Two seconds with Mr. Strong and Smells Good and I’m flirting?
“Fucking idiots,” West mutters, stalking over to me and peering across the street at the sun reflecting off the windows of his biggest competitor. “Cross Your Fit put up some new tinting last week and it’s only a matter of time before someone gets seriously hurt from that glare. Sanchez? Handle the cooldown. I’m going to go have…words with them.”
Sanchez shakes his head while he watches West storm across the street. The kid looks like an MMA fighter, but his baby face says he’s no older than thirty. “Back to the mat, Nash,” he says. “You don’t stretch, you’re going to be in a world of hurt.”
The man who caught me—Nash—shrugs. “Gotta go. Sanchez could kick my ass without breaking a sweat. Nice…uh…catching you.”
I’m drawn to his smile. How his lips curve. To the light brown stubble covering his cheeks and jaw. He’s built. Bulkier than West. At least in the arms. Softer too. Real.
My gaze follows him, lingering on his ass for too long when he bends to snag his towel from the floor. I need to get the hell out of here before I do something stupid. Like introduce myself to the handsome, strong, and fast-on-his-feet Nash.
I rush back to the locker room, use my teeth to loosen the hand wraps, and toss them in the laundry bin. Staring at my bare fingers, I can still see the wedding ring I took off when I left Texas. Still remember how it felt to be touched. To be…loved.
I’m happy alone. I am. But I’m still human. Still a woman. And that man? He sent me spinning out of control.
Chapter Three
Raelynn
“Sheee-it!” A wall of water blinds me, and I lose control of the bike. Skidding off the road, I land in a foot of icy runoff rushing through the ditch. Pain screams from my good shoulder down my arm. “Fuckin’ asshole!” I scream.
The massive SUV roars away without bothering to stop or even slow down.
The storm rolled in a little after noon, and it’s a toad strangler. Fat, frigid drops pelt my face as I stare up at the dark sky. My hip and back ache, but I ignore the pain and climb to my feet. Nothing’s broken. Other than any semblance of dignity I had left.
Why didn’t I take West up on his offer to drive me home after tonight’s training session?
Because he wanted to talk about your “sunshine attitude.” Again.
I handled those drones better than anyone except Ryker. But West still rode my ass the whole damn night.
If I were braver, I’d be warm and dry right now.
Pulling my bike from the flooded ditch, I curse under my breath. The front rim is bent. “Well, ain’t that just grand.”
Thank God for the best saddle bag on the market. There’s enough water running through the culvert to drown a small animal. But my cell phone and wallet should still be dry.
I’m gonna have to call a Lyft and pray they’ll pick me up on this deserted stretch of Industrial Way.
Thunder rumbles in the distance, and suddenly, I’m as yellow as mustard without the bite. Until another car hydroplanes past me on the flooded road. Water slaps me in the face hard enough to sting. “Goddammit!”
The old sedan fishtails for a second before the driver regains control. Another asshole who won’t give two cents about the woman he or she just drenched.
I drop to one knee and start digging for my phone. But headlights cut through the deluge, forcing me to shield my eyes.
My fingers tremble until I clench them into a fist. Shit. I’m alone out here, and though I’m nowhere near a damsel in distress, I’m soaked to the skin, freezing, and shaken up enough to doubt my ability to fight.
The car rolls to a stop twenty feet away. I fumble for the phone, but it slips from my hand as a man opens the driver’s side door, stands, and calls out, “You need some help?”
The voice is familiar. Deep. Warm. Or maybe that’s the flush creeping up my cheeks as I remember his arms around me.
“Nash?”
He jerks, his shoulders hiking up to his ears. “Do I know you?”
I take a single step closer. “Yesterday? At Lakeview Krav Maga? You saved me from landin’ on my ass. Blond hair, red tank top? I work with West.”
Nash still hasn’t moved from behind the car door. I’m actively shaking now. My adrenaline’s crashing—hard—and I can’t feel my fingers.
