Her clothes were neatly folded on the end of the bed, and the red lacy bra she’d worn was nowhere to be found.
Eight
“Alright, stop.”
Those hazel eyes that had been so far away all evening returned to his and his lips thinned. The rest of the group had stopped as well, and he turned to everyone and grunted, “You all can keep going. I’m talking to Hot Mess over here.”
Her hair fairly bristled as her spine straightened, her head cocking to one side with indignation. Wrapping his fingers around her elbow, he pulled her off the mat and to the side. She yanked her arm away from him as soon as they were away from the group, and he sighed heavily. “I don’t know where your head is at tonight, but if you don’t pay attention and focus, you’re going to hurt someone, or yourself, Red.”
He’d been watching her all class, but she was jumpy, her eyes flicking every direction or she simply stared off into the distance. Deep purple shadows hung beneath her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept in days. Something was wrong, he was sure of it.
“If you can’t pull your focus back to the task at hand, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the class for the night. I can’t have you not paying attention and take the chance of hurting your sparring partner or yourself.”
“I’m fine,” she snapped, her eyes regaining a little of that fire he was so used to.
“Are you? Because it doesn’t seem like it,” he snapped right back, crossing his arms over his chest. He watched as her eyes tracked the movement, her gaze lingering on his biceps, forearms, and pecks, and his male vanity stirred, hoping she liked what she saw. But then her gaze returned to his and she wet her lips, and he had to think very hard about not getting an erection.Not the time, buddy, he warned himself.Not the time, definitely not this woman.
“You don’t know me,” she muttered sourly, shaking her head. “So please don’t pretend to. I’m fine.”
“Those carry-ons you’re lugging around under your eyes say otherwise,” he grunted, notching his chin toward her face. Her lips thinned, eyes narrowing on him. “And your strikes look like shit. You’re pulling punches, not extending, and your frame is fucked. You’re better than this. So what’s going on?”
“None of your fucking business,” she hissed, that fire he was used to returning in full force. “We’re not friends, Travis. You teach a class I’m taking. We see each other two to three times a week, and sometimes just in passing.”
“Only because you avoid me like the plague,” he muttered darkly, keeping his gaze focused on hers. She blinked, stunned, and he nodded once, lowering his eyebrows. “Don’t think I didn’t notice, Red. I spent my entire life making sure I know how to read a room, how to read an opponent; it’s a conditioned survival instinct. So when I tell you I can fucking tell that something is wrong, it’s because I can read you like a goddamn book, baby girl.”
Roxy shook her head, her hazel eyes burning into his. “Then I guess you’d better get some fucking glasses, because there’s nothing to see. Are we done?”
“Not even close,” he growled, leaning down closer to her. “But I’ll let it go for now.”
“You’ll let it go,hard stop, because I’m fine, Travis.Leave it alone.”
With that, she spun on her sneakered heel and strode off, bypassing the others completely and heading straight toward her gym bag. He watched as she snatched up her belongings, stuffing them into the gym bag. She took her gym shoes off and shoved them into the bag, zipping it closed, and then she yanked a hoodie on over her head, knocking the messy bun on the top of her head askew as she did so. A second later, the glass door swung shut behind her as she left.
Tearing his gaze away from her as she crossed in front of the bank of windows toward her car, he whistled low to the group and called, “Good job everyone.” Blondie looked between himself and the windows, where Roxy had disappeared out of sight, before heading off the mat and toward her own gym bag.
Christ, what was wrong with him? He never got involved with anyone’s personal issues. No matter what. So why was he so goddamn invested in finding out what had caused those shadows under her eyes and why she’s so fucking jumpy all the time?
She’s right, it’s none of his damn business.
Was that going to stop him from obsessing over it?Probably not.
Nine
Running the sanitizer cloth along the bar top, Roxy looked up when the door to the bar opened, letting in a stream of sunlight across the polished wood floor. Peanut shells littered the floor and crunched beneath the booted feet of the man that had just entered.
“You lost?” she asked, straightening. Fidgeting with the cloth between her fingers, she watched as he moved forward, sinking into one of the wooden barstools along the bar.
Tuesday afternoons were boring as hell, but each bartender and server was mandated to work one of the slower shifts in order to work the busy weekend shifts. Matty said it was to ensure that no one was accused of favoritism, but Roxy didn’t mind. And it meant she could wear full jeans instead of shorts. Her black jeans were well fitted, and her usual black t-shirt was tucked in at the waist. Her hair was piled up on the top of her head, though curls had escaped, grazing her cheeks.
Only a handful of the barstools were occupied at this time of day, still too early for the usual local crowd that would be popping in for their happy hour beer and complimentary peanuts in another hour or so. They blocked off the main partof the dancehall, so just one of the two long bars was open for customers.
“Christ, you’re the prickliest damn woman I’ve ever met,” Travis muttered as he rested his forearms against the edge of the bar. She stepped toward him, setting a beverage napkin down in front of him and raising one brow at him in question. “Dos Equis please. Just a pint.”
Roxy sighed and reached down into the cooler in front of her, plucking out a chilled pint glass before pouring the draft expertly.
She set the beer in front of him, then slid a red plastic food basket filled with peanuts across the bar to him, and he nodded. “Thanks.”
Roxy swallowed hard, grabbing up the sanitizer towel again and wringing it between her hands. He looked different than she was used to seeing him. Faded, well-worn jeans that fit far too well and fell over dark cowboy boots. A thin flannel shirt was buttoned over his broad chest and shoulders, though it did little to hide the muscles she knew were hiding beneath. Several buttons were left undone, leaving his throat exposed. The arms of his shirt were rolled to his elbows, and all that exposed skin showed off his myriad tattoos. His hair was left down today and it fell over his shoulders. It looked clean and soft, and she wondered if it felt as soft as it looked.
