Chapter 11
Ethan: You weren’t serious before?
Jamie:
Ethan
My arms and legs are aching. My t-shirt is soaked and my breath rasps in and out. My lungs burn. Sweat drips from my elbows onto the rubber floor of my gym.
Jamie stands next to me, watching as I work the heavy bag.
A small crease between her eyes tells me she’s not happy with the way I’m throwing punches.
We've been at this for over an hour, and though she’s been almost as active as I have, she seems almost as fresh as when we started.
Her glossy ponytail is as bouncy as ever, and her forehead is barely shiny.
But her lack of sweat isn’t why I’m refusing to slow down.
And it’s not because of my competitive nature, my fragile male ego, or any other bullshit.
Okay, well… maybe it is all of that. But it’s also because now I have a vitally important goal.
Beat. Miles.
And if I need to kill myself to do it, then they may as well build me a coffin. Whatever it takes.
"Your form is getting better," Jamie says. “But you're telegraphing your moves."
I pause, letting the bag swing and snatching a moment to catch my breath. "Meaning?"
She steps closer, and I catch a hint of coconut, the intoxicating scent that's been driving me crazy since the moment we met. "You're broadcasting what you're about to do before you do it. Watch."
She demonstrates a combination on the bag, her movements liquid smooth. No wasted motion, just pure, efficient power. The sight is captivating. She knows exactly what her body can do and moves with absolute confidence.
"See the difference?" She lifts her eyebrows.
I nod, though my focus was distracted by the way her tank top rode up when she threw the hook, revealing her toned stomach.
"Your turn." She steadies the bag. "And this time, try not to show your intentions."
I throw the combination, focusing on keeping my movements controlled. My gloves thud against the leather bag.
Jamie reaches out to adjust my stance. "Hips this way.” Her fingers are firm through the fabric of my shorts. "And don't lean back. Remember, keep your base strong. Small steps. Lead with your front foot.”
Her touch lingers a fraction longer than necessary. Or maybe I'm imagining it because I want it to be true. Because every time she gets close, my skin burns where she touches me.
"Again," she commands, stepping back.
I throw the same combination, and this time, she grunts with approval.
"Better,” she says. “But lift your fists and stay lighter on your feet. You’ll need to get fit before the match.”
"I work out every day,” I tell her through gritted teeth. “I can bench two eighty, and last month I ran a half-marathon. I’m already fit.”
She gives an unimpressed snort. “Okay. Then don’t complain when Miles kicks your supposedly fit ass.”
I hit the bag again, harder this time.
“More shadowboxing,” she says. “Sprinting. Skipping rope. Next training session, we’ll add a cardio routine to the bag work. And some heavy weight training for power.”
“Sounds fun.” I punctuate the words with another punch.
“You should watch some boxing matches. Vanderbilt’s defending his title next Sunday, and that’ll be the fight of the year. Watch the way he moves, how he protects himself and looks for an opening. He’s poetry in motion. You could learn a lot.”
“Vanderbilt.” I drop my fists, searching my memory. “He’s the heavyweight campion, right?”
“World super champion. WBA, WBC, and IBF.”
I’m probably supposed to know what the initials stand for, but I’ve never been into boxing. I don’t think I’ve ever watched an entire fight.
“Impressive,” I say, not giving anything away.
“Vanderbilt’s the best. Don’t miss that fight.” She checks her watch. “Anyway, I’d better go.”
I frown, wondering what she could possibly be doing on a Sunday that she has to rush off. “Busy day?” I ask.
“I’m helping my uncle with some classes today. And I have one of my own fights tonight.”
“Your own fight?” I ask.
“A wrestling match for my YouTube channel.”
An image flashes into my mind. Jamie in her red bikini, her skin glistening. But it’s not me who’s in front of her, but another man. A stranger. One who gets to touch her.
My gut clenches as though I’ve swallowed something so bitter, my digestive system is tightening around it.
