Ten Tiny Breaths (11 page)

“Jeez, Kace.” I look up to see astonishment
on Ben’s face. “I’ve never seen someone so completely dialed during
rounds. You were like Ivan Drago. He’s this Russian who—”

I cut him off, reciting the line from Rocky
IV with a mock Russian accent. “If he dies, he dies.” Another of my
dad’s favs.

Ben’s head is bobbing, his brows arched with
surprise. “You know that one.”

“Who doesn’t?” I can’t help but chuckle
again. Soon we’re both laughing and I’m thinking Ben isn’t such a
pompous ass after all.

That’s when a tall form walks past us and
drops a sledge hammer down on my shields.

Trent.

My laughter dies, all traces of ease
vanishing. Grabbing my water bottle, I try to hide my reaction from
Ben by drawing a long swig, all the while watching Trent as he
drops his stuff to the ground beside a speed bag and tugs his
sweatshirt over his head by the back collar.

What the fuck is he doing here? In my gym?
This is my … Holy …
A dribble of water runs down my chin and I
wipe it away with my forearm, trying hard not to gape at the
defined body that has emerged, covered only by a white tank. He
keeps his back to me without a glance in my direction and begins
punching the speed bag with precision that surprises me. As if he’s
well-trained. I watch for a moment, mesmerized and a little
disappointed that he hasn’t acknowledged me, even though I don’t
deserve his attention.

Maybe he doesn’t know I’m here.

I doubt that.

Black ink curls peek out from the edges of
his tank. Whatever the tattoo is, it spans the width of his upper
back from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. I’d love to peel that
shirt off and study his ink while he’s stretched out on my bed.

“I think I’ve seen that guy at Penny’s,” Ben
notes. So he’s caught me staring at Trent. Great.

“You got something for him?” I tease
coolly.

“No, but I hear someone does.” I can’t miss
the suggestive tone in his voice.

Bloody Storm
. “He’s my neighbor.
That’s it.”

“You sure?”

“Yup. I don’t have a thing for
anyone.
Including you.” I take a swing at my bag.

He smirks secretly. “Aren’t you gonna go over
and say ‘hi’ to your neighbor then?”

I answer with roundhouse kick. Ben finally
takes the hint, diving in to secure the bag. He doesn’t mention
Trent again.

I do my best to complete a second round but
my head’s not in it anymore and it’s all because of that smexy guy
on the other side of the room, pounding away on the punching bag.
As much as I try not to look, I find myself glancing over
frequently.

This last time, I catch Trent wiping the
sweat from his brow with the bottom of his shirt, pulled up to
reveal a perfect eight-pack. I suck in a breath, temporarily
paralyzed, my heart rate shoots through the roof, staring …

Something sharp snaps across my ass. “Ow!” I
scream and spin around to find Ben with his towel and a devilish
grin.

“Did you just snap my ass with your towel?” I
growl.

My anger doesn’t seem to faze him. My punch
to his ribs does. He doubles over in pain, moaning. “Hope it was
worth it, asshole.” I stoop down to grab my things. When I stand, I
meet Trent’s gaze head on. His face is blank but his eyes … Even
from this distance, I see a world of determination, hurt, and anger
in them.

He knew I was here. He knew all along.

After a long stare, Trent turns his back to
me and starts pounding on the bag again and suddenly I feel like
I’m the bag, that someone is pummeling me with guilt. And pain. I’m
actually hurting over Trent.

I’ve had enough.

I storm out to the women’s locker room
without another word to Ben. For half an hour I sit on the wooden
bench in that room—a tiny, dark dungeon with two shower stalls and
little room to maneuver—and I fight to bury all these unwanted
emotions clawing their way up the well. Why does he have to be out
there? Why this gym? Is he stalking me? In reality, I know that
this is the only specialized gym on this side of Miami so if he’s a
trained fighter, it makes sense that he ends up here. Still …

I’m used to having things in control. I fight
to stay numb. That’s how I get through each day and it’s worked
well for me. Until now. Now Trent has edged into my life and I
can’t focus. My body is going haywire, I’m battling this internal
urge to push him away and hold him close, I’m thinking about him
far too often. Even the thought of him now kindles desire inside me
that I haven’t felt since my last random encounter more than two
years ago. Only now it’s a million times more acute, more needy. I
rock forward and back, my forehead in my hands.
I don’t want
this. I don’t want this. I don’t want this …

I hear a soft knock on the door. Hope gushes
like water through a busted dam and I realize it’s because I want
it to be Trent. I can’t help myself. I want it. I want him.
Please be …

A contrite-looking Ben stands on the other
side of the door, bowling me over with disappointment. “Are you
okay? I’m sorry. I probably hit you harder than I should have but
you were off in Lala Land.”

