Page 33 of The Opposite Effect

He stands from his crouched position and offers me his hand. His strong yank on my arm has my feet lifting from the ground. For an older guy, Hank is ripped and extremely fit. He has dark afro hair clipped close to his scalp, his mocha skin is covered with a collection of tattoos Ryder inked on him, and his eyes are the darkest I’ve ever seen.

Hank’s son, Derrick, was not only a customer of mine, but he was also a longtime friend. I was devastated when I was informed he was gunned down four years ago as he and Hank left a boxing tournament. It’s one of those moments I will never forget. Derrick was set for greatness, all to have it snatched away by a man who couldn’t grasp defeat. It was a truly senseless tragedy.

I’m ashamed to admit before Diesel started training with Hank, I hadn’t seen him since the day of Derrick’s funeral. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. I just didn’t know what to say to Hank. Derrick was Hank’s world, and no measly words I could have offered him would have changed that fact. Although now, while scanning my eyes over the old, desolate gym we are working out at, I wish I’d taken the time to make sure Hank was doing okay.

Four years ago, this gym was the number one spot for wannabe fighters. Hank’s training services were in high demand. Now, the equipment is outdated, the gym is devoid of clients, and Hank’sonce full-of-life eyes are bleak. I had heard his marriage was on the rocks after Derrick’s passing, but I didn’t realize things had gotten this bad.

My attention diverts from staring at the boxing mat when Hank cranks his neck to Diesel and asks, “Did Brax go and get himself a weak spot?”

Diesel’s smug grin turns massive before he nods. I bounce my bleary eyes between Diesel and Hank, trying to work out what the fuck they’re on about. They eyeball me with a glint of amusement sparking their eyes, but they fail to ease my curiosity.

Ignoring the two grown men glaring at me like imbeciles, I mumble a curse word under my breath before untying the laces of my boxing gloves with my teeth.

After pulling apart the boxing ring ropes for Hank to exit, Diesel comes and stands next to me. “I don’t need to ask who has your mind, but I’m willing to play along.”

Arching my brow, I stare into his hazel eyes. “I don’t have the faintest fucking clue what you’re referring to.” My words are rough like I dragged them over a gravel road before spitting them out.

Diesel smirks. “I know boxing isn’t your thing, Brax, but even you’re off your game today. My first guess was you had an issue with your grandma but considering you wouldn’t be here if it were a problem with Grace, I’m going to say it is a woman who has you kissing the pavement… a certain blonde member of the Inked family.”

The smugness he’s been wearing most of the morning increases when I attempt to shrug off his insinuation. I don’t know why I bother trying to deceive him. He knows me well enough to know where my mind has wandered to.

“What makes you say it’s a personal problem? You catching me in a moment of weakness might have something to do withwork,” I reply while running a white towel over my head to absorb the mountain of sweat running down my face.

Hank has always been a hard-assed trainer. Nothing’s changed.

Diesel takes a seat on the boxing mat to unlace his shoes. “Inked is your baby, Brax, but it isn’t your first love. It might keep your bank balance in the positive, but it doesn’t keep the blood pumping to your chest.”

I grin but don’t refute his statement. Inked is my business, but at the end of the day, it is nothing but a pile of bricks and mortar. It is family and friends who keep my blood pumping. And if I’m being totally forthright, it has been pumping a little faster since my run-in with Clara yesterday.

Clara can spar with the best of them, and she can dish out scornful words like grenades, but I hated seeing her upset. Every tear shed from her eyes cut me deeper than I ever anticipated.

Even though she’s icier than any woman I’ve ever handled, there’s something about her I’m drawn to. Call it a case of machoism, but I want to wrap her up in cotton wool and protect her from the world. And if that isn’t a shocking enough confession, my desire to protect her has nothing to do with my cock’s fascination with her. I don’t know if this revelation should have me running for the hills or running to Clara to seek confirmation on what the fuck she’s doing to me. Yes, I’ve always been a sucker for helping a woman in distress, but it’s never been this profound.

When Diesel spots the expression on my face, he smirks. “It’s not just your cock she’s gone and twisted up, is it?”

“What are you, a psycho? Get out of my fucking head,” I mutter, throwing my sweat-soaked towel into his mocking face.

“It’s called ‘psychic,’” he replies while yanking my towel off his head. “But I don’t need to be a psychic to recognize that glimmer in your eyes. You got it bad, man. You’ve let her get underyour skin. I just hope you know what you’re doing. There’s no way to predict how chasing a woman like Clara will go. You’ve just got to work out if she’s worth the risk of having your heart decimated.”

I scoff. “Fuck, Diesel, no one is talking long-term commitment. It’s all about a bit of fun. A few hours between the sheets. Nothing permanent.” I keep my words strong, vying to undermine the seriousness of our conversation. My efforts are less than stellar as deceit has never been a game I can play for long. “Besides, I can’t mess with a member of my crew. A few hours of fun wouldn’t be worth the legal complications.”

Diesel etches his brow high into his sweat-slicked hair, but he doesn’t need to speak. His skeptical gaze speaks volumes without a peep spilling from his lips. He knows as well as I do that bedding a woman like Clara would be worth any hassle.

“Well, I wish you luck, brother, because you’re going to need it.”

Not giving me the chance to reply, he darts between the boxing ropes and hotfoots it to the outdated locker rooms at the side of the gym.

I’m straddling my bike, recalling the conversation I had with Diesel yesterday when Clara enters my peripheral vision. I was so immersed in wading my way through the massive mess of confusion muddling my mind that I hadn’t noticed her exiting her apartment building and walking down the street until she stopped directly in front of me.

“What are you doing here, Brax?” she questions while shoving her hands into the front pockets of her mid-length skirt to conceal their shake. “If it’s about Sunday, I can assure youI’m fine. You just caught me during a weak moment. It won’t happen again.” Her words are stronger than the pain in her eyes.

“It’s not about Sunday.”

She stares at me in shock.

“I just want to make sure you get to work safely.” I keep my tone low, not wanting to spark another Jerry Springer-inspired battle between us.

Her eyes widen as she sucks in a lung-filling gulp of air. “I can’t get on the back of your bike again… I-I can’t.”

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