Chapter Eighteen #2
Cal stands and looks at me.
I smile again.
He leaves.
Twila points at me. “You were thinking homicide.”
“Not a crime to think.”
“Planning can be.”
Sheila snorts.
Twila shakes her head. “Men.”
The music outside changes, bass shaking the walls as the crowd gets louder. Twila hears it too. Her whole energy changes again. She moves toward the curtain, rolls her shoulders once, then bounces lightly on the balls of her feet while the announcer’s voice booms through the building.
I step closer. “Hey.”
She looks up. “What?”
I don’t know what I meant to say.
Be careful sounds too much like Cal. Don’t get hurt sounds like I didn’t listen to a damn word she said this morning.
So I settle on the only thing that doesn’t ask her to be anything except exactly what she is.
“Kick her ass.”
Twila’s smile comes big and real.
“That I can do.”
Then she’s gone.
The crowd fucking erupts.
“TWISTER! TWISTER! TWISTER!”
I follow to the edge of the curtain where I can see without getting in anybody’s way.
Twila walks out like the whole damn building belongs to her, arms raised, blonde ponytail swinging, smile sharp enough to cut. She slaps hands down the aisle, then turns near the ring and points straight toward me.
The crowd makes some kind of knowing noise.
I stare.
She grins. Then she climbs through the ropes.
Her opponent tonight is a thick-built brunette called Buckshot Betty. Hell of a name. She looks mean, which is apparently exactly how Twila likes them, but she’s wearing a hooter hammock that’s sure to fly off.
Wildcat meets them in the middle in his referee stripes, checks both women, then gives Twila a look like he already knows which one is going to make his job difficult.
She smiles sweetly at him.
He shakes his head and signals for the bell.
The bell rings.
The first lockup tells me immediately this ain’t fake the way outsiders think it is. Bodies still hit bodies, and gravity doesn’t give a shit what somebody discussed backstage. Betty and Twila didn’t speak a word beforehand.
Twila takes a shoulder and gives one right back. Betty whips her into the ropes, and Twila comes off fast enough to send her down hard when they collide.
The ring shakes. The crowd explodes.
I’m hard.
Not proud of it. Not ashamed either.
Twila gets up smiling.
That fucking smile.
I know what those thighs feel like around me now. Know how strong they are. Know exactly how she moves when she’s on top.
Watching her throw another woman across a wrestling ring should not make me think about sex.
It does.
Then Betty catches her with a forearm.
Twila’s head snaps sideways.
I move before I think.
A hand catches the back of my cut. “Easy.” Oaks, the bastard, stands beside me.
I look at his hand.
He lets go. “She’s working.”
“I got eyes.”
“Then use ‘em.”
Twila turns toward me from inside the ring.
Blood shines at the corner of her mouth. She sees exactly what I’m fixing to do. Instead of looking scared or asking me to help, she smiles, licks the blood away, and winks.
Jesus Christ.
I stop.
That’s what she wanted.
Not rescue.
Trust.
Even when I fucking hate it.
Betty comes again. Twila ducks, hooks her, and takes her down hard enough to bring half the crowd out of their seats.
Then Twila climbs the corner. She stands above everybody, sweaty and bloody and grinning beneath the lights like she was born there. Nothing held back. She launches, hits, covers, and gets the three-count.
The place loses its fucking mind.
I’m fucked because I love watching it now even more than before.
Twila rolls out of the ring and comes straight toward me, flushed and breathing hard, blood still bright on her lip.
She stops inches away. “What?”
I look at her. “Got no idea what watching you do that does to me.”
Her eyes drop to my jeans before coming back up. “Got a pretty good idea.”
Fuck.
“Backstage.”
She grins. “Bossy.”
“Now.”
“Jealous?”
“Not yet.”
“Yet?” She laughs and heads through the curtain.
I follow.
Twila barely reaches the bench before Cal appears.
“Sit.”
She does. I hate that.
Cal puts on gloves and leans closer. “Split lip.”
“Not bad.”
“I know.” He reaches toward her face.
I step forward. “I got it.”
Twila looks at me.
Every muscle across my shoulders locks. “I can clean a cut.”
Twila gives me a look. “He’s working.”
I hate that she’s right. Hate him being this close more.
Still, I step back.
He cleans the cut. “You still do this shit.”
Twila smiles without humor. “Still.”
“You’re gonna get hurt one day.”
I answer before I can stop myself. “She knows.”
Both of them look at me.
I lift one shoulder. “She ain’t stupid.”
Twila’s eyes stay on mine.
I straighten. “She don’t need me deciding it.”
Cal goes quiet. So does Twila.
I look at her instead of him. “I wanted to drag her ass outta that ring the second she started bleeding.”
Her mouth almost smiles. “Romantic.”
“Hated every fucking second. But it’s hers.”
Twila looks at me differently after that.
Cal hears it too. He closes his medic kit. “I’m done.”
“Thanks,” Twila says.
He leaves without looking at me.
I enjoy that more than I should.
Twila stands. “You behaved.”
