Two Weeks Page 8

  The arm that was supposed to bash my face in goes limp and she collapses in front of me. She intersected the punch too early, rushing her weight toward me and intensifying my playful blow. "Shit!" I shout.

  Ally collapses, dismantled by my strike. She falls in the opposite direction and I drop to the floor, catching her in my arms again, cushioning her fall. We come to a stop together on the mat.

  "I'm so sorry," I say. "You charged forward and I accidentally hit you."

  She doesn't seem to be concerned at all. "I'm a little sore from yesterday, but I'm fine. Is this going to become a regular thing?"

  "The sparring?" I ask.

  She smiles and her chest continues heaving up and down. I'm watching it hungrily, even though I don't intend to. "No, the you-cradling-me-in-your-arms-because-I'm-a-total-klutz thing."

  I let out a gasp of relief—she's okay.

  I love how she feels in my arms. In fact, the fit is so perfect it confuses me. I'm enthralled, totally filled with tentative, pulsing energy. Before I realize it, we're kissing and holding nothing back. I press my tongue into her mouth and it's so warm and inviting in there.

  I crawl along her gums and then spiral my tongue around hers. She sighs loudly. I hate the fact that I'm wearing bulky boxing gloves. I cradle her and she nibbles at my lip with such aggression I swear she's pierced the skin.

  When I realize I'm totally hard and pressed against her thigh, I pull away. I feel like I'm sending the wrong signal—or maybe she is. "Wait, Ally. Why were you shouting 'Max' so much? When you were acting like a bat outta hell? Isn't he your boyfriend?"

  "It's nothing," she says quietly. She seems depressed that we're not kissing anymore, but I feel like this is too dangerous even though I want it more than anything.

  "Something doesn't add up here. You tell me you hate Red Lake and can't wait to get back to your pseudo-fiancé in wonderful Boston. And now you're blowing off steam and kissing me again and staying here for an extra two weeks. What the hell is going on, Ally?" I stare, mesmerized, into her powerful eyes.

  "Well, he's being a dick," she says. "But that's all I want to say right now. I want this to be... well, not so serious."

  "You're sure you don't want to talk about it?"

  "I don't want to talk about it right now," she says matter-of-factly. "You have to trust me on this."

  I shake my head. "Well, whatever it is, it's got you really riled up. I was certain you were going to chew through my throat with the fangs I didn't know you had."

  "It'll pass," she says. "And it's not your responsibility to worry about the heavy stuff."

  Once again, my head is spinning. She's sending signals I don't know how to interpret. She's aggressive, she's potent—and she's telling me not to worry about it. I remember how hopeless I felt yesterday when I thought I'd never see her again. Hell, I felt totally helpless earlier today.

  And even with all of that, I'm the first person she came to after she decided to extend her stay. This is totally perplexing.

  "No games," I say. "I don't know what this is, but I'm going to trust you." I don't want to get involved in a messy situation, especially not if it's going to cause me a lot of headaches.

  But Jesus, I'm practically drooling over her.

  "Good." She frees herself from my arms and stands up. "Now I want to fight again."

  "We're done," I say firmly. "I know I'm already going back on my word, but I don't think you actually want to fight again. You're gonna be really sore tomorrow already. So I'm drawing the line. That's enough for today. We've already been at it for hours."

  She gives me a dubious look. "Well, whatever."

  "How are your ribs?"

  "Better than ever. I was a little sore when I woke up, but I'm fine now. I took some ibuprofen."

  "Okay, well, if you want to keep going, then let's lift weights," I say.

  "Fine. Great." She looks excited again.

  I share the contents of my water bottle and then we head over to the weights. This is a very interesting day.

  ***

  Ally

  I don't know what got into me. I totally lost myself during the fight, unconsciously imagining an epic battle with Max as I hurled furious punches in Jackson's direction. There were serious glimpses of brimstone and fire and subjugation in my brain. I wanted to win. I wanted to conquer.

  Against Jackson, that was nothing short of impossible, but my brain wouldn't listen.

  And despite my rage, I had been stricken with such lust when he held me in his arms—yet again.

