My muscles ached from pushing him—and myself—but I needed something, anything, to burn off this restless energy. I’d had to take my dick in hand in the shower the night before to ease the discomfort, but it had only been temporary. Blue balls were something new to me. Waiting for a woman was new to me. Desperate just for a kiss was absolutely new to me.
“You’re weak,” I muttered.
He laughed but then groaned. “You’re old,” he countered.
“Yeah, but I fucking kicked your ass.” I schooled him, and he knew it. Keeping his ego in check was just as important as teaching him to fight. I wanted my fighters cocky but not assholes.
We slapped hands, then I stood and headed up to my apartment to shower. I first went over to my cell on the kitchen counter and sent a text to Emory.
Gray: Have dinner with me tonight.
When I heard the phone ring an hour later, I thought it was her and answered it without checking the screen. I should have known better, should have known Emory would cloud my judgement.
“Didn’t think you’d answer.”
The voice on the line had my back stiffening. Jesus, would the asshole ever leave me alone? “What the fuck do you want now?”
“That’s how you treat your father? I call twice in one week. Whatever happened to family ties?”
I refused to be baited. Whatever feelings I had a moment before about Emory were crushed beneath my father’s grating voice.
“What do you want?” I repeated. “That’s the only reason you’re calling.”
“You hung up on me the other night. It’s time to talk.”
The last thing on earth I wanted to do was talk to my dad. After his call the other night, I’d blocked him out just like I always did. I pushed him and the fucking memories that went with him down deep. The running, the workouts, even sparring helped, but he had a knack for bring it all back like a scab ripped off and a wound bleeding again.
“That fight next month with Reed Johnson. I saw he’s one of yours.”
Reed was training for his third competition this year. He was two and O so far and, if he kept his head on straight, would have another victory.
“What about it?” I replied, my words a sharp bite. I leaned against the counter. Nothing was out of place. No crumbs. Not even a coffee cup in the sink. Emory was right—it was ridiculously clean. God, I didn’t want to think of her when I was talking to my old man, but she kept popping into my head at odd times, and when it happened, it felt like Christmas morning. Christmas morning for those who had Norman Rockwell childhoods not a fucker for a father.
“I’ve got money riding on it. Don’t blow it.”
I shook my head and laughed then pinched the bridge of my nose. That’s all he wanted from me—another bet. “Yeah, that’s why I’m training him to be the best, so you can make your money.”
My dad barked out a laugh. “You think I’m betting on your guy? Hell no. I’m betting on Ramirez. Just keep doing a fuck-up job of your life, and your kid’ll blow it, and I’ll rake in the dough.”
I pulled the phone away from my ear, slowly shook my head. “Fuck you,” I muttered. I heard my old man’s miserable laugh as I pushed the End button. Yeah, no sunshine and unicorns in my family.
How I could let my dad push my buttons after all these years was something I’d never understand. He was a fucking asshole, and I’d walked away after high school graduation and never looked back. Somehow, he kept getting my unlisted numbers and calling just to fuck with me. But betting against me? This was a new low, and it was hard to handle. I wanted to punch the shit out of something, and that’s why I had the gym downstairs. Instead of taking that shower, I jabbed the button on the elevator to go and hit the bags and work off some of the anger.
A few hours later, with my frustration tamed and my muscles sore, I finally got that shower. After, I climbed into my truck to head to a lunch meeting across town. The ping of a new text came from my pocket. I hit the air conditioning to high and grabbed the phone.
Emory: Is this a date? You said I’d know for sure when you asked me out.
I grinned, remembering my words. Whatever angst lingered from the shit with my dad slipped away as I typed.
Gray: It is if you say yes. Otherwise, it's a not-date.
I put on my seat belt.
Emory: I will be in my scrubs and gross, so I will want a redo.
I shook my head and shut my eyes briefly at her humor.
Gray: You can have a redo. Definitely. As many as you want.