Challenging the Center (Santa Fe Bobcats) (16 page)

Then she nodded, craned her neck up to kiss him, and he sank fully into her. It was electrifying, the feel of her clamping around him, her arms on his back, her mouth on his. They combined to create a full body onslaught, and he barely had to move before he felt his own climax reaching up to get him.

“God, Kat… damn it, too close.”

She stopped meeting him in the middle of each thrust. “Foot fungus.”

“What the fuck?” He reared back, staring down at her in horror. “What the hell are you talking about?”

She grinned slyly. “Not thinking about coming now, are you?”

Michael blinked. “You little shit.”

“I know. I’m a genius.”

“You’re a sadist.”

“It was either this or twist your balls a little.”

“Thanks, I guess?”

“You’re welcome.” Her hands slid down his back until she gripped his ass—hard—with both hands and squeezed. “Now, where were we?”

“I believe I was at the point where it felt so good my eyes were going to cross.”

She rolled her lips in as if fighting a smile. “Then by all means…”

He slammed his mouth down on hers, hips pistoning fast, unable to stop. Unable to give up this feeling of her in his arms, of being inside her. Unable to slow himself down from rushing to enjoy it.

And then he came, his breath bursting out in fast huffs, whole body grinding into hers until he collapsed beside her.

The last thing he remembered before drifting off into a light sleep was her hands smoothing over his back and her lips on his forehead.

“
I
have to say
, I miss your ugly mug on the line.” Michael leaned over the bench press bar and spotted while Stephen pounded out an eight rep. And because he knew his friend couldn’t talk and focus on proper breathing during the set, he added, “Probably just too pussy whipped anymore to handle the offensive line.”

Stephen pushed out eight, let the bar rest back in its racked position, then reached backward lightning fast and punched Michael in the thigh, mere inches from his balls. He nearly saw his own life flash before his eyes as he groaned and draped over the bar.

“Just admit you’re jealous you don’t have a hot woman waiting at home for you, ready to rub all your tender bits and ease the ache.” Stephen sat up, grinning, the sight both familiar and brand new.

He’d begun filling out a little more since his weight loss from rehab a year ago, adding his gain back deliberately in muscle rather than the flab and beer gut he’d carried before. His face was still thinner though, and while the eyes were all Stephen, it was still sometimes jarring to see his friend’s face so angular where before it was round.

But it was good to see that clarity in his friend’s eyes, the awareness that wasn’t always there before, the flush on his skin that spoke of hard work and effort, not late-night beer sweats and fatigue from being out of shape. Thank God for Mags, his former housekeeper, now girlfriend, who kept him on the straight and narrow.

“Maybe I have a hot woman at home. Your mom says hi, by the way.” Michael laughed and jumped out of the way as Stephen went in for another punch, probably dead center this time.

“Quit fucking around in the weight room,” Caleb growled from the corner.

“Yes, Coach,” they both said automatically, switching positions and changing out the weights for Michael’s round.

“Speaking of hot women,” Stephen asked as Michael settled down, back flat on the bench, bar level with his eyes, “how’s that cute tennis player? The one who tangos like an Argentinian?”

Michael’s hands slipped from their grip on the bar, and he felt a moment of gratitude he hadn’t unracked the weights yet. He rubbed his palms over his shorts to dry them off. “Everything’s fine. Dropped her off at tennis practice, then her coach is taking her to strength training later.”

“Uh-huh.” Stephen watched, hands close by, while Michael went eight reps with the weights. “She staying out of trouble?”

“Not far enough,” Michael muttered.

“You get your hands on her yet?”

“I— What?” Michael blinked as he started to lift the outside weight off the bar. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

“The kind a friend asks when he notices his friend is in over his helmet with something and won’t admit it.” Zero remorse. Stephen gave him a hard stare as he yanked the safety clip off his side and replaced the smaller weight with a slightly bigger one. “Don’t try to act like you have no clue what I’m talking about. I’ve got radar.”

