Unleashed: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance Part 8

"Wrestling is very American," he tells me with a smile. "You'll understand when you're older."

I open my mouth to speak, but he silences me with a wave of his hand.

"I've got my own place set up, the cage will be moved there, all the gear. I'll send you the address by email, okay?"

"You moving it yourself?"

"Yeah, I'll just stick it in my truck, do a couple of trips."

"Over the weekend?"

"Yeah."

"Need any help?"

Coach laughs. "d.a.m.n it, Chance, you're a young man, and you've just graduated. Go enjoy yourself."

"Fighting is all I want to do."

"Then work on it, but I can handle the move."

"Sure?"

Coach sighs angrily. "Don't ask me again. Go on, we're done for today. Mickey!" Coach yells. "Come here and tap fists with Chance."

I grin at Mickey. His temper has cooled, and he smiles back. "f.u.c.k you, Chance," he says.

"Anytime you want to practice against someone better than you," I tell him.

We tap fists, and then Mickey disappears quickly out of the gym.

Coach pounds me on the back with an open palm, and then grips my shoulder, turns me to him. "You ready for the fight on Monday?"

"Yeah," I say.

"You studied the tape?"

"Every move. I'll own him."

"Don't be so c.o.c.ky, Rogers is a good fighter, and he's older than you. He's got experience. Afterward you're up against either Chang or Marshall. Don't underestimate them. Chang's quicker than you, and you don't need me to tell you about Marshall."

"I know," I tell Coach. "But I'm not going to lose."

Coach grips the back of my head, stares into my eyes. "Don't get overconfident."

"I won't."

"Good, I'll see you a couple of hours beforehand for warm-ups."

"Okay," I tell him, starting to untape my wrists.

That's when I notice Ca.s.sie sitting in the bleachers.

Her eyes are on my topless, sweating body.

Chapter Ten.

"Come to see me topless?"

He's wearing this arrogant smirk like he thinks he's just hit the nail on the head, like he thinks he's right.

He's only half-right, but like I'm going to tell him that.

"No."

"After the beach yesterday, you're hooked."

I groan. "Oh my G.o.d, Chance. I'm here to see Coach."

I'm determined not to talk about yesterday, determined not to even think about it when I'm with him.

I don't want him sensing that I am. I don't want him feeling like he's got some kind of advantage over me.

Because d.a.m.ned if I'll ever let myself be at a disadvantage.

"Why?"

"He still owes me a reference letter, since he's the head of physical education."

"Were you good at sports?"

"I certainly wasn't bad," I tell him, folding my arms.

"So that's a no, then."

"Could you just... not be annoying today? Are you capable of that?"

Despite my attempting not to, my eyes creep up and down his body. In his tiny fighting shorts he somehow toes the line of silliness, while still managing to look hot as h.e.l.l.

There's just something about bright colored shorts on a man... maybe it's because it reminds me of a lifeguard.

"Like what you see?"

I grimace. "Please."

"You can have it, if you want."

"I... don't."

He sits down next to me, and continues unraveling the tape from his hands. I'm honestly surprised to see that he has to tape up his wrists and hands three or four times over.

"What's with the tape?"

"Keeps the wrist aligned with the forearm. Prevents injury," he tells me, sticking out his arm and slapping the top of it.

"Thank you, but I know what a forearm is."

"Of course you do," he says, smirking at me.

I open my mouth to say something, but can't think of any words, so I just shake my head at him. Coach Daniels is still tidying up all the equipment, and I know better than to interrupt him.

The smell of Chance's sweat drifts over to me. It's not particularly pungent, just has a heat to it, but underlying is the hint of something musky.

I like the way he smells.

"I thought about you last night," Chance tells me, cracking open the lid of a bottle of bright blue sports drink.

"Oh, gross."

"Well, you left me all blue down there."

"Even grosser," I say. I presume he's referring to blue b.a.l.l.s.

"You're different today," he says. He offers me a sip.

"No... thanks. And how am I different?"

"You seem less wound-up."

"I'm just trying to ignore you so I don't ruin my day."

"You sure that's it?" he asks, eyebrow c.o.c.ked up, a grin parting his lips.

"You weren't that good," I tell him, getting up and walking away from him.

I don't want him to see the smile on my face. I particularly liked that barb.

I flick my head over my shoulder, catch a glimpse of Chance leaning back on the bleachers. Sweat drips down his chest and abs, makes his body s.h.i.+ne.

G.o.d, he looks s.e.xy.

I can see now that the serpent tattoo on his arm is actually a dragon, and it's talon-feet extend onto his chest on the right side.

He's also got some other kind of tattoo down his right over his ribcage and abdominals, but I can't really make out what it is at this distance.

Now standing about five meters away from him, I feel a bit more confident, at ease.

"Coach Daniels just kicked your a.s.s," I tell him, giving him a nasty sneer.

That wakes him up.

Chance jumps to his feet, swaggers toward me, licking his lips. He doesn't look amused at all.

"He didn't kick my a.s.s."

"Looked like that to me."

"I hesitated. He's old."

"Hey!" Coach barks from the cage.

I return my attention to Chance. "You hesitate, you lose."

"She's right, Chance," Coach says, his hoa.r.s.e voice echoing in the gymnasium. "You lost, deal with it."

I grin broadly at Chance, flash my eyes at him.

"I've got a fight on Monday," he tells me after a moment. He's got this leftover smirk. He knows how to take a hit, even one from me.

"I heard."

"Watch me."

"Uh," I sound, shaking my head. "You can't just tell me what to do."

"It's at eight in the evening. Get the address from Coach with your reference letter."

Chance turns and walks off, swinging a towel over his shoulder.

"Where are you going?" I ask, though hating myself for it.

Now he turns around, smirking. "To hit the showers. Want to join me?"

I'm about to give him an unequivocal no when Coach shouts from the other side of the gym at us, "Cut it out, Chance!"

Chance gestures with his head at the door to the changing rooms, and his amused eyes s.h.i.+ne. It's an invite...

Then he disappears in.

"You know what you're doing is s.e.xual hara.s.sment!" I call, chasing after him. "You really shouldn't do that, you'll get in trouble someday."