9. Nina
Nina
T he next day, I walk through the house, making notes on what still needs to be done, which is a ton.
I haven’t made as much progress as I thought I would.
I still need to finish the guest room I’m currently working on, make Stella a cozy music room, maybe a gym, and figure out everything for the dining and living rooms. So basically, I have almost the whole house still to do.
Heading to the room next to the garage, the one I’m planning on turning into a gym, I need to draft some ideas.
Unfortunately, I’ll have to buy everything new and not thrift it.
Spending money on gym equipment isn’t something I want to do, but I will for Stella.
The only issue is I’m allergic to working out and don’t know what’s actually needed.
Taking out my phone, I call Hunter. He works out regularly and must know what’s needed .
“Are you okay?” he asks immediately.
“Yes, why?”
“You never call. And my feelings are hurt.”
“I’m sure Elodie can kiss it better,” I say. “But I need your help. I need to outfit Stella’s home gym and I don’t know what machines to get.”
“Honestly, I’d keep it simple with free weights, ankle weights, a balance ball, a treadmill, and mats.”
“Why?” I ask. “I thought she’d want something complicated?”
“Based on what I’ve gathered from Elodie, I’m pretty sure Stella does a mixture of cardio, weights, and Pilates to stay in shape for her tour. If you start with the basics, she can fill in the items she’s missing.”
A thud sounds from the garage. What the hell?
“Okay, thanks, got to run. Talk later.” I hang up, my heart pounding so hard it’s like it’s trying to break through my rib cage.
Is someone here? I glance at the time on my phone. It’s too early for Evren to be home. I tiptoe to the wall and press my ear against it, listening for any clues before I make a run for it.
There’s music playing, as well as some…grunts? Someone laughs and Evren says something. What the hell? He’s home, and it’s only six p.m.?
I creep toward the open garage door and find Evren and Zeki sparring.
There are some black mats on top of the concrete floor while they circle each other.
Both are shirtless, sweat covering their muscles.
Zeki is leaner and a tad shorter than Evren.
Objectively, Zeki’s hot, but next to Evren, he’s average.
How long have they been out here?
My breath hitches as I watch Evren throw Zeki around as if he weighs two pounds instead of two hundred.
Evren and Zeki are locked in a silent battle, their bodies a blur of motion as they spar.
I’ve seen Evren shirtless at the pool, but there’s something different about seeing him like this.
In the raw intensity of this moment,it’s like he’s stripped bare,not just of clothes but of any pretense.
His focus on Zeki is absolute, and I’m not able to look away.
There’s something about Evren that pulls me in when he’s dominating in martial arts.
His muscles ripple and flex,and I’m literally drooling at the way his body responds instinctively to every challenge Zeki makes.
Zeki lunges,aiming for Evren’s hips,but Evren counters with a swift underhook,using his leverage to sweep Zeki’s legs out from under him.
Zeki hits the mat with a thud.
I must make some sort of noise—one I really hope isn’t a moan because Evren’s acting so dominant and sexy—because the next thing I know, both of their heads snap in my direction.
Sssoooo, I’ve been caught. Clearly .
But I refuse to slink away in embarrassment. Instead, I straighten my shoulders, planning to own this moment. I start a slow clap and walk toward them. “Hope you didn’t hurt anything important there, Zeki.”
“Why?” he asks, breathing heavily. “Are you worried I won’t be able to give you kids?”
“Gross.” I pretend to gag.
“Do you not want kids?” Zeki asks, Evren helping him up from the ground.
“I don’t know.” Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don’t. I guess I’m more worried if I’ll ever find someone who’ll actually want me as I am. Mom always told me I was too much. Too loud, too sassy, too needy, too colorful, too…everything.
“Interesting,” Zeki says.
“How is that interesting?” I ask.
“Because Evren doesn’t want kids.”
Evren glares at his brother, and Zeki just smiles. “What? It’s not like it’s a secret.”
“I’m surprised,” I say. “I thought you’d want a horde of kids to take over your evil empire.”
“No,” Evren says, giving his back to me as he takes a bottle from the ground and chugs some water.
He doesn’t elaborate, and it makes me want to know why. He and Zeki seem close and it gives the impression that family is important to him. Never thought he’d be anti-kid.
“I’m going to borrow your shower,” Zeki says to Evren before jogging out of the garage.
