Against the Ropes
Page 14
Rob grimaces. “I’m sorry, Mac. I didn’t think.” He runs a hand through his thick, black curls. “You want me to throw him out?”
With his slender frame and gentle manner, Rob is hardly in a position to throw me out, much less six feet two inches of hard, lean muscle. Laughter bubbles in my chest, and I shake my head. “You’ll need both your arms to take over my garbage duty next week, which you will be doing by way of apology.”
Rob gives me a wink and follows my disappointed housemates down the hallway. Fights are always good entertainment.
“When you said you would pick me up before Redemption opened, I didn’t realize you meant two hours before it opened,” I moan as soon as Rob’s curly head disappears around the corner. “I just got home from work.”
“You didn’t give me your number,” a bemused Torment retorts. “We have a lot of ground to cover to get you up to speed on the club’s rules and operations. I wouldn’t want to see you in the ring again.” He scrubs his hand through his thick, chestnut hair. Without the bandana, it is longer than I imagined, falling well past his collar, and cut with apparent carelessness to follow the line of his jaw. Could he look any more breathtaking?
“Fine. We’ll exchange numbers to avoid any future surprises. Just let me find my phone.” I hunt around for my cell while Torment makes a slow, careful, inspection of my room. Not that there’s much to see. Twin bed. Desk. Shelf. Wardrobe. Dresser. Purple walls, purple bedspread, purple area rug, purple curtains. A few dollar store prints. At least I keep it tidy.
I cross the room and catch sight of myself in the mirror. Dear Lord. I’m not wearing a bra. And worse, my interest in the tribute to testosterone planted in the middle of my floor is clearly evident in the hard buds of my ni**les visible through my tank top.
A squeak escapes my lips and I slam my arms across my chest and turn to face the wall.
“Is this where you sleep?” The inflection in his voice betrays a lack of appreciation for my sanctuary. Or maybe he doesn’t like purple.
“Yeah. It’s not much, but it’s cheap.” I shuffle toward my dresser, keeping my back to him.
“This isn’t a room,” he admonishes, “it’s a hallway.”
“Actually, it’s a back entrance.” I point to a door in the side wall. “That’s the back door. Our communal bathroom is right beside you.”
“Communal bathroom?” he splutters. “People have to walk through your bedroom to use the bathroom?”
My dresser is finally within reach and I yank a hoodie out of the drawer and pull it over my head. “I only pay half the rent the others pay. I volunteered to take the room because I couldn’t afford to pay the full amount, and I’m the only one without a regular bed friend.”
“How many people live here? I saw at least ten when I walked through the house.” He stops in front of my bookshelf and studies my books: an eclectic collection of college texts, medical reference books, running logs, travel guides for all the places I dream of visiting, thrillers, and romance novels. Lots of romance novels.
“Officially five, but usually there are about nine or ten people around if you count boyfriends, girlfriends, cousins, friends, and the odd vagrant.” Relaxed now that I am decently covered and no longer besieged by naughty thoughts, I turn around and lean against the dresser.
“But it’s not safe,” Torment’s voice rises sharply. “And you need privacy. How can you live like this?”
Why does no one ever understand? I like having people wander in for a pee and a chat. I’m a sociable girl. “It took a while to get used to. The biggest downside is that I can’t let my parents visit. My stepfather is a policeman. If he saw this place, he would drag me home.”
Torment crosses the room in two strides and twists the handle on the back door. The lock gives way and the door creaks open. “Who’s your landlord? Anyone could come in this door. The lock isn’t secure.”
I want to tell him his delightful protective streak is showing, but I don’t want to embarrass him. “Some guy who’s never around. Slumlord. We haven’t had a working stove for the last six months, and the dishwasher broke on Tuesday, but we’ll be lucky if he even stops by in the next year.”
Torment scrubs his hand over his face. “You said you don’t make much at the hospital, but isn’t it enough for a decent place to live?”
My cheeks heat. “I have a few college debts to pay. I also haven’t decided yet what I want to do with my life, so it’s okay for now. It’s got…character.”
I finally spot my cell under the bed and get down on my hands and knees to retrieve it.
“I’m sorry.” He sounds genuinely contrite. “It’s just…a woman should feel safe—” He cuts himself off and makes a choking sound. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Getting my phone. It must have fallen under the bed when you suddenly materialized in my room.” Looking up over my shoulder, I follow his gaze to my bottom, waving around in the air, my panties partially exposed by the tears in my gym pants. Can this day get any worse?
There is just no elegant way to extract myself from this situation, so I don’t even try. I grab my phone and back into the center of the room, delivery truck style but without the beeps.
“I’m guessing you don’t have to share a bathroom at your house,” I say with the casual tone of someone who isn’t waving her half-naked bottom in the air in front of a hunky, semi-stranger and soon-to-be-boss. I push myself to my feet and edge my way back to the dresser, this time keeping my back to the wall.
