“I have a few girls I hook up with when I’m not in fight camp.” He shrugs. “They use me, I use them, and we all leave happy.”
For some insane reason, the thought of these anonymous girls being with Jase makes me want to hunt them down and scratch their eyes out. He must read something in my expression because one side of his mouth hitches up.
“Pull your claws in, kitty. I don’t have sex during fight camp, so I haven’t been with anyone for a couple of months.”
I gape. A couple of months? For a guy like him, that’s an eternity. I expected him to have a different woman in his bed every weekend. Jesus, he must be wound tight. I bet all it would take is a few well-placed touches to make him desperate… and the thought of having this big man under my power is seductive as hell.
Not appropriate. He’s a client, and a fighter. He’s not for you. Keep your hands to yourself.
“Why?”
“Superstition. Most sportsmen have their share of idiosyncrasies. Surely you know that.”
“Yeah, but the spoiled football players I usually deal with wouldn’t go a week without a woman. If they could score two or three at once, they’d yell it from the rooftops.”
“Football players.” He pulls a face. “That’s who you usually work with?”
“Football players, hockey players, and the odd basketball player.” None of them remotely as unsettling as Jase.
He grins. “I bet they don’t have a clue what to do with a girl like you.”
I smile back. “They like to think they could try.”
Jase reaches over and envelops my hand with his, his thumb drawing swirls on my palm. “If I had the chance, I’d know what to do with you.”
I gulp. I don’t doubt it for a moment, but I shouldn’t encourage him, either. Even if he’s a decent guy for the most part, he’s still capable of violence, and what’s more, the company has a policy against fraternizing with clients. Considering it’s our job to protect their image, engaging in intimate activities with them is out of the question.
“So.” My voice comes out as a squeak, and I cough to clear it. “What do you do when you’re not training?”
Reading my cue to back off, he resumes eating. “I watch fight videos with my brothers for research, and coach the kids at my old community center.”
“I didn’t know you had brothers.”
“Yeah, that’s what I call the guys at the gym. They’re the closest thing to a family I’ve ever had.”
My heart melts a little at that. “Sweet.”
“Sweet is the last thing I am, cutie pie.”
Somehow, I think that’s a lie. “You coach at a kids’ program?”
“Yep.” I’ve barely finished my meal while he’s just demolished the potatoes. “I set it up at the community center in my old neighborhood. Just to give the kids an outlet for their anger, and someplace to go for a while where they don’t have to worry about anything other than giving me their full attention, you know. There’s no financial or racial divide in my group. It’s a safe space for them.”
Much as the idea of an MMA class being a “safe place” is bizarre, I can see it. I bet the kids adore him. And this is exactly the sort of thing I can use to dig him out from beneath the steaming heap of dung Erin piled on him.
“That sounds wonderful. They’re lucky to have you.” I can’t believe how much I totally misjudged this guy. I suppose he was right, I wanted him to be a loser so I could write him off. “When’s your next class? I’d like to come.”
He scowls, forking the last piece of potato a little too violently. “I guess you want to take photos of me with the kids and get them to say how great I am, or some shit like that.”
Gritting my teeth so I don’t cuss him out for referring to my job as “some shit like that,” I say, “Yes, that’s about the sum of it. So, when is it happening?”
“Tomorrow. Five-thirty. At the Alderton Community Center.” He shoves away his final plate. “But I don’t want you exploiting those kids. They’re vulnerable, and they come to the center for an escape.”
I hold up my hands. “I won’t exploit them. Promise. You can okay anything I write ahead of time, and you have veto rights.”
His shoulders heave as he exhales. “Okay, then. Sounds like we’ll be seeing each other again tomorrow.”
My stomach fills with butterflies at the prospect, and I try to ignore them. The waitress returns with our bill and hands it to Jase. I grab my purse, but he signs something and sends her away.
