J. Salsbury - Fighting to Forget

I’m still stuck in place, the thought of getting drunk in bed with Rex bringing too many images to mind that are as confusing as they are tempting.

I love Rex. I’ve always loved him. Those feelings combined with his rugged good looks, piercings, and tattoos do things to my body that I’m not totally comfortable with and yet are all-consuming.

“Don’t worry, Mac. I won’t touch you.” He chuckles low in his chest; the sound washes over me like warm oil. “Trust me.”

“Flattering. Thanks.” I move around the foot of the bed to slide in next to him. “Nice to know I’m safe from your advances.” I try to keep the sarcasm light, but it’s hard to hide the hurt in my voice. He doesn’t find me attractive. He probably likes the little blond girls, someone like Layla or the dozens of bleached blond groupies that hang off of him like a wet towel. Whatever.

He hands me the tequila. “Yep, you are definitely safe.”

I rip the bottle from his hand and press it to my lips. The liquid burns the whole way down and I force myself to swallow another mouthful.

“Damn, Mac, pace yourself.” He pries the bottle from my mouth. “You know how fun puking with a split cheek is? None at all.” He stabs his thumb into his chest, drawing my attention to how the cotton fabric is stretched taut over his pecs. “I should know. I’ve done it.”

“Ugh.” I hand him back the bottle. “I hate puking.”

“Me too. And if you toss, I’ll toss.” He caps the bottle and sets it in the space between us. “So let’s slow that shit down.” Arms folded behind his head, he slides down a few inches to rest against the pillows.

I flip to my side and face him, my head resting in my hand. “This Emma, your girlfriend—”

“Not my girlfriend.”

“Just your neighbor-friend?”

“Mm-hm.”

“You said she’s out of town. Do you ever go with her?”

He’s still gazing up at the ceiling, but his eyebrows are pinched together. “What? No. Why would I go with her?”

“Do you like her as . . . more than a friend?”

“Mac, are you asking me if I hook up with my neighbor?” He rolls his head to look at me. “No. I’d never do that to Emma.”

Why does the tender way he speaks about her make me want to break every piece of furniture in this place? “She’s pretty. So why not?”

He props himself up on his elbows to look at me, his dark eyebrows pinched. “How do you know what she looks like?”

Oh shit!

I drop to my back and stare up, avoiding his glare. “I thought I saw a picture of her in the living room.” That’s a lie, but I’m hoping like hell that the pictures in the living room have her in them.

“Oh.” He drops to his back too. Something about lying here next to him, the silence in the air between us, feels so natural.

“She’s a good girl. Good girls aren’t my type. What about you?”

“Yeah, good girls aren’t my type either.”

He laughs low again, sending waves of butterflies through my chest.

“You and Hatch ever date?”

“No. I told you he’s my roommate’s hookup.”

“Is your roommate stupid? That guy’s a dick.”

I giggle and shake my head. Yeah, she does find herself in some stupid situations. “Trix has interesting taste.”

He sits straight up and turns his body toward me. “Trix is your roommate?”

“Yeah. You know her?”

“Fuck yeah, I know her. All the guys in the band know her.” He chuckles. “Well.”

I sit up and stare at him. We’re so close on the full-size bed, nothing separating us but that bottle of tequila. My eyes go tight and my chest seizes with jealousy. “You and Trix?”

All those mornings she’d go on and on about the one-night stand she’d had the night before. Telling me all the filthy details while I cringed and laughed. And one of those was Rex? Oh, fuck that!

“Me and . . . No.” He shakes his head. “I know Trix because she hangs out at some of our shows. I’ve never hooked up with her.”

Relief washes through my tense muscles and I lean in closer. “Never?”

His eyes dance around my face. “Never.”

Without thinking, I close the tiny space between us. My lips brush against his once, the metal from his lip ring is warmer than I imagined it’d be. I drag my lower lip against it—

“No.” He shoves me back by my shoulders. “Don’t fucking do that.” He’s off the bed, his hands fisting his shirt at his stomach.

I cover my mouth. Oh shit. I kissed him!

“You’re welcome to stay the night.” I can’t read his expression in the dark, but his body looks . . . pained.

“I’m sorry.” I can’t say it enough, loud enough, with enough meaning for him to understand. “Please, I don’t know what came over me. I just—”

“Lock the door on your way out.”

