Page 35 of Truck Stop Tempest

I heard a chuckle, then Tito’s deep voice brought me back to Earth. “Amazing, right?”

Life-altering. “No.”

I walked away from the bag, despite wanting, or needing, rather, to hit it again and again.

I didn’t dare look him in the eye, certain my exhilaration was evident. I sat, cross-legged, in the middle of the mat, and waited for him to make the next move.

Much to my surprise, and enjoyment, Tito gripped the back of his shirt, pulled it over his head, then tossed it my way. The moment his back was turned, I brought the soft cotton to my nose, savoring the scents of rain and laundry soap. I even caught a whiff of my vanilla body spray, and that made me happy. So damn happy.

Tito hit the bag with one hand, then the other. Slow at first, finding a rhythm. He glanced my way twice before a mask fell over his face and his breathing changed. His eyes darkened, sweat coated his bare back and chest, and his strikes came harder, quicker, more aggressive with each blow. His feet moved with mesmerizing grace. His muscles coiled and bunched, a heady and terrifying sight. I watched, silent, frozen, captivated by his raw, animalistic beauty.

Tito was gone. Not sure where. In the zone. In hell, perhaps. He wasn’t in the room with me though. His physical form, yes, but his heart, his head, his soul—a million miles away.

I couldn’t help but wonder what damage he could do were those strikes aimed at another human.

I watched, hypnotized by his focus, his power. Those muscles. Lean. Raw. No doubt carved from years of hard training. I suspected he’d been a fighter at some point in his life. I’d watched my brother and his friends fight in their makeshift rings back home. They were clumsy, and stupid and fueled by nothing but ego. Nothing like Tito. His strikes were calculated, and precise, backed by passion and fury. My heart broke for him because he seemed to unleash a lifetime of bad memories on that bag.

Minutes rolled into an hour. The storm passed. At some point, I laid down on my side. At some point, I fell asleep.

She’d fallen asleep clutching my shirt to her chest. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed. I’d started hitting the bag, got lost in the zone, and next thing I knew, I was laying on the ground, a sweaty, spent mess. When I could focus my eyes, all I saw was Tuuli, despite the fact that she was the smallest thing in the massive room.

I didn’t wake her. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. God, she was beautiful. Peaceful. I took advantage of her unconscious state. Studied her breaths, the slow rise and fall of her chest, the way her hair draped her face and neck like silk.

Waking her and driving her home would’ve been the right thing to do. Instead, I ran to my car, snagged a clean shirt and my jacket out of the trunk, then quietly laid beside my sleeping beauty and covered her with my coat. I didn’t touch. Not right away. I managed to withhold my desire for three excruciating minutes before I tucked my arm under her head and pulled her against me.

Then I closed my eyes and pretended I was good enough for the churchgoing angel in my arms, and that I wasn’t pissed about her earlier rant, and that I hadn’t released all my pent-up frustration on the heavy bag.

“Tito,” a soft voice whispered.

I blinked the world back into focus. Blonde hair and a bright smile waited for me on the other side of my sleep haze.

“We fell asleep.”

“Why are you whispering?” I asked, rubbing my hand up and down her back to make sure she was real.

“I don’t know,” she said, laughing.

She rolled out of my arms and pushed to her feet. I stretched, then propped my head in my hand and watched her walk to the window and peek outside.

“It stopped raining.”

“Yeah? You ready to head home?”

Her shoulders rose and fell. “Sure.”

She wasn’t ready to go. I wasn’t ready to let her go.

“Can I take you to dinner first?”

Tuuli tapped on the window before turning around and asking, “Really? Are you sure?” like she thought I was eager to get rid of her or something.

“I at least owe you dinner.” I pushed to the sitting position and rested my arms on my knees. “You know, after checking out the way I did,” I gestured over my shoulder to the punching bag.

“You don’t owe me anything,” she said, coming my way. “I liked watching you.” She crossed her ankles, then lowered herself to the ground in front of me. “Think you can teach me to do that?”

Fuck, yeah. I’d take any chance I could get to have my hands on her. “I’d love to teach you.”

Her eyes darted from me to the window, to the ceiling, to my chin.

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