I don’t answer, adrenaline racing through my
limbs, my heart racing, frustration pounding. I look up into that
face and see a sweet, genuine guy. One that’s become appealing in
this very moment. Right or wrong, destructive or not, I grab hold
of Ben’s shirt with two fists and haul him into the change room. He
doesn’t resist, though by his sluggish movements he’s not entirely
sure what’s happening. I shove him into the shower stall and snap
the lock on the door behind me.

“Take your clothes off. Don’t touch my
hands.”

“Um,” I can tell this isn’t what Ben
expected. Hell, this isn’t what I expected. But I need to dislodge
this Trent problem and mindless sex with someone else ought to do
it.

When Ben doesn’t move, I seize his shirt and
yank him down to my mouth. He finally gets a clue. His hands tug at
the back of my tank as he pulls me against him, his tongue sliding
into my mouth. His kiss is sweet, but it’s not like …
no, stop
it Kacey. You’re doing this to forget about Trent.

Just his name sets fireworks off inside my
body.

“Kacey,” Ben moans, his hands travelling up
to my shoulders and down, over my breasts, squeezing them as they
pass. He breaks long enough to yank my tank top over my head before
he covers my mouth with his again. It’s a confined space but he
makes the most of it, lifting me onto the little bench against the
wall so I’m towering over him. “I didn’t think you were in to
me.”

“Stop talking,” I command as I shimmy my
shorts and panties down. His hand is instantly on my inner thigh
and sliding up. Up. Until it’s exactly where I want it to be.

I lean back and close my eyes.

And imagine Trent doing that.

Ben doesn’t waste any time, dropping to his
knees to following his hand with his mouth. “God, you're sweet,” he
moans. I briefly imagine fitting him with a muzzle to stop him from
talking. But then he’d be no use to me. And he
really
is of
use to me right now. Right or wrong, it’s been so long since I
allowed this or even wanted it. I lean back and relax, taking from
Ben what I need.

It’s all working out well.

But then Ben has to go and ruin it. He does
exactly what I told him not to. He slides his hand into mine.

It’s instant shock, like I’ve been plunged
into a bath of ice water after sitting in a hot tub for an hour.
All pleasure disintegrates and I recoil from his mouth and his
touch, shoving his face away from me.

“Dammit, Ben. Just go. Now.”

“What?” Confusion fills his face as he looks
up at me, like I just admitted to a triple homicide while whisking
a bowl of cake batter.

“You touched my hands. I told you not to.
Leave.”

He still doesn’t move, an incredulous smirk
touching his mouth. “Are you for real?”

I lean forward, unlatch the lock and shove
Ben out of the stall with the most prominent hard on through his
shorts I’ve seen in a while. With him out, I latch the door again
and crumble to the ground, hugging my knees to my body.

That didn’t help after all.

In fact, that made things a thousand times
worse.

Nausea churns inside me. How could I be so
selfish? Ben’s going to hate me now. What’s more, now that that
intense sex haze has worn off, I actually feel embarrassed for
doing that to him. I’ve
never
felt guilty over my exploits.
And … I gasp out loud.
What if Trent hears about this?
Ohmigod.
My forehead drops against my knees.

I care. I care what Trent thinks. I care if
it bothers him. I just … care. And no matter what I do, I’m not
going to be able to shake that. Not with random sex, or being a
bitch, or any of the other dozen cruel methods I use to try and
push him away. Somehow he’s managed to slide a finger in under my
titanium coat and touch me in a way that no one else has ever
touched me.

