Page 46 of Ryder: Shadows and Desires
It’s just sexual tension.
That’s all.
R Y D E R
* * *
Punching the hands of Andrew, my momentum carries hard enough to make the head coach wince. In two weeks we’re flying out to New York for preliminaries and weigh-ins, and I’m making my fucking debut.
Andrew shakes his hand as I pace. I heavily pant, a scowl lining my face. I just want someone to fight. Arealopponent, not the gym. Not the dodge bags. I want to go after another fighter with everything that I have and beat the shit out of them until I win.
I crave it.
Andrew says, “Damn, dude, that look you got is terrifying.”
I grunt and wipe my face with my forearm.
“Go get some water and run a cooldown mile.”
I nod and take off the gloves, running my mouthguard under the fountain. I like to wear it while training, as otherwise, I clench my teeth too tight. Fighting with it helps me get into the mindset, too.
It’s also a good way to getoutof that mindset.
My eyes trail around the gym for Julie.
I hardly get to see her after the fucking comment I made that turned her into a bashful mess of flirty laughter. I sort of slid that choke-out reply without much thought. Part of why I wanted her at a distance is because I’m naturally flirtatious, and I know that about myself. I never wanted tohintat anything other than professionalism with Julie, given she’s gorgeous as shit, has great tits that I try way too hard not to glance at, she runs a freaking gym, and her sense of humor won’t stop catching me by surprise.
Only an idiot would say she’s not a catch.
But fuck, I didn’t expect her sheepish reaction—while she was sitting there with her silky hair all undone—to spur on a part of me that now won’t shut the fuck up.
I haven’t even gotten a massage from her since. Andrew has me on a tight ass schedule, and she spends most of her time hanging out with a woman in her sixties.
I honestly don’t know what the fuck is going on or what I’m even fucking doing. She just feels real, whereas, for a long time in my life, most women wanted to experience the high of me being in the ring. To post pictures of the two of us all over the damn internet and get fucked after a fight.
It’s hard to blame them for the fucking part. There’s nothing like holding a woman’s hips after winning a match, my body brimming with victory as I make her moan.
And yeah, maybe once, after a long day of fighting in here and when my body was revved up, I looked at Julie with that thought of victory slipping in. Ireallywanted to get that high from her, to see those mesmerizing hazel eyes darken with blown out pupils. To fuel whatever is brewing inside of that sports therapist, to make her so flustered that all she can do is give a breathy exhale through those plump lips…
I made sure to keep to myself for the rest of the day after that.
I’m a fucking idiot for even letting those thoughts slip in. She’s on my team and wants to be involved in this campaign for her brother’s sake. The last thing I need is instability if this all goes south, but I also can’t seem to stop thinking about her.
It doesn’t help that I don’t meet many women who like the sport, and I know I’m getting older. I crave that connection just as much as the physical.
Maybe it’s just good chemistry. That happens all the time.
She just caught me by surprise.
That’s all.
Ican’tcross that line again. Not while I need to win.
What the hell do I do about her living at Andrew’s, though? Whatever burns between us only grows with her being so close, filling our shared shower with a lingering scent of her shampoo and lotion that tugs at a neglected part of me.
I spot her petite yet curvy frame standing in front of a punching bag that she’s using today, and I raise my brow with a pleasant surprise. Oh shit, she likes to punch bags?
Her chestnut brown hair is braided on both sizes and she punches the shit out of the bag in front of her, lean muscles expressing. She has a lot more force in that body than I would have given her credit for.“I’m pretty limber…”