“Who are you fighting?” I ask. Though my voice has gone rough, she’s picking up her water bottle and doesn’t seem to notice.
“I have a list of applicants. I’ve picked one of them and set it up.” She takes a long drink.
I throw another combination at the bag, harder this time. "Those fights,” I say between punches. "Why do you do them?"
“I like wrestling. And my channel makes money.”
“But you invite strangers to fight you. How do you keep safe?”
“I can handle myself.”
“Obviously. But…”
“Listen, I’ve been doing this a long time.
I grew up in a boxing gym, remember? Then I trained as a bodyguard and worked the doors of a lot of bars and clubs.
Some real dives, too. Fights would break out all the time—serious ones—and it was my job to break them up.
And plenty of men would get all butthurt over the idea that a woman could put them down.
They’d try to prove that they were better than me. But they weren’t.”
Her expression is set, her lips flat. She speaks like she’s been questioned about this many times, and she’s sick of having to defend her choices.
“Still,” I say, unwilling to drop the subject when she’s clearly putting herself in danger.
She huffs. “If I were a man, you wouldn’t think twice about what I do. You think I’m vulnerable because I’m a woman.”
“I know you’re strong and well trained. But men can be evil.”
“Believe me, I know that better than most.” She holds my gaze, and there’s something about her flat tone that makes a shocking surge of rage rise up inside me.
I clench my fists hard inside my gloves. “Someone hurt you? Who was it?” My tone has become a growl.
But Jamie’s already turning away. “Next training session is on Tuesday. Tomorrow’s technically a rest day, but don’t be afraid to work on your fitness. Half an hour with the skipping rope on top of your regular workout.” She heads out of the gym door, toward the lift.
“Wait,” I call.
She turns around at the door. “Yeah?” Her expression is still set, her eyes shielded.
A strange feeling is hot and sharp in my chest. It’s a possessive feeling that I’m not used to. One that I have no idea what to do with.
There are a lot of things I want to say, but I don’t know how to put any of them into words.
After a moment, I demand, “Who exactly is the guy you’re fighting tonight?”
“A professional wrestler. And for the first time in a long time, he might be someone who can beat me.” She shrugs. “We’ll see. A lot of these guys are full of it. They talk themselves up before the match, then go down with a whimper.”
“I might need you for an event tonight,” I say, inspiration striking a little too late.
She stares at me for a moment, then shakes her head wordlessly and walks out.
After she leaves, I go up to my apartment to shower and change.
I usually work weekends in my home office, and today is no exception.
Though I have project managers working for me, I like to stay on top of things.
I have planning to do for my next development, while making sure that progress on the Crystal Heights demolition is running to schedule.
As busy as I am, Jamie’s wrestling match runs through my mind all day. Images of her with a stranger. Scenarios where he overpowers her. Where he pulls a weapon on her. Where he makes her do things that… fuck. I can’t stand to think about it.
By four o’clock, I’ve had enough. I pull out my phone and call Randy.
"I need you to do something," I say when he answers. "There's going to be a guy showing up at the First Strike gym tonight to film one of Jamie’s wrestling videos. I don’t know what time he’s due there, but it’s probably soon. I want you to wait outside and stop him before he can go inside.”
“What do you want me to tell him, boss?”
“Tell him the wrestling match is cancelled. And offer him whatever it takes to make him leave without going inside.”
There’s a long silence on the other end. Then Randy says, “Without telling Jamie, you mean?”
The hint of disapproval in his tone makes me hesitate.
Am I doing the right thing?
It’s been so long since I’ve cared what anyone’s thought of me, it’s become a question I’m not used to asking. For years, I’ve been doing whatever I want.
But this feels different.
I care about what Jamie thinks.
Shit.
Whatever this is with her, I don’t want to blow it. If Randy thinks I’m crossing a line, then Jamie will too.
I let out a sigh.
"Cancel those instructions,” I tell Randy. "Forget I asked."
“Yes, boss.” The relief in his voice comes through loud and clear.
