from his beer bottle. “Let your hair down, Kat. Enjoy life a little.” His tone had changed along with his proximity.
Our thighs were side by side, touching ever so slightly as he leaned in and grabbed a lock of my hair, wrapping it slowly, teasingly, around two fingers. He gave it a gentle tug and stared into my eyes for so long that my heart started to race and my mind began to wonder. To hope. Was this the moment Terry would finally realize the chemistry between us, the fire that arced whenever we were close? Would he continue to deny it? Or was the truth a little more brutal? That maybe, just maybe, Terry wasn’t interested.
Maybe it was all in my head. And I needed to get it on straight.
He leaned forward a little more and I thought—no I hoped—his lips would brush against mine. Instead, he looked into my eyes, smiled and released my hair. So he could walk away.
So fucking stupid. I left the booth soon after and ordered another drink, trying to figure out why he had such a strong hold on me. It wasn’t love. It was a crush that I’d let get out of control, intensified by a distinct lack of man-generated orgasms. I longed to wrap my arms and legs around a hard-bodied male and stay there until I couldn’t walk.
The memorial was in full swing, and I was on the wrong side of tipsy with an early day tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that.
I pressed speed dial number three and made my way toward the door. “Oliver it’s Kat. Can you give me a lift home?”
“I’ll be at the front door in sixty seconds.”
“Thanks.” It was the perfect amount of time to make hasty goodbyes so I could go home. Far away from Terry Manning and the effect he had on me.
Chapter Two
Terry
The House of Ashby was buzzing with activity surrounding the upcoming fight.
Every ring, every bag, and every space for sparring, lifting, and training was occupied by professional fighters and wannabe fighters alike. They all wore the exact same thousand yard stare common with athletes around the world. One fighter in particular, Rob “Ravager” Regan, was a headlining fight and his first shot at a belt.
And my kid brother was training him.
“Rob has good reflexes but he drops his guard too fucking often. It’s a KO waiting to happen.” It wasn’t my place to give advice to Emmett. I wasn’t a fighter or a trainer, at least not at the caliber of Em, but I knew how to brawl.
“I know,” he growled at me, unhappy that his prize fighter’s weakness was so easy to spot. “He’s better than he was a year ago, by a lot, plus he’s younger and faster than his opponent. The win is practically guaranteed.” Emmett’s eyes never left the big man in the ring, working on his combos and defense moves.
I nodded at his words, listening even though I knew something that Emmett didn’t. The outcome of the fight had already been decided, the only thing necessary was for Ravager to do what the fuck he was told.
“And none of that will fucking matter if he can’t protect his noggin. You should probably let him know that,” I growled, much harsher than I needed to be.
Emmett, for his part, nodded, accepting the advice even though it was clear that he didn’t want it. It was always like that with us, even though we hadn’t really grown up together until high school, when both of our moms had decided it was time to stop being a parent and start partying. Hard.
“You hear from Dad lately?”
I shook my head, gaze fixed on Ravager’s wide-open face, just waiting for a night-night punch. “No. I’ve been too busy working and dealing with my own shit to worry about our old man. What about you, are things all right?”
Barely two years had passed since Emmett had been honorably discharged from the Army where he caught a severe case of PTSD.
“Things are fine, Terry.” He spit out the words, clearly annoyed, which I could deal with, as long as I knew he was all right.
“You sure? There’s no harm in needing more time.”
He wouldn’t talk about what happened over there, not to me and not to any type of mental health professional. He put all his energy into fighting inside the ring and then turned to coaching because he refused to deal with his shit and Sadie wouldn’t