Winning Love (7 page)

Mac’s lips pressed together, then he shook his head. “Okay. Which move do you want to try?”

She blinked. Holy crap. He was game. Quickly flipping through her limited knowledge of MMA, she decided to focus on the one that would get her pressed closest to Mac.

“There’s one Lance did that was really interesting to watch,” she said, trying to keep an innocent expression in place as she delivered the rest of her description. “He wrapped his legs around the other guy’s head.”

Mac’s eyes widened a fraction. “You want to try a triangle choke?” A croak cracked his voice and made her struggle to keep up the innocent charade.

“Is that what it’s called? It looked…intense. Can you show me how it’s done?”

The conflicted expression she’d seen a couple of times crossed his face. As though he wanted to, but didn’t, at the same time. She remained silent, letting him make the decision without pressure from her. If he said no, or tried to get her to do a different hold, she’d let him off the hook.

“Okay. Lie on your back on the mat.”

She had to stop herself from doing a giddy dance. The man was slowly warming up to her. When he’d completely thawed, she wanted the attraction he was fighting to be filled to the brim with all the naughty images she’d deliberately put in his head.

She had every intention of reaping the benefit of all her hard work.

W
as he really going to do this?

Mac shot a glance at the woman now lying on her back with her knees bent. Not once had he ever thought about the intimacy that came with this hold. He was an MMA fighter. He grappled. And grappling meant very close contact with his opponent. All he thought about in those moments was what his opponent was going to do to break out of his hold.

Now? All he could think about was Gayle’s legs wrapped around his head.

He wasn’t fool enough to believe she just
happened
to choose this submission hold out of thin air. She’d picked it on purpose, and again he found himself flamed by the silent challenge she’d tossed at him.

Now that he’d agreed.

What the fuck was he
thinking
?

As he inhaled a small breath and released it, he paced back and forth at the edge of the mat.

You can do this. Think of it as just a training exercise.

“All right, first thing you need to know is the triangle choke comes in handy when you’re caught on your back and have your opponent punching you.”

He swallowed but made himself drop to his knees in front of her.

“Oh, that’s right,” she said. “Lance was on his back and his training partner was between his legs. Like this.” She parted her thighs and scooted forward.

Fuuuuck.

He wasn’t completely inserted between her legs yet, more bordered by them, but for him to show her the move correctly, he’d have to get intimately close to a certain very appealing area. His breath locked in his lungs. He’d give his left nut right now to have on a cup.
Anything
other than her womanly center to rub against.

She’s a dude. Just another guy you’re grappling with.

As he moved his body deeper between her knees, the back of her thighs brushed against the top of his. His chest tightened more.

Focus.

“When your opponent throws a punch at you, his body will come forward,” he explained. “That’s when you grab the arm while wrapping one leg around his neck. Then you grab the shin of your other leg and pull it close to the opposite knee, locking the hold into place.”

“Okay. Come at me.”

He threw a fake jab toward the side of her head. She grabbed on with both arms, lowering him farther. One feminine leg latched around the back of his neck, pressing his cheek to the soft skin of her inner thigh while sliding his forearm straight up the warmth of her mound. Two tempting thighs clamped tightly around his face. She had him locked in.

He expected her to immediately release him. Instead, she tugged the back of his head down a little farther, bringing him closer still to a forbidden area. And he realized she knew more about this hold than she’d let on. He hadn’t told her about holding his head down, which helped keep the opponent immobile. Though he was nowhere close to being in danger of losing consciousness—she didn’t have the strength to do that—he was in all kinds of danger of losing coherent thought.

His face was just inches from her mound. The skin of her thighs burned into his cheeks. And he had the insane urge to break the weak hold and bury his face where she was damn near begging him to go. Then she suddenly released him, and a stuttered exhale shot from his mouth as he leaned back and closed his eyes.

Fuck
. He wasn’t going to be able to handle much more of this. He didn’t
want
this attraction to Gayle. He just wanted the fucking friendship. Why couldn’t he just have the friendship?

“How was that?”

“What?” He opened his eyes. Damn woman was still on her back with her legs spread wide before him. He could strangle her. He shoved to his feet and put some distance between them. “Not bad.”

“My turn.”

“For what?”

“I want to know what it feels like to be in the lock. So wrap those legs around my head, handsome.”

The image of Gayle’s face posed inches above his cock as he put her in the hold had lust slamming through his body and the aforementioned body part twitching in response. Trying to dislodge the alarming image to rid his body of its even more alarming reaction, he shook his head violently. That didn’t work. Fuck. He needed something more physical. He drove a fist into a bag, sending it spinning into the air. That helped—some.

In his peripheral vision, Gayle propped up on her elbows, head tilted at an angle, studying him intently. As though she was seeing more than he wanted her to see. It was unnerving.