  After I do some crunches and shoulder exercises until I can't anymore, I watch Jackson lift weights from my seat on an empty weight bench. He's clearly got a full routine to do that exceeds my current fitness level, so I'll have to sit this part out.

  I'm shocked that Marlena was so sympathetic, especially since my company is so huge and global. I didn't want to lie to her so I told her the truth—that I had been dumped by both my best friend and my boyfriend and that I really needed some time and space. She had an answer for me immediately, and that answer was unequivocal yes.

  I still haven't even told my parents that I'm not leaving. They won't mind me sticking around, in fact, they'll be ecstatic. Still, they might already think I'm gone.

  I already called the rental car company and had them update my account. And I've already changed the flight. Everything came together so neatly it feels like it was meant to be. I barely had to try.

  I'm actually thrilled to use up this vacation time, to more or less discard it. It's yet another remnant of Max. We were planning a long vacation to Europe, so we'd both been saving up as much as we could. That's the only reason why I've got so much time saved up—and I don't want to remember that reason anymore.

  "Are you doing okay over there?" Jackson asks. He's sitting up on the weight bench, his hands holding the bar of the bench press.

  I realize this is going to become a regular thing because of my random flashes of erratic behavior. He's concerned, and that's sweet. But I'm also not ready to spill my guts to him, especially if my goal is to not get too close...

  ...but I'm still not so sure I can even pull it off.

  After what happened earlier, it seems that my rebound plan might go perfectly. This might be a couple of weeks of bliss before I return to real-life hell. But I've never tried to have a two-week stand with someone, so I don't really know what I'm getting myself into.

  "I'm fine. How the hell are you? You look like you might fall apart any minute now." His muscles are so swollen and huge, like they couldn't get any larger without exploding and drenching the room with spatters of blood. He looks like he's ready to go on stage for a bodybuilding competition.

  He laughs and it echoes. "Nice try. Are you sure you're not talking about yourself? I haven't even seen you lift a finger in ten minutes."

  I blush a little. "I'm just taking a break, I swear."

  Jackson smiles and then lowers back to the bench. He's lifting at least three-hundred pounds.

  "Aren't you supposed to have a spotter or something?"

  "Probably," he grunts between reps. He's unfazed by my suggestion. "But I like working out alone. A spotter doesn't fit into that so well."

  "So are you saying I should go then?" I ask, cocking an eyebrow at him.

  He screams loudly and hoists the bar back up until it's nestled safely in the frame. His chest is heaving. "If I didn't want you here, you wouldn't be here."

  "Jesus," I chide. "Did you really need to scream like that?"

  Jackson stands and starts laughing. "You're like an alien that doesn't understand anything about this but wants to know everything." He holds his side and continues laughing. "The screaming helps you get through fatigue, to achieve those last, ever-so-sexy, crucial reps when it feels impossible otherwise."

  I feel dumb, but it's more of a playful dumb than an incompetent dumb. "I always wondered why people screamed like that at the gym. I assumed they were just narcissistic."

&
nbsp; Jackson wipes his forehead with a towel. "Well, there definitely is a little narcissism when you work out this hard. I mean, I know I look objectively good. I know it when I'm in the ring. I know when I see the pictures from the fights—"

  "So humble," I say snidely.

  He shakes his head. "You cut me off. What I was going to say is that it's not the only reason why I do this. I do it because it feels good, because it's a nice goal to have, and because it makes me a better fighter. The aesthetics are just a bonus." He winks at me. "But I do take naked photos of myself to track my progress. So say whatever you want about my ego because I probably deserve it."

  Staring at this incredible, sweaty hunk of a man, I can only think about the aesthetics—and now I'm thinking about him totally naked. Just great. My stomach muscles tighten.

  Even though he's only wearing a pair of shorts, removing them would obviously cross a big line. I think about how incredible he probably looks naked and how much I'd love him to have his way with me. And that unmistakable hardness I felt earlier, well...

  I can't believe how fired up I feel, especially when I was just in a committed, long-term relationship only a few days ago. It's like I haven't seen a man in a decade and this is the first one that happened to cross my path.

