Page 59 of Jump

“We wasted time,” he explains as I glare. “We lost time, because of all the bullshit. And then we almost lost forever. Losing one love of your life fucking stings, bro.” With a battle cry, he slams his fist against my jaw, dropping me to the canvas so my arms and legs splay wide. My vision turns dark and my brain swirls until I’m forced to close one eye to focus. It’s through that slit I watch the world champ saunter forward and stare down at me, but he’s no longer smiling. He long ago lost the humor he carried into our sparring session. “Losing two isn’t something you’ll survive to talk about. So if she’s it, talk to her. Tell her how you feel before you screw up and everything goes to hell. And if she’s not it…” He grabs my hand and yanks me to my feet, like it feels good for him to pick me up and knock me down. “There’s always Alaska. Maybe you could fuck a penguin and pretend it’s the same.”

* * *

I walk in the door to our apartment at a little past six in the evening, and stop on the threshold with my nose in the air.

Baked lamb tempts my tastebuds. Roasted vegetables make the apartment smell divine.

Rosemary. Thyme. Perhaps a little garlic.

My nose twitches, and my stomach rumbles after a couple of hours working up an appetite inside the gym I swore I would never step into.

Curious, I close the door at my back and drop my keys in the bowl by the door. “Vivian?”

I say her proper name, not the one I want so badly to have on my tongue, just in case Hannah is here. Then I follow my nose and head toward the kitchen.

“Viv?” My stomach growls again. Honestly, if she’s not willing to share what she cooked, I might cry a little bit. “You here alone?”

I step through the kitchen entryway and stop, my tongue too big for my mouth, my throat too small to breathe air, because there she stands, a smile on her face, and fluffy pyjama pants wrapped around her legs.

She wears a slouchy sweater, and her hair is tied in a high ponytail that sends all of my filthy fantasies into overdrive.

She’s perfect. Comfortable, which is how I like her best. Sure, the gown, the mask, the fancy party where we met all contributed to a great memory to store away in the deep recesses of my mind. But the comfort she prefers at home, the quiet confidence many other women wouldn’t dare to attempt… that’s what keeps me coming back time and time again.

“Hey.” Her cheeks color a beautiful red that sends a shock of adrenaline racing into my gut. She lifts her hands, both encased in oven mitts with little cats all over them. But interrupting what had been a warm welcome, she narrows her eyes to dangerous slits. “Did you get into a brawl today?”

I bring my fingers up and touch what is already a goose egg forming beneath my left eye. “For sport. I was at the gym.”

She tosses her oven mitts so they skid along the counter until they hit an empty plate. Then she comes around and stops in front of me, so close, her perfume beats out even the scent of cooking meat.

She looks up and nibbles on the inside of her cheek. But she doesn’t touch.

Even when her hands flex and her fingertips slide over one another, she doesn’t touch me.

“Sport?” she echoes.

“I was down at the Rollin On Gym.” My lips—sore, though no longer bleeding—spread into a wide smile. “Sparring with the world champ.”

“With the…” Her eyes grow wider. “The world champion?”

I nod and study the beautiful golden flecks in her stare. “Yes.”

“World champion… fighter?”

“No, the world champion chess master,” I tease, reaching up to pinch her chin between my fingers. My knuckles are red and bruised, and my nails have blood beneath them. I really should go and wash up. But it’s the way her breath comes to a dead stop that keeps me here. The way her lashes kiss the bottoms of her brow bone that has me rooted to the floor.

I want to keep her for my own.

And I’ll be damned if Jack’s warning doesn’t ring in the back of my mind. ‘Talk to her. Tell her how you feel before you screw up and everything goes to hell. Losing one love of your life stings. But losing two…’

I release her face before she screams, and drop my aching hands in my pockets. But I stay put. I inhale her all the way down into my lungs, and lock her scent in for later enjoyment.

“I’m sorry if I interrupted your plans.” I give just the smallest tip of my chin toward the oven. “Hannah coming over?”

Her head starts slowly to the left. Then the right. “N-no. I imagine she’s with Axel, since he’s not on shift tonight.”

“So…” I glance to the counter, to the mitts she tossed down, and beside them, two plates, empty and waiting. “Jase?”

Again, she shakes her head and suckles on her bottom lip, so when she releases it, her pout becomes more severe. “It’s my turn to give a hundred percent.”

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