Ending the call, I lean back in my chair and press the heels of my palms against my eyes. The urge to protect Jamie, to keep her safe, is overwhelming. But she doesn't want my protection. And I’m not so arrogant as to assume I’m more capable than she is just because I was born with a cock.
So I do my best to throw myself back into my work and not think about what's going to happen at her uncle’s gym tonight. I try not to imagine Jamie in her red bikini, covered in oil, wrestling some nameless stranger.
But the harder I try not to picture it, the clearer the image gets in my mind.
I’m used to controlling everything in my life.
The fact that I can’t control Jamie, not even a little, makes me crazy.
Despite this morning’s punishing workout, my aching muscles, and the weariness in my bones, I find myself surging to my feet and pacing the room like I’m late for some urgent meeting.
I clench and unclench my fists a few times, then let out some loud, blistering curses.
Then I go down to my parking garage, wave off Randy who wants me to get in the back of the limo, and slide into the driver’s seat of one of my other cars.
When I get to the gym, I park outside, and let myself in quietly, easing the door open gently so it makes no sound.
A thump comes from the back of the ring, flesh hitting flesh. A man grunts, then lets out an “Oof” sound. A body slams against the mat. Someone is panting. A man curses under his breath.
Tiptoeing around the corner of the ring, I see the mats laid out just like they were on the memorable night when I met Jamie. She looks the same as she did then, in her red bikini, and I freeze, drinking in the sight of her like she’s the elixir of life and I can absorb her through my eyes.
Jamie is on the ground, her limbs tangled together with a strange man’s.
Or rather, he’s on the ground. He’s shirtless, wearing only shorts and a pair of wrestling shoes.
He’s face down on the mat, and Jamie is on his back.
Her arm is tucked under his shoulder, her hand on the side of his head, pressing it down.
She’s in her black face mask, with oiled skin, and I’ve never in my life seen anything as sexy. My blood pounds like my heart is super-charged, hurtling it through my body, straight to my cock.
Her muscles stand out in sharp definition. The bulges of her biceps and triceps. The ripples and ridges running down her back. Her glorious glutes, two beautiful round globes. Her solid thighs and the perfect wedges of her calves.
The man beneath her struggles weakly, grunting as he scrabbles for purchase, thrusting his hips upward, trying to shake her free. He reaches backward with his one free hand, trying to reach her, but she shifts her weight, leaning into him more heavily.
With a loud groan of despair, he collapses. His free hand drops to the mat, and he slaps its surface, tapping out.
Jamie hesitates for three long seconds, pressing into him, making sure of his complete defeat. And watching her, my heart swells. She’s as skilled as she is gorgeous. A little ruthless, and a lot dangerous.
Watching her in action, my worry for her seems laughable.
But I still begrudge every inch of her skin that’s pressed against his.
I still hate that she has another man beneath her.
He hasn’t touched her in a sexual way, but there’s still a deep, primal instinct inside me that wants to rip his arms off.
She lets him go and stands, then offers a hand to pull him to his feet. When he gets up, I realize how much bigger than her he is. He’s as tall as I am.
His lips tug ruefully to the side as he faces her, and he offers her his hand. “I thought I could beat you,” he says. “But you really are as good as people say.”
She shakes his hand, giving him a nod. “Thanks for the fight, Gianni. I’ll upload it to my channel in a week or so.” Dropping his hand, she crosses to her camera and switches it off.
He moves to the side of the mat and picks up a towel.
As he starts wiping oil off his torso, presumably so he can put his shirt back on, I think of how I’d almost had Steve stop the fight.
Jamie would be furious if she found out what I’d been tempted to do.
She’ll also be angry if she sees me here, watching. She’ll think I’m spying on her.
I’m half hidden in the shadow cast by the ring, but I should leave before she spots me.
The instant I decide to go, Jamie turns from the camera and her eyes land straight on me.
Her lips drop open, her eyes widen, and she lets out an exclamation of surprise.
Shit.