When we’re alone, Evren stares at me. I stare back .
“Do you know how to defend yourself?” he asks, eventually.
“I can hold my own.”
“Why don’t you show me?”
There’s no reason for me to even entertain this idea, especially since Evren is clearly skilled. And yet, that doesn’t stop my stupid feet from moving without my consent towards him.
“Why?” I ask when we’re almost toe to toe. “You’re clearly trained and I’m not. So, what’s the point of this? You want to touch me so badly or something?”
He doesn’t react to my joke that wasn’t really a joke and says, “Because I need to know you’ll be okay if something happens.”
“Pfft, as if you care.”
“I care,” he says softly.
I ignore his words, not able, no, not wanting, to push the issue.
There’s no good that can come from clarifying why he might care.
I fully admit to being attracted to him, but he’s also too old and too rich for me.
I’ve spent my entire childhood resenting the fact that my father was rich enough to give me a better life, and he didn’t.
No one saved me except myself. Maybe it’s wrong to lump Evren into the same group as my father, but I can’t help it.
Instead of saying any of that, I settle on asking something random to deflect from his quiet admission. “Why don’t you want kids?”
“Does it matter?”
“I wouldn’t ask if it didn’t. ”
He blows out a long breath. “Because I feel like I’ve already been a parent my entire life. I had to care for Zeki since he was born, and then my grandparents before they died, and then my mom after my dad died.”
“And who took care of you?”
He shakes his head, so subtly I almost miss it.
A tightness constricts my chest at his confession.
It sounds like we both had to grow up quickly and didn’t have a chance to just be a child.
I wasn’t expecting to discover that we’ve both carried such heavy burdens, and now that I have,it’s like a tentative connection springs between us. One I’m not sure what to do with.
“I don’t know how to spar,” I confess, rocking back on my heels, needing something to break up whatever has sprung between us. “I’m more of a bar-fight or street-fight kind of girl.”
“That’s fine. Let me wrap your hands, and then your job is to try to land a punch on me.”
“That’s it?”
“Isn’t that enough?” he asks, picking up a roll of wrap from the floor.
His fingers brushing against mine and the contact sends a jolt of electricity through me, but I pretend not to notice, focusing on the way he carefully winds the fabric around my knuckles.
His hands are sure and steady, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the rough calluses that speak of years of training.
“Too tight?” he asks, his voice low, almost intimate, as he glances at me .
I shake my head, mesmerized by the way he works. There’s something incredibly intimate about the way he takes his time, ensuring the wrap is just right. As he finishes, his fingers linger on my wrist for a fraction too long, sending a thrill down my spine.
“There,” he says softly, his gaze meeting mine with an intensity that makes my breath hitch. “All set. Now hit me.”
I’m not sure if I can really catch him off guard. But I refuse to back down now from a challenge. My heart pounds a little faster than usual as I throw out my right fist. He easily dodges out of the way, as if he could see me telegraph my move a mile away.
And that’s how the rest of our little session goes. He blocks every strike I throw at him, his eyes never leaving mine. It’s infuriating how much control he has. Tension crackles in the air between us, like a live wire waiting for a spark.
I see an opening—just a small one—but it’s enough.
I go for it, a punch aimed at his side. But he’s faster, his hand coming up to block me with ease.
Frustration flares in my chest, hot and consuming, and before I know it, I’m lashing out.
Wild, reckless, abandoning any kind of form or technique I’ve picked up over the years.
I just want to land a hit, to wipe that damn smirk off his face.
But he catches me in one fluid motion. Taking my arm, he twists it just enough to stop me, and pulls me in close before my back hits the mat. His weight presses me down, but it’s not crushing. With his breath hot against my neck, all the fight drains out of me.
His gaze locks on to mine, the teasing glint replaced by something darker, something that makes my pulse quicken for an entirely different reason.
His hips shift, and through his shorts, his hard dick drags across the bare skin of my thigh.
I shiver, needing to feel him without any clothes between us.
The attraction that’s always between us burns hotter than it’s ever burned before.
And fuck it, I’m tired of resisting. There’s a list a thousand miles long on why we shouldn’t do anything, and yet, I can’t seem to think of a single reason to care right now.
“Easy,” he murmurs, his voice rough around the edges, each word sending a ripple of awareness through me. The way he looks at me—intense, searching—makes it impossible to breathe normally. “I’m not your enemy.”