“I’m not going to ask,” she said softly. “If or when you want to talk about it is up to you, but I’m a good listener, Mac…if you ever need an ear.”

The use of his name and not the endearment she’d tagged him with had him shooting a glance at her. Sincerity was etched clearly on her face. She’d seen he’d freaked out and instead of some crazy innuendo, she’d offered him a friend.

There was more to Gayle Matthews than a shocking mouth and a good time.

“Lance hasn’t told you about me?” he asked quietly.

“I make it a point not to pry.” She pushed to her feet. “I figure when a person is ready to share their darkest secrets, they will. All I know from Lance is you’re his friend and you fight. The rest needs to come from you. And when you’re ready, I’m willing to listen.” She looked down at her body, then started for the door. “I don’t know about you, but I stink. I need a shower.”

Wow. Not only had she backed off, but she was giving him space
and
letting him save face. Lance was right. She was awesome.

“Hey, Gayle?”

She peered over her shoulder, brow arched.

“Thanks. Not many people would do what you just did.”

A soft smile curved her lips. “Nothing to thank. I’m very familiar with the look you get on your face. I don’t know what circumstances put yours there, but even crazy Gayle knows when to back off.”

She was familiar with the look? How?

As she started for the door again, he couldn’t stop himself from calling her name once more.

Why couldn’t he just let her leave?

And then he realized he didn’t want her to go.

He ran his hands through his hair, unsure how to deal with the sudden insight.

He did need space, but he also needed to know he’d see her again. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

She turned, and again her gaze felt like it was seeing deep into his soul. “I have a race.”

Disappointment hit him. A telling emotion of how Gayle affected him, how much he liked being around her.

“Want to come?” Gayle added.

Did he? He studied the woman before him. Her gaze soft. Patient. Kind. “Don’t you need to pre-register for those things?”

“I happen to be good friends with the coordinator. I think I can pull a few strings.”

He wanted to snatch the offer she gave him without thought. That dangerous reaction pushed him to say, “Let me get back to you on that, okay?

He needed to think things through first.

“Sounds good. I’ll see you later, Mac.”

He actually missed her endearment for him and hoped he hadn’t scared her away from using it. Once the door closed behind her, he sat down on a workout bench, braced his elbows on his knees, and hung his head. It’d been a very long time since he’d actually craved being around someone. He preferred to be alone. Alone meant no one depended on him. That was safe. No risk of failing someone else. He didn’t want to invite that back into his life. He’d done it once with tragic consequences.

A creak came from the barn door. “I just saw Gayle— Hey, man, you okay?”

Mac jumped to his feet, rubbing his forehead as he stared at the ground, trying to act like he was searching for something. He didn’t need Lance all up in his business. “Yeah. Fine. I had a jump rope. I can’t find it.”

“It’s right there, dude.” He turned his head toward his friend. Lance was pointing just a few feet behind him with a classic look of what-the-fuck? on his face. Great. Now Lance thought he was going senile, too.

Mac snatched up the jump rope. “Man, I think I need a nap.”

“Zumba wear you out? Did Gayle make you wiggle those hips just a little too much yesterday?”

At the mention of her name, he stiffened. “I don’t want to talk about Gayle,” shot out of his mouth before he could stop it.

His friend’s eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

Well, goddamn. He’d just handed that to Lance on a silver platter, hadn’t he? The last thing Mac needed to do was flip the fuck out like he had the other day. He pinned his friend with a warning glare. “
Nothing
happened.”

“Bullshit.” He fisted his hands on his hips. “What did she do?”

“She didn’t
do
anything,” Mac bit out between clenched teeth. Anger roiled in his gut at his friend’s persistence. Why the hell wouldn’t he just drop it?

“Holy shit,” Lance muttered, realization dawning on his face as his arms fell slack to his sides. “She’s done it. She’s gotten under your skin.”

“What the fuck, Lance? I’ve known the woman for a few days.”

He didn’t want to think about how very deeply Gayle
had
gotten under his skin in that short span of time.

His friend stared at him, then made a sucking noise with his teeth and gave a sharp nod. “Ally would be happy for you.”

Fucking hell! He didn’t want to talk about Ally either.

“Jesus H. Christ, I don’t even know her,” Mac roared, fury erupting and completely taking control of him.

Bellowing between fused teeth, he tossed over the bench, sending it crashing to the ground.

“Yeah, and that’s why you’re going ape-shit.” Lance braced his fists on his hips again. “Be honest with yourself, for fuck’s sake. You like her.”

Mac pointed a trembling finger at Lance. “I’m getting ready to knock the shit out of you.” He stormed toward the door. “Leave me the fuck alone, Lance.”

“It’s okay to move on, Mac.” Lance’s words reached him just as his hand closed around the knob. “Ally wouldn’t want you to hold onto her like you have.”