The last thing I see is Rex’s retreating back before I hear the front door slam.

Tears sting the backs of my eyes. What did I do? The relief I felt that he hadn’t hooked up with Trix, his blue eyes locked on mine, the clean scent of his skin mixed with tequila on his breath, and the way we were so close—I kissed him. Oh no, this is bad. I finally get him alone and opening up to me. I fucked it all up.

He’ll never speak to me again.

Rex

Fuck! What the fuck was that? I didn’t see it coming. I can’t believe she tried to kiss me. Try? Shit, she did kiss me!

It was seconds, not even seconds, and my dick roared to life. The slight touch of those full cherry lips, the smell of the sun and sweetness coming from her skin, and I was gone. All the blood in my body pooled instantly in two places, one painfully obvious behind my zipper, and the other in my stomach. I hit the door, practically choking on the rising tequila.

I take a deep breath and turn up the volume on my car stereo. Avenged Sevenfold’s “Lost it All” blares through the speakers, intent on beating the memory out of my head. I keep seeing the pain of rejection in her eyes and the look of sheer panic on her face when I left. But no amount of music can erase the lingering smell of her in my truck or the buzz on my lips left from her soft kiss.

“What the fuck were you thinking, Mac?” I ask and get no answer.

I’m good at seeing the signs of a woman who wants to hook up. I’ve even enjoyed a little harmless flirting. I have to in order to protect myself. What kind of assumptions would people make if I didn’t have a girl under my arm from time to time? How many rumors would start if I was never seen out with a woman? So I’ve made exceptions for the sake of appearance. And I always know when a girl is looking for more, when the flirting isn’t enough and she’s ready to take payment on the promises.

Mac didn’t put out any of the vibes: no come-fuck-me eyes, flirty giggles, shit chicks do with their bodies turning from human to feline, none of that.

I scrub my hand through my hair and keep my focus on the road ahead of me. What little buzz I had evaporated by the adrenaline rush of one kiss. The kiss came out of nowhere, but could’ve definitely led somewhere. Fast.

My pants are still uncomfortably tight between my legs. I need some relief soon, or I’ll turn my truck around and get Mac on her knees and fuck up everything more than I already have. I groan at the visual of her looking up at me, her lips wet and pliable.

Holy hell.

It’s almost five in the morning. Tattoo and piercing shops are closed, but the training center is open. I take the freeway exit and head back in the opposite direction. Hopefully no one will be there yet and I can get a few undisturbed hours with the heavy bag and leave whatever’s left beating feet on the treadmill.

If I can’t fight these urges out of my sick body, then I’ll exhaust myself so that I can sleep through them.

My head’s so fucked I’m not paying attention, not that it matters. I could drive to the training center with my eyes closed. Throwing my truck into a spot, I stalk to the door, head down, trying like hell to concentrate on anything other than Mac.

That damn kiss is still infecting every part of my body and mind. Fuck! Why did she do that? Those lips felt like hot velvet against mine—Bam! I slam through the locker room door so hard it bounces off the wall.

“Whoa! What the fuck?”

The startled response gets my attention.

Cameron Kyle, the UFL’s new CEO is standing there with a file folder in hand.

He glares at me. “Carter? You look like you’re ready to rip someone’s head off, kid.”

I’m not a kid, fuckface. I need to calm down. Cam may dress as if he’s spent the better part of his life warming a desk chair, but the retired UFL Heavyweight Champion dominated the octagon in his day. Other than the fact that he no longer sports his signature shaved head, he looks as though he could pick up his career right where it was ripped from him and annihilate his competitor.

“Rough night.” The two words come out on a growl and I head to my locker to grab my towel and hit the shower.

“I’m actually glad you’re here.” His voice follows behind me. “Need to run something by you.”

I grunt in acknowledgment, but the visions of a certain black-haired, tawny-eyed girl have me preoccupied.

“Big fight’s coming up. Two weeks.” The creaking of wood tells me he’s made himself comfortable on the bench behind me. “I’m in need of a welterweight fighter.”

A welterweight? I turn and lean against the lockers, arms crossed at my chest. “What happened to Reece and Kobe?” They’ve been on the ticket for months.