“You’ve got a woman, so suddenly you think everyone else needs one.”

“Or a man, whatever floats your boat. One love, baby.” Stephen started humming the chorus to Bob Marley’s song by the same name, just to be a smartass, before laying down for his next set.

Because Stephen was busy, Michael had the opportunity to talk without interruption. “I’m not out looking for women, you know. That’s not my goal in life.”

Stephen grunted, which Michael took to mean
didn’t say it was
.

“But this… this person just walked into my life, uninvited, mind you,” he added, though Stephen hadn’t asked, “and she’s flipped everything upside down. I’m struggling to keep up.”

“You’ve never struggled with a mentee before. You’ve always had the touch.”

“Touching might be the problem,” he muttered as Stephen sat up from his set.

“Oh ho, there it is.” Stephen smiled and pointed a finger, poking him in the shoulder as he stood. It hurt. “If you want my opinion—”

“He doesn’t.” Caleb walked by, giving Stephen a look that clearly said
Stop running your mouth and get to work.
Stephen grumbled but sat up and started changing the weights on his side for Michael’s set.

“So how’s Kat liking her trainer?”

Michael glanced up, noting his coach’s curious look. “Uh, I think she liked him. Only met with him once so far, so hard to tell. But she said she liked what she heard. I think they meet later today for their first training session.”

“Good, good.” Caleb kept standing around after Stephen and Michael had changed weights and Michael sat on the bench. They both waited for their coach to say something more, but he simply waited, awkwardly, right behind Stephen.

“Okay then,” Stephen finally said, shrugging a shoulder. “Let’s finish up.”

Michael huffed out a breath and went for his final set of bench presses, struggling on the eight like he knew was going to happen. When he finished, he and Stephen both cleaned the bar off and marked down their completions in their folders before moving to the next apparatus. Caleb followed for some reason.

“Did she say she was going to keep him? My brother,” Caleb clarified when Michael gave him a
What the hell?
look. “It’s his first big break, you know, working for a pro athlete. I thought she’d be the perfect choice. Kat didn’t seem like the kind of athlete to get caught up on references with big names.”

“She’s not,” Michael said softly. “You really liked her, didn’t you?”

“She was a hard worker. Hard not to like that.” Caleb shrugged as Stephen began working on shoulder presses, Michael spotting him. “She knew her way around a weight room, which is a bonus of sorts, and didn’t complain when I asked her to do something.”

“She distracted the guys with her little burpee contest,” Michael reminded him, helping Stephen rack the bar and changing weights automatically. “She can let herself get out of control.”

“Out of control is debatable,” Caleb said while Stephen laughed outright. “Far as I can tell, she was getting her work done and having some fun at the same time. The fun’s what keeps people coming back for more. If it wasn’t fun, why the hell would anyone do it?”

“Amen, brother,” Stephen said, holding out a fist for a bump from their strength coach.

Michael considered that as Caleb moved on, coaching and encouraging others around the weight room.

“If you don’t like her, then maybe you should just call your agent and send her back.”

“Like a pair of shoes that didn’t fit?” Michael asked, anger growing.

“Yeah, I guess.” Stephen shrugged. “Maybe she doesn’t give a shit about her career.”

“She gives a shit.” Michael had to still his hands from shaking as he picked up a weight. Just what he needed, a broken toe. “She loves tennis.”

“So maybe she just can’t help herself.”

“She can help it. She’s not a kid.”

“Maybe she’s stupid.”

“Fuck you,” Michael growled between his teeth.

“Whatever it is, it’s not your fault if she won’t listen or do anything you ask of her. You can’t force her. She’s not a puppet. If she’s not picking up the guidance, then why bother?”

“I’m bothering because…” Michael blinked and let the red clear from his vision enough to see Stephen smiling in a way that told him he was being jerked around. “You asshole.”

“That’s me. C’mon, you know you love me.”

“Like I love a hernia,” Michael muttered. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“The question is, what’s wrong with you?”

