and dropped it back in the pan.

I’d seen some seriously hot, naked chicks in my time, both on the pages of magazines and in person.  I’d seen perfect tits wrapped around my cock.  I’d seen fabulously round asses being squeezed between my hands.  But I’d never in my life seen anything sexier than Tria right at that moment.

I wanted to bend her over the table right then and there.

I wanted to fuck her on the kitchen floor.

I wanted to take her on the counter.

I wanted to pull her back into bed and show her just what I could do to her.

I wanted my cock in her so bad, I could hardly see straight.

“Good morning!” Tria said as she glanced over her shoulder at me and graced me with a gigantic smile.  “I’m glad you’re awake!  I was afraid I’d have to leave for class before you got up.”

I coughed a bit, cleared my throat, adjusted my sweats to make my cock less conspicuous, and returned the salutations.

“Smells good,” I said, desperately trying to keep my voice from cracking in the process.  “I’m not really used to an actual breakfast—where did you get the makings for pancakes?”

Tria gave me a weird look and shook her head a little.

“The grocery store up the block,” she said with a giggle.

“Oh, yeah.”  I reached up and scratched the back of my head, wondering how long she had been up.

“You ever been there?” Tria asked with a smirk.

“Of course I have!”  I scowled at her.  “I at least have the basics stocked.”

“Really?”

“Yeah!” I said.

“Aside from beer and half a pizza in a cardboard box,” Tria said as she started counting on her fingers, “your refrigerator contained half a stick of smooshed margarine, three bread heels in the same bread bag—which I do not understand, nor do I want to—one thawed Boca burger, and an unopened carton of almond milk.”

“I ran out of cereal.”

Tria laughed and went back to flipping pancakes.

The way she moved around the kitchen did something to my inner Ward Cleaver; that was for sure.  I could almost see her in a pale blue dress, heels, and pearls as she vacuumed the apartment.  I was quite sure the thought was sexist or maybe even misogynistic, but that didn’t stop it from making me hard as a rock.

I had to sit down in the chair at the opposite side of the table and lean forward a bit to keep from being obvious as Tria placed orange juice in glasses and plates full of pancakes on the table.  There were little bowls of grapes off to the side.

I didn’t even know I had little bowls like that.

I realized I had hauled Tria’s dishes up to this kitchen, so the bowls could have been hers.  I didn’t remember seeing any little bowls, but I also hadn’t paid much attention to what had been in the boxes.  I only noticed she didn’t have much.  I mean, I didn’t have much of anything either, but other than her books, Tria didn’t seem to have
anything
.  It made me wonder briefly just how quickly she had left her former home and how accurate the “escaping in the middle of the night” scenario might be.

Tria placed a small glass bottle of fake maple syrup in the middle of the table and sat down opposite me.  She watched as I covered the pancakes in margarine and syrup and took a bite.

Then another.

Then another.

Then about twelve more.

“My God, these are incredible!” I spoke only long enough to gather up more and shovel another mouthful into my face.  I leaned back in the chair, groaned, and rubbed my stomach before I stabbed another one and downed it, too.

“I’m going to eat like…ten of these,” I said as I wiped off my face.  “And then I’m going to have to work out twice as long today.”

“Watching your figure?” Tria snickered as she sipped her juice.  It was good, too—lots of pulp in it.

“Well, I have to stay in my weight class,” I said.  “I’m right at two hundred and five pounds on most days, which puts me at the top of light heavyweight.  If I gain a pound, I’d have to fight bigger guys.”

“Is it really so strict?”

“In the bar, not as much,” I told her.  “But if anyone ever lost and they could show I was over the weight limit, it would definitely create a lot of drama, which would get me in a lot of trouble with Dordy.  Yolanda weighs me before every match.”

“But…you’re working tonight!” Tria gasped.  “What if you go over? Shit…I fucked this up already!”

“Nah,” I said with a half smile.  “I was at two-oh-three on Tuesday.  I have room to spare.  I’ll weigh in at training today, and if I’m over at all, I’ll sit in the sauna a little longer than normal or run an extra mile.  It’s all good.  I can actually drop two pounds in a few hours if I need to.”

“Really?”  She looked at me skeptically but at least didn’t seem to be beating herself up over it any longer.

“Yep.”

“That can’t be good for you.”  She scowled.

“I’m sure it’s not,” I agreed.  “I try not to play that game too much, but I did it a lot in high school for wrestling.  We did nothing but drink water and eat laxatives until we puked to drop some weight before a match.”

“That’s kind of sick,” Tria said.

I shrugged.  I couldn’t argue with her.  It was sick.  I wouldn’t go to those extremes now, but at the time, it was pretty common.  I quickly changed the subject before too much of my ancient history was discussed.

“So what classes do you have today?” I asked.

“Microeconomics, statistics, and English,” Tria responded.  “Mondays and Fridays are my heavy days for classes.  I only have two classes on the other days.”