“Mostly.”
She steps closer. “I saw you start forward.”
Damn woman always waits when she knows I’m about to say something I don’t want to. “I’m learning you don’t need saving from every bruise.”
Her face goes soft again.
“You’re getting smarter.”
“Don’t spread it around.”
“I’m proud.”
“Take it back.”
She laughs.
Then some asshole walks up.
Big guy. Another wrestler. Long hair, no shirt, and way too comfortable inside Twila’s space.
“Twister.”
She turns. “Rhett.”
I already hate Rhett.
He smiles at her. “You killed it.”
“Thanks.”
Then he puts one hand around her waist. My entire attention narrows to that hand. Twila sees me. Does absolutely nothing. She’s enjoying this.
I know it.
Rhett leans closer. “You coming to Nashville next month?”
“Maybe.”
“We should ride together.”
My teeth grind.
Twila glances at me and smiles sweetly.
Beth.
This is revenge for Beth.
Little fucking menace.
I step closer. “Hand.”
Rhett looks at me. “What?”
I look down at where he’s still touching Twila. “Move it.”
Twila sighs. “Whiskey.”
I don’t take my eyes off him. If I didn’t have custody of my daughter, I’d put him through the wall.
Rhett’s eyebrows rise. “You her boyfriend?”
Twila answers, “No.”
Too fast. I look at her.
She looks back.
Interesting.
Rhett removes his hand.
Smartest thing he’s done.
“Later, Twister.”
“Later.”
He walks away.
I watch him go.
Her eyes darken.
“There’s a storage room down the hall.”
I stare. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“Oh, I definitely did.” I know where it is.
Twila grabs the front of my cut and drags me with her.
Not that she needs to. I’d follow her into traffic right now.
The storage room smells like cardboard and industrial cleaner. A bare bulb hums overhead while stacks of boxes and folded ring equipment turn the narrow room into the least romantic place anybody has ever decided to make out.
Twila shuts the door.
I lock it.
She points toward the lock. “Don’t start.”
“Start what?”
“Pissing on my leg.”
I laugh. “What?”
“You wanna mark territory so bad you’re practically feral.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Disgusting.”
“You liked my hand on your ass at the clubhouse.”
“Different.”
“How?”
“Wasn’t in front of half of town.”
“Exactly why I liked it.”
She shoves me. I catch her wrists out of reflex, then immediately loosen my hold. Twila looks up at me, sweaty and flushed, lip swollen, blonde hair wrecked from the match.
Fuck me.
“I thought you were learning not to control me.”
“I am.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“Didn’t stop your match.”
That shuts her up.
I release her wrists completely. “Wanted to.”
“I know.”
“Wanted to climb into that ring when she busted your mouth.”
“I know.”
“Didn’t.”
“No.”
“I even let Captain Paramedic put his hands on you.”
Her mouth threatens to smile. “You survived.”
“Barely.”
“That was very mature.”
“Don’t insult me.”
She laughs.
I step closer. “But I ain’t promising shit about liking another man putting his hands on you.”
“Jealous?”
I look her dead in the eye. “Violently.”
She inhales. “Possessive bastard.”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t own me.”
“You sure?”
“No.” She laughs.
I put my hands at her waist and pull her closer.
“I know you ain’t mine because I decide it,” I tell her.
Her smile fades. “But?”
“But I’m starting to think I’m yours.”
Fuck.
Twila just looks at me.
No smart answer.
For once.
I should fix it.
Make a joke.
Instead, she grabs my beard and kisses me hard enough that my back hits the shelving. Boxes shake overhead as I catch her ass and lift.
Twila wraps her legs around me.
Her hot little wrestling shorts ride higher when I hitch her against me, and my cock goes hard enough to make thinking somebody else’s problem.
She feels it and rolls her hips once.
“That because Rhett touched me?”
“That’s because you exist. Rhett touching you just made me mean about it.”
“Jesus.”
“Quiet.”
“Ain’t my daughter sleeping outside this door.”
“Still people.”
“Let ‘em fucking hear.”
Her mouth curves.
I kiss her again. She tastes like sweat and a little blood, which shouldn’t be hot.
It fucking is. My hand slides up her thigh beneath the edge of those tiny shorts.
I carry her backward until the backs of her knees hit a stack of folded mats and set her on the edge.
She spreads her knees for me like she doesn’t know exactly what that does.
I step between her thighs, and she hooks one boot behind my leg to drag me closer until my cock presses right between them.
“You looked ready to climb into the ring,” she whispers.
“I was ready to drag you out of it and bend you over the first flat surface I found.”
Her smile goes wicked. “This flat enough?”
“You wear this shit on purpose?”
“My gear?”
“Calling it gear is generous.”
“You like it.”
“I’m considering buying every pair.”
Her hands go to my belt. “To burn?”
“To keep.”
“Creep.”
“Former kidnapper.”
She smiles.
My mouth goes to her neck while I drag one hand along the inside of her thigh.
She shifts toward me. “Whiskey.”