15 JULIAN
The door swings open and my heart skips a beat. Rhea walks in, her wild-highlighted hair catching the dim bar lights. Two days of radio silence had me wondering if we'd seen the last of her.
She's wearing ripped jeans and a vintage Guns N' Roses t-shirt that's seen better days, but somehow she makes it look perfect.
I keep wiping down glasses, playing it cool. "Well, look who decided to grace us with her presence."
"Miss me that much?" She slides onto a barstool, those green eyes of hers studying me.
"Thought we scared you off." I set down the glass I'm drying and lean forward on the bar. The smell of her perfume – something floral mixed with vanilla – drifts across the counter.
"Please." She rolls her eyes, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "It takes a lot more than that to scare me away. Though I have to admit, your choice of extracurriculars is quite… interesting."
"Interesting's one word for it." I grab her usual beer without asking. "Your stitching on Carla was pretty damn good, you should see mine. Looks like a blind woman at a nursing home did it with her crochet needles."
She damn near snorts. "Yeah, well, four years of sports medicine will teach you a thing or two." She accepts the beer, her fingers brushing mine. "Even if technically I shouldn't be practicing without a license."
"Your secret's safe with me." I wink. "Besides, sometimes the best medicine isn't exactly... official."
"Speaking from experience?" She traces the scar above my eyebrow with her eyes.
"Maybe." I tap the counter twice. "But those are stories for another time."
The Monday night crowd keeps us busy, but Rhea moves like she's been doing this for years. Between mixing drinks, she keeps glancing at my scars, the questions burning in those green eyes of hers.
"So what's your story?" She finally asks, sliding a vodka cranberry across the bar. "How'd you end up in this... unique line of work?"
I pour a whiskey neat for the suit at the end of the bar. "You really want to know?"
"Would I ask if I didn't?" She cocks an eyebrow, leaning against the counter.
"Fair enough." I run my thumb across the scar above my lip.
"Short version? I was a punk kid with a chip on my shoulder and parents who couldn't be bothered to notice if I came home at night."
"And the long version?"
"Got into a lot of fights. This old guy who owned the gym down on 4th street caught me trying to break in one night. Instead of calling the cops, he offered me a job cleaning equipment." The memory makes me smile. "Taught me how to channel all that anger into something useful."
"So he turned you into a fighter?"
"He turned me into someone who could control himself. The fighting came later." I grab more ice, keeping my hands busy. "First time I walked into this place, I was supposed to be easy money for their star fighter. Corey and Tobias were running security."
"Let me guess - you weren't such easy money after all?"
"Knocked the guy out in the second round. Corey offered me a job the next day." I catch her eye. "Sometimes the best families are the ones you choose."
She nods, understanding flickering across her face. "And now you're part of... whatever this is."
"Now I'm part of something bigger than myself. That's worth more than any prize money."
I reach for the case of bourbon on the top shelf, and a sharp pain shoots through my ribs. "Son of a—" The curse dies on my lips as the box slips. I catch it, but not without cost.
"You okay?" Rhea's there beside me, her hand hovering near my arm.
"Just sore." I set the box down, trying not to wince. "Had a...
workout yesterday."
She crosses her arms, giving me that look that says she's not buying it. "Workout, huh? That why you're favoring your left side?"
"It's nothing."
"I literally just patched up your coworker two days ago. Let me take a look." Her green eyes narrow. "Unless you'd rather wait until you can't breathe and end up in the ER."
"Fine." I glance around the bar. It's dead – typical for this time on a Tuesday. "Stock room."
She follows me to the back, past the shelves of liquor and into the cramped space. The fluorescent light flickers overhead as I pull my v-neck over my head, gritting my teeth at the movement.
"Jesus." Her fingers trace the edge of the bruise spreading across my ribs. Her touch is clinical, professional, but my skin still burns where she makes contact. "What was it – right hook?"
"Left actually. Guy got lucky."
"Lucky would've been breaking your ribs. This is just deep tissue bruising." She presses gently along my side, and I suck in a breath.
"Tender?"
"What gave it away?"
She ignores my sarcasm, continuing her examination. "You should ice this. Twenty minutes on, twenty off. And no more
'workouts' for at least a week."
Her fingers trail across my abs, and my breath catches. She's supposed to be checking my injuries, but every touch sends electricity through my skin. The tiny storage room suddenly feels way too small.
"Does this hurt?" She presses gently near my sternum.
"No." My voice comes out rougher than intended. Her hand slides lower, following the line of muscle down my stomach.
"How about here?"
"Rhea..." It's a warning, or maybe a plea. She looks up, those green eyes dark in the fluorescent light.
"Sorry, just being thorough." Her thumb traces one of my tattoos, a slow circle. "Making sure nothing else is damaged."
My hand catches her wrist. "Trust me, everything's working just fine and if you don’t stop I’ll gladly show you."
She doesn't pull away. Instead, she steps closer, until I can feel the heat from her body. "That's good to know."
The air crackles between us. Her pulse races under my fingers where I still hold her wrist. All I'd have to do is lean down...
The stockroom door bangs open.
Tobias bursts through the door, making us jump apart. "Julian, we got trouble downstairs. Need backup."
Thank fuck for his timing. My heart's still racing, and not from the bruised ribs. I grab my shirt from where I'd dropped it, pulling it on despite the protest from my side.
"Everything okay?" Rhea asks, her voice slightly breathless.
"Just some rowdy customers," Tobias says, his massive frame filling the doorway. His eyes flick between us, but he doesn't comment. "Nothing we can't handle."
"I should get back to the bar anyway." Rhea slides past him, not quite meeting my eyes. The ghost of her touch still lingers on my skin.
"Perfect timing as always, big guy." I clap Tobias on the shoulder as I follow him out.
"Seemed like it." His low voice carries a hint of amusement.
"Nothing happened."
"Yet." He shoots me a knowing look. "Come on, Romeo. Let's go deal with these idiots before you do something stupid."
I follow him downstairs, grateful for the distraction. The throbbing in my ribs is nothing compared to the ache in my chest when I catch sight of Rhea behind the bar, her cheeks still flushed pink.
Business before pleasure. Right. If only someone would tell my dick that.