“When does that bus pick you up?”

“It’s really just a van,” Tria replied as she started collecting the dishes and taking them to the sink.  “It should be here in about fifteen minutes.”

I got up to help though I was so full I was more tempted to flop down on the couch and fall back to sleep.  If anyone felt like a mooch at this point, it would have been me, so I dried and put dishes away as Tria washed them.

Once the kitchen was spotless again, Tria grabbed Medusa’s Moneybag and a couple of textbooks before heading out the door.  I crawled out onto the fire escape to smoke while I watched her wait for the van from Hoffman College to pick her up.

Krazy Katie was already out there, of course, and she waved, too, as Tria boarded the dark red van with the Hoffman crest on the side of it and headed off.  I was surprised at the gesture Krazy Katie had made, and I looked over to study her for a moment.  Strangely enough, she looked back at me.

As soon as I made eye contact, she usually looked away, but this time, she held my gaze for about three seconds.

“You should fuck her,” Krazy Katie said.

“Um…what?”  I had to have heard her wrong.

“You should take off your clothes, and put your penis in her vagina,” Krazy Katie said.  Her voice was rushed, and all the words strung together.  “You should ejaculate in her, and then she’ll get pregnant, and you’ll have a little girl.  You can love them, and then you won’t be so sad.  It feels good, too.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, you crazy bitch?” I asked.  I didn’t think I had ever heard her say more than a couple of words to me, and to have her suddenly start spewing shit about fucking and babies—it was too much.

Apparently, it was too much for Krazy Katie, too, because she curled up in the corner of the fire escape and didn’t say another word.  That suited me just fine—I didn’t need her saying that shit.  Tria was in school, for Christ’s sake—the last thing she needed was someone poking her fish and getting her pregnant.

I tossed the butt over the side and glared at Krazy Katie as I headed to my window.

“Don’t you say any shit like that to Tria,” I warned, as if it would make any difference.  “She doesn’t need to hear any of your fucking lunatic ranting, you hear me?”

She didn’t respond, of course.

I went back inside, shoved a few things into my gym bag, and shoved any thoughts of Krazy Katie’s fucked up speech out of my head.  I needed to get to the gym as early as possible.  I hadn’t gone at all yesterday, and I wasn’t supposed to work out too much on fight days.

Part of my deal with Dordy included a membership to a pretty decent gym near downtown.  I had to ride the bus to get there, but it only cost a dollar each way, and I only went twice a week.  If money was tight for some reason, I’d walk it, but I would be pretty wiped out before I got home.

As soon as I arrived, I went straight for the squat rack.  I started with my legs, back, and triceps.  I went a whole circuit three times before heading to a bench to work out my core.  Once that was done, I headed back to the weight benches to do some shoulders and biceps.

I knew most of the guys there, and we shot the shit as we lifted and boasted about how many reps we could do or how much so-and-so lifted last week.  It was typical bullshit but mildly entertaining as well.  I was laughing at the mental image described by of one of the guys who had tried one of those exercise ball classes and rolled over onto his ass in front of a room full of chicks, which was when Yolanda came in.  She was already glaring at me, and I rolled my eyes as she approached and kept my focus on the weights in my hands.

“So you want to explain why you blew me off yesterday?” Yolanda asked.

“I had shit to do,” I replied.  I continued to alternate hands—lifting each weight up to my chest and then back down to my hip again—and didn’t look at her.

“What kind of shit?’’ Yolanda pressed.

“I was helping my neighbor move,” I said nonchalantly.

Yolanda laughed.

“Since when are you such a do-gooder?”

I just shrugged and continued with the weights.

“What neighbor?” she asked.

I took in a long breath and blew it out my nose.  I had the distinct feeling there was no getting out of this conversation with her, so I decided to just spit it out.

“Tria.”

More laughter.

“So, was it a tearful goodbye when the damsel in distress moved out?”

Glancing over at her, I narrowed my eyes a little.

“No,” I replied.  I set the weights down and moved over to the mat on the floor for crunches.  “She didn’t leave the building, just switched apartments.”

“Why would she do that?”

“She lost her job,” I told her.  “She couldn’t afford that place on her own anymore.  This shit really isn’t any of your business, you know.”

“What did you do?”  Yolanda continued to question me.  “Move her in with the nutcase that lives next to you?”

“No.”  As much as I wanted to get out of this conversation, I knew my delay tactics weren’t going to work on her.  Yolanda had a knack for knowing when I was stalling, and she always managed to cut through the bullshit.  As I glanced up at her, I saw her arms crossed and her eyebrows raised, so I gave up.  “She moved in with me.”

Dead silence for at least twenty crunches.

“She did what?”

Yolanda dropped her chin and looked at me from the top of her eyes as I brought my elbow up to touch the opposite knee, then moved back to the mat, then did the same on the other side.