  My brain floods with lust, and my nipples harden beneath my sports bra. I hope that they aren't showing through the thin material. My guts clench as he approaches me. I'm really confused. This whole arrangement is so exotic and risky I barely understand it.

  I kind of wish he'd bend me over the weight bench and—

  "Do you want a beer or something?" he asks. "Or a protein shake?"

  I'm jarred back into reality. "Sure," I say. "Can I have both?"

  Jackson smiles and nods. "That's what I'm having. The Juggernaut Special."

  I want to check the time, but I realize I left my phone in the car. "What time is it anyway?"

  "Almost five," he says. He points at a clock on the wall that I didn't even notice.

  "Wait, seriously?" I stare at the wall in disbelief. "Time sure flies when you're beating the shit out of stuff."

  I only intended to stop by and work out, not spend the whole day here. But that's exactly what happened.

  "I know," he says. "It's why most of my weeks are a blur." He continues wiping himself down with the towel, and after we get outside, I realize how futile his efforts are because of how incredibly hot and sticky it is.

  I'm sweating again and so is he. "Do you want to sit on the deck for a little bit?" he asks.

  "But it's so hot," I complain.

  "Yeah, which makes a cold beer that much better."

  He's got a point. "Fine."

  Jackson seats me at the deck table and goes inside to procure our drinks. It's much cooler than it looks due to the huge, surrounding oak trees and the awning on the roof. I sit by myself for a few minutes, admiring the near silence of the countryside.

  It's not like being in Boston at all. But even with the calm of the surroundings, my throat is parched and so I eagerly await his return.

  Jackson reappears in the doorway with two shakes, colored straws protruding from the tops. "I'll bring out the beers after we have our protein," he says. "We both need it for recovery."

  "Does that stuff taste good?" I ask, pointing at the glasses like they're vials of chemicals in a laboratory.

  "This chocolate kind does. But some of the flavors are hit or miss. Here." He sets a glass in front of me. Condensation is already forming on the outside of the glass and it's slippery when I pick it up. I take a drink through the straw; it's not unlike a chocolate milkshake and I'm quite surprised by the fact that it's a recovery drink.

  "This is good," I say. "What's in it?"

  "Milk, protein powder, banana, almond butter, and ice. Mine has more protein in it than yours, but otherwise, they're identical. I love this stuff."

  I savor the chocolatey taste in my mouth. "No kidding. I could drink these every morning before work." I suck through the straw again and feel relieved as the cold liquid trickles down my throat. It's nice.

  "You should," he says.

  While it still is hot out here, the cold drink makes it tolerable. I definitely appreciate it more than I would in the air conditioned house. However, I'm definitely looking forward to air conditioning after I shower.

  We sit in silence for a short while, slowly sipping our drinks in the shade. It's beautiful out here, and from his deck, we have an unobstructed view into the lake. It's an incredible piece of property.

  Jackson suddenly interrupts the silence. "Can I ask you something?"

  I clear my throat. "Uh, sure."

  "I've been thinking—why are you doing this, Ally? What's really going on?"

  I almost spit out my shake. I'm shocked by his forwardness, and worried that all of my fears about this arrangement are coming true. "Wait, are you suggesting that you're uncomfortable with me being here?"

  "Absolutely not," he says, assuaging my fear. "In fact, I was certain that I'd never have a chance to get to know you."

  "So you do want to get to know me better?" I say, punctuating the sentence with a giddy grin.

  "If that's okay with you. But that still doesn't answer my question. You're not just doing this because Max is a dick. I'm not that dumb. What's really up?"

  I slow down for a second. He saw right through me quickly. "If I give you an answer, will you give me one?"

  He pauses to consider the question. "I suppose."

  I rest my hands on my bare, sweaty thighs and take a deep breath, sighing loudly. "I decided that I need a break from the normal routine. Max has been cheating on me. A lot. I just found out." I choose my words carefully, because if I add either the best friend or pregnancy part, it becomes far more complex than I want it to be.

  I'm comfortable with this amount of complex for now.