With his slender frame and gentle manner, Rob is hardly in a position to throw me out, much less six feet two inches of hard, lean muscle. Laughter bubbles in my chest, and I shake my head. “You’ll need both your arms to take over my garbage duty next week, which you will be doing by way of apology.”
Rob gives me a wink and follows my disappointed housemates down the hallway. Fights are always good entertainment.
“When you said you would pick me up before Redemption opened, I didn’t realize you meant two hours before it opened,” I moan as soon as Rob’s curly head disappears around the corner. “I just got home from work.”
“You didn’t give me your number,” a bemused Torment retorts. “We have a lot of ground to cover to get you up to speed on the club’s rules and operations. I wouldn’t want to see you in the ring again.” He scrubs his hand through his thick, chestnut hair. Without the bandana, it is longer than I imagined, falling well past his collar, and cut with apparent carelessness to follow the line of his jaw. Could he look any more breathtaking?
“Fine. We’ll exchange numbers to avoid any future surprises. Just let me find my phone.” I hunt around for my cell while Torment makes a slow, careful, inspection of my room. Not that there’s much to see. Twin bed. Desk. Shelf. Wardrobe. Dresser. Purple walls, purple bedspread, purple area rug, purple curtains. A few dollar store prints. At least I keep it tidy.
I cross the room and catch sight of myself in the mirror. Dear Lord. I’m not wearing a bra. And worse, my interest in the tribute to testosterone planted in the middle of my floor is clearly evident in the hard buds of my ni**les visible through my tank top.
A squeak escapes my lips and I slam my arms across my chest and turn to face the wall.
“Is this where you sleep?” The inflection in his voice betrays a lack of appreciation for my sanctuary. Or maybe he doesn’t like purple.
“Yeah. It’s not much, but it’s cheap.” I shuffle toward my dresser, keeping my back to him.
“This isn’t a room,” he admonishes, “it’s a hallway.”
“Actually, it’s a back entrance.” I point to a door in the side wall. “That’s the back door. Our communal bathroom is right beside you.”
“Communal bathroom?” he splutters. “People have to walk through your bedroom to use the bathroom?”
My dresser is finally within reach and I yank a hoodie out of the drawer and pull it over my head. “I only pay half the rent the others pay. I volunteered to take the room because I couldn’t afford to pay the full amount, and I’m the only one without a regular bed friend.”
“How many people live here? I saw at least ten when I walked through the house.” He stops in front of my bookshelf and studies my books: an eclectic collection of college texts, medical reference books, running logs, travel guides for all the places I dream of visiting, thrillers, and romance novels. Lots of romance novels.
“Officially five, but usually there are about nine or ten people around if you count boyfriends, girlfriends, cousins, friends, and the odd vagrant.” Relaxed now that I am decently covered and no longer besieged by naughty thoughts, I turn around and lean against the dresser.
“But it’s not safe,” Torment’s voice rises sharply. “And you need privacy. How can you live like this?”
Why does no one ever understand? I like having people wander in for a pee and a chat. I’m a sociable girl. “It took a while to get used to. The biggest downside is that I can’t let my parents visit. My stepfather is a policeman. If he saw this place, he would drag me home.”
Torment crosses the room in two strides and twists the handle on the back door. The lock gives way and the door creaks open. “Who’s your landlord? Anyone could come in this door. The lock isn’t secure.”
I want to tell him his delightful protective streak is showing, but I don’t want to embarrass him. “Some guy who’s never around. Slumlord. We haven’t had a working stove for the last six months, and the dishwasher broke on Tuesday, but we’ll be lucky if he even stops by in the next year.”
Torment scrubs his hand over his face. “You said you don’t make much at the hospital, but isn’t it enough for a decent place to live?”
My cheeks heat. “I have a few college debts to pay. I also haven’t decided yet what I want to do with my life, so it’s okay for now. It’s got…character.”
I finally spot my cell under the bed and get down on my hands and knees to retrieve it.
“I’m sorry.” He sounds genuinely contrite. “It’s just…a woman should feel safe—” He cuts himself off and makes a choking sound. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Getting my phone. It must have fallen under the bed when you suddenly materialized in my room.” Looking up over my shoulder, I follow his gaze to my bottom, waving around in the air, my panties partially exposed by the tears in my gym pants. Can this day get any worse?
There is just no elegant way to extract myself from this situation, so I don’t even try. I grab my phone and back into the center of the room, delivery truck style but without the beeps.
“I’m guessing you don’t have to share a bathroom at your house,” I say with the casual tone of someone who isn’t waving her half-naked bottom in the air in front of a hunky, semi-stranger and soon-to-be-boss. I push myself to my feet and edge my way back to the dresser, this time keeping my back to the wall.