The second he figured that out, Michael was sure his life would improve.

* * *

K
at stood at the baseline
, trying hard to focus, but her eyes kept wandering.

“Are you listening?”

Kat blinked, then looked off to the side. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you. Your shirt was too loud.”

Gary rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall, arms crossing in his electric-blue Hawaiian-print shirt. His lower half looked tennis-appropriate, in court shoes and soft mesh shorts with pockets. But the upper half… well anyway.

“Your mind’s elsewhere.”

Her mind was still in bed with Michael. Though she’d crept out of his apartment in the early hours, he’d remembered when she had tennis practice and had come knocking, ready to give her a ride to the tennis center. Without a single word about the night before.

For a guy who loved talking… his lack of communication was baffling.

Something smacked her on the left shoulder, hard, and she yelped. “Ow! Damn it, what… Did you throw a tennis ball at me?” she asked incredulously.

Gary nodded. “Sure as shit did, missy. Pay attention or go home.”

“Sorry,” she grumbled, then gave Thomas, across the net, who had been feeding balls at her, an apologetic wave. “Need me to run laps or something?”

“Why, you trying out for the cross-country team?”

“Wha… no? I thought I… you would… punish me?” she finished weakly.

Thomas shook his head across the net, mouthing
No!

“You want me to punish you by running you?” Gary hefted himself off the wall and approached. And suddenly Kat realized the whole “crazy professor” act was, in fact, just an act. For the first time since she’d shown up at the tennis center, she saw a sharpness that hadn’t been there before. Masked by boredom, maybe some inattention, she’d thought Gary was about as useful as a Mr. Potato Head in a bubble bath.

But there was canniness now, and she realized she’d seriously underestimated him.

“You think I’m going to improve your tennis game by making you run? Because that’s what tennis is, right? Just running, running, running.” Gary stopped about a foot in front of her, and she suddenly felt three inches tall. “Might as well have you go work in an ice cream shop for all the good that will do you. You wanna run, you do it with your trainer or yourself or your damn dog. You come here for tennis, with your head screwed on straight from the minute you walk in the door, or you don’t come at all.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Kat nodded. “Sorry.”

“Stop being sorry, for shit’s sake. Just hit the fucking ball.” He started walking back toward the wall, then looked over his shoulder. “And if you raise your shoulders again while you hit a ground stroke, I’ll rip them off your torso and beat you with them.”

“Yes, Coach.” She fought back a grin as Thomas waited for her to take her spot to work on approaches.

* * *

M
ichael walked
into the gym on the wrong side of town, looking around the dim area for Kat. Not on any of the free weights, nor was she on any of the cardio equipment. He looked for De’Shawn but didn’t see him anywhere either. Finally, he gave up looking and started asking around. A few guys gave him the
piss off
look, but finally someone took pity on him and pointed toward a room in the back. If it were
that
kind of gym, he’d consider the walled off area where they might host classes like Zumba or yoga. But this was definitely not a yoga kind of place.

He heard the barking commands of a drill sergeant as he walked in and found Kat standing in what looked like a trumped-up, makeshift boxing ring. She wore headgear and gloves that looked ridiculous on her and bounced around on her bare feet across from a tall man Michael didn’t recognize. De’Shawn was standing beside the man, looking at Kat. None of them noticed him.

“You’re not anticipating. You can do this on the tennis court, so why can’t you do it here?”

“Uh, twenty years of experience on the court?” Kat asked, then shrieked and ducked out of the way when the man’s gloved fist flew toward her.

Michael froze, everything in him tightening. What the hell was De’Shawn doing?

“Anticipation and instinct aren’t just something you’re born with. You hone them. Sharpen them with time and use. Learning to anticipate what someone does across the net is connected to watching his body move across the mat.”

“But they’re not going to hit me with a fist when I get it wrong,” Kat pointed out, her words thick and a little distorted by the mouth guard she wore.

“You wanted help, I’m helping. This is going to do you a world of good, trust me.”