Bar well shots are two for one at Penny’s tonight so
the place is hopping, keeping Storm and I on our toes all night to
the point where my body wears a thin sheen of sweat. Cain has
managed to find Nate’s twin—another dark gargantuan brute—to guard
our bar like a grim-faced sentry, ready to toss grabby patrons to
the curb in the blink of an eye. In fact, the place has almost as
many bouncers as it does dancers, tonight. Including Ben. He hasn’t
said two words to me since that afternoon at the gym, and that
suits me fine. I’d prefer to hang my head in shame without the
constant reminder.

Cain leans over the bar as I line up ten
shots of vodka. “How do you like Penny’s so far, Kacey?” he asks
over the music.

I offer him a nod and smile. “It’s great,
Cain. Money’s really good.”

“Great. Saving that for college I hope?”

“Yup.”
Just likely not for me
.

“And what are you interested in?”

I pause, deciding how to answer that one. I
choose honesty versus a smart ass remark. This is my boss, after
all. “Not sure. Don’t have a lot of direction right now.” For some
reason, Cain’s question doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t feel
intrusive. “I’m more concerned about getting my little sister into
pre-med.”

“Ah, yes. This famous raven-haired angel that
Storm has praised.” Cain’s shrewd eyes narrow. “You’re a hard
worker and you’re welcome here as long as you need the job, but
make sure you find that direction soon. You can do better than
slinging drinks. Keep up the good work.” He pats the bar and
continues on, leaving me staring at his back.

“What’s his story?” I ask Storm.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I think he may be one of the most
interesting people I’ve ever met. A paradox to the strip club owner
persona. I haven’t seen him so much as squeeze an ass. He takes the
time to say hi. Now he’s encouraging me not to work here because
I’m too good for the place.”

She smiles. “Yeah, he’s definitely special.
He had a hard upbringing. It had to do with clubs and the women in
his life being abused.” She grabs the bottle of JD from in front of
me. “Speaking of Trent …”

What?
The sudden change of topic sends
me reeling. With a smug grin, Storm jerks her chin over to a table
not far from us. Sure enough, there’s Trent. He’s shown up for the
last three nights at eleven by himself. He doesn’t approach me. He
just orders his drinks and sits at a safe distance. I know he’s
watching me, though. My skin prickles under his gaze. It’s
beginning to get on my nerves.

“Kace.” Storm leans in. “Can I ask you
something?”

“No.” I grab a knife and a lime and begin
slicing it into eighths.

There’s a pause. “Why do you keep ignoring
him? He stops by every night to see you.”

“Yeah, in a strip club. Every night. By
himself. That’s what we call a freak.”

“He hardly looks at the dancers, Kace,” she
says. “And I’ve seen you looking at him all night, too.”

“I have not!” I claim too quickly, my voice
shrill. I’ve tried not to, I tell myself. Apparently I’ve failed
miserably.

She ignores me. “I think Trent
really
likes you and he seems like a nice guy. There’s nothing wrong with
going to talk to him, at least. I know you’re not a mean person,
deep down.”

I fight back the guilt that’s swelling
inside.
Yes I am, Storm. I am mean. I do it intentionally. It’s
safer that way. For everyone.
“I’m not interested.” I set my
jaw as I keep cutting.

She lets out a huge exhale. “I was hoping
you’d say that. I’m going to ask him out then ‘cause he is
fine
.”

My jaw drops as my eyes fly to Storm’s face
and I’m sure there’s outright murder shining in them. How can she
betray me like that? And she calls herself a friend?

“Ha! Gotcha!” Storm holds up a finger. “I
knew it. Admit it. Admit you want to go over and talk to that sex
on a stick.” She slides away with a teasing grin, singing, “Trent
and Kacey … sittin’ in a tree …”

“Shut up.” Right now my face feels like a
burning hot forest fire. I try to ignore Storm, Trent, and the
ever-looming Nate as a customer comes up order a drink. “Two
Whiskey Sours, coming right up!” I announce, slamming two tumbler
glasses onto the counter. I have no clue what goes in a Whisky Sour
and I doubt this guy wants me experimenting. I raise an expectant
brow to Storm.

She responds by crossing her arms over her
chest. “Not unless you go talk to him.”

I purse my lips. “Fine,” I hiss. “After. Now
would you help me with the drinks before I poison this fine
gentleman?”

With a victorious smirk, Storm tosses two
drinks together and slides them over the bar.