  Jackson looks shocked. "Someone would cheat on you? Is he a fucking idiot or something?"

  His words make me feel warm inside, even warmer than the ridiculous, nearly-scalding temperature outside. "Yes, I do happen to think he's an idiot—I mean, he's been one for a long time and I just didn't notice it." I take another drink. "Do I get to ask you something now?"

  "As long as you promise that you're not just hanging around me to piss him off. I don't need that kind of drama."

  His observation is quite trenchant, but I know it's not true. "I'm not doing this to piss him off," I say honestly. Jackson doesn't say anything about me potentially using him for a rebound, so I keep that detail to myself since I still don't even know what to do with it. I'm not even sure if it's a real thing. "I promise. He and I, well, we're done... for good."

  The words carry so much finality—and I'm actually glad to speak them.

  "You're not just covertly snapping photos of me working out and sending them to him as a threat? Telling him that I'm coming for him?"

  The thought makes me laugh. "I wish," I say.

  "I'd be doing that if I were you. For real." His straw produces an intense slurping sound because he's all out of shake. "Beer time, I guess."

  "Hey, what about my question?" I complain.

  "I'm coming right back. Finish your shake." He stands up and I watch in awe as all of his muscles work together perfectly to carry his giant body into the house.

  I bring the glass to my lips and dump the rest down my throat, crunching up the cold bits of ice as I finish it off. He's already outside again by the time I set the glass back on the table. The caps are already off the beers and he slides one over to me. I take a swig.

  "Go ahead," he says. "Shoot."

  "What really happened with the football thing?"

  I watch his expression change to one of annoyance and he groans to complement it. "I don't really want to go into all of the details about that."

  "But I answered your question," I say desperately.

  "It's really stupid and I'm kind of ashamed about some of it."

  "Please," I say. I'm s
o curious about this, especially given his obviously incredible physique and skills. "Just give me something here."

  "Fine, but you won't ask additional questions, okay? You only get what I give you right now."

  I nod in agreement.

  He takes a deep breath and then lets it out. "I was injured, and so I couldn't play in the NFL. It was going to happen, but that prevented it. I almost made it."

  I catch myself talking and he promptly shushes me. The follow up questioning is totally instinctive.

  "Don't forget the agreement." He's firm, but not cruel.

  "Sorry," I say.

  "So I lose my dream that I'd had since being a kid after literally tasting the real thing. Because of the injury, the university also won't let me play football. The university graciously lets me keep my scholarship, so I'm just a student at that point.

  "My girlfriend at the time decides to break up with me after my failure to go pro, cheating on me with another guy that actually did go pro. I caught them eyeing each other sometimes when we went out as a group, but I never suspected anything."

  Jackson takes a long gulp of beer. He doesn't seem thrilled about retelling this, but he also seems willing to do so.

  "Ugh," I say. "That sucks."

  "Well, it gets worse. I'm depressed, so I start smoking a lot of pot. My excessively-strict, narc of an RA catches me in the dorm and the case goes straight to the academic board and I lose my scholarship. It was mostly that he didn't like me, I think, because his girlfriend talked to me sometimes and he had some serious jealousy issues.

  "He told them he caught me dealing drugs on campus, and it's zero-tolerance there, so that's it. He gets another guy to back up his lie. They choose his story over mine, because one way or another, I was breaking the university drug policy just by smoking. But I definitely wasn't selling drugs and I made that clear to the academic board. I don't know if they really believed me or not."

  "Jackson, if you don't want to go into all of the details, it's fine." This is heavy.

  "No, no," he said. "I'll finish." He sips again from his beer, and while I'm just getting started on mine, his is almost totally gone.

  "Without the scholarship, I can't afford to go to classes. I'm also too ashamed to tell my parents what happened, so I end up dropping out. I get a shitty fast-food job and stay with a friend off-campus while I try to figure out what to do with myself. And then my parents die suddenly and my dad leaves me with more than enough money to finish school. But I can't even stand the sight of campus at that point, so I just move home permanently. And I've been here ever since." He takes a prolonged, deep breath. "Okay, that's it."