His hand reflexively tightened around the knob, then he spun back around. “You don’t think I know that? You don’t think Ally and I didn’t have late night morbid conversations about moving on if we lost the other?” He took a step forward. “Well, we fucking did. I know
exactly
what Ally wanted for me.” But nowhere in any of those talks had there been a scenario of how to move past the guilt of failing her. The thought hit him suddenly and hard. He backed up and yanked the door open. Resentment churned in his gut and he blasted every bit of it at Lance. “So back the
fuck
off.”

Chapter Four

W
hat the hell?

As Mac followed Gayle through the gates of the Kansas Coliseum, he surveyed the line of black and orange tents set up around the perimeter of the stadium selling wares and food. Music blasted from two enormous speakers positioned outside a larger pavilion that housed a local radio station. Men, women, and children of all ages milled about, some in crazy costumes, others in regular running clothes. Everyone was laughing and having a great time. Mac, however, was having to take a moment to adjust. Gayle had definitely not been forthright about where she was taking him. This wasn’t a race—not any ordinary race, anyway.

He could pinpoint every single person who had already completed the run. How?

A layer of dried mud was crusted on their skin.

The insane woman had brought him to a
mud
race.

Shaking his head, he stifled a laugh. Gayle never stopped shocking him. How in the hell would she top this? She couldn’t. There was absolutely nothing she could do or say that would be able to dethrone an obstacle course over a pit of sludge. Nothing.

But he felt no resentment or anger at being misled. The lightness he’d known she’d bring filled his chest. Yeah. Agreeing to join Gayle had been the right decision.

After slamming himself into his room yesterday, the only person he’d thought of as he sat alone on the edge of his bed, head cupped in his hands, was Gayle, and how much he really could use one of her quips to shock a smile out of him—knowing somehow she would drive away the isolation. In those moments, he’d accepted he needed her…at least for now. Though his attraction to her terrified him, she helped bring a lightness back that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

He’d called Gayle right then and there and asked if the offer to join her for the race still stood. There’d been no hesitation, just an instant “Of course it does,” that had eased his lingering doubts and helped him fall into a dreamless sleep. This morning, when she’d shown up at his door wearing a pair of ultra-bright, pink, running boy-shorts, a purple tank top, and matching striped socks she’d pulled to her knees, he should’ve known something was amiss. But this was Gayle. If she’d shown up in a freaking tutu, he might have paused for a minute but then brushed it off. His second clue should’ve been when she suggested he grab a change of clothes. Asking why had only gotten him a smartass, “Do you want to be in sweaty clothes all day?”

Now he had the real answer. What he had on wasn’t just getting sweaty. The neon green running shorts and the first sponsor shirt he’d earned as a pro fighter would soon be covered in mud. He didn’t give two shits about the shorts. The shirt, well, that was a different matter. Yeah, it was old, but he didn’t want it ruined. Unfortunately, the spare wasn’t one he wanted ruined, either. He glanced around. Many of the guys had bare, mud-covered chests. Guessed he’d be doing the race shirtless, too.

Gayle peered over her shoulder, one of her pigtails flipping into the air. Those were damn cute on her. They weren’t the low ones she had sported the day they’d met. A tail jutted out on each side of her head and was held in place with pink ribbon bows, matching the getup she had on. A smile tried to emerge every time he looked at her.

“I have to find Milton,” she said. “He’s the coordinator I told you about. He’ll have all your stuff.”

“Okay.”

After five minutes of meandering through the massive crowd of people, a beefy, muscular man with close-cropped black hair, who had to be ten years younger than Mac, came out of nowhere and tossed Gayle over his shoulder, spinning her around.

Mac tensed, then charged forward, prepared to bash the man’s teeth in, but then he registered Gayle’s delighted laughter. Upside down, she popped the man on the ass, just as she had Mac the other day. Did she smack every guy’s ass?

“Milton! Put me down.”

The younger man finally put her back on her feet, tugged one of her pigtails, and slung an arm over her shoulder. “Hey, gorgeous.”

The radiant smile she sent the man tweaked Mac’s gut oddly, and all he wanted was to get her away from this guy. It was also as if she’d forgotten Mac was even there. What the fuck? He cleared his throat, and Gayle glanced over at him. “Oh! Yes!”

Damn. She really
had
forgotten he was there.

“Milton! I want you to meet Mac Hannon.”

“What the hell, Gayle! Say it right. This is Mac ‘The Snake’ Hannon.” Milton shoved the hand that wasn’t resting around Gayle’s shoulder at Mac. “Huge fan! What brings you to Kansas?”

As Mac took the offered hand, he tried to keep from scowling at the masculine fingers dangling a little too closely to a perfect breast, or how the owner of said perfect breast wasn’t trying to move away. “I’m helping a friend train.”

“Who?”

“Lance Black.”

“Never heard of him.”

“You will.”

Gayle shifted into Milton’s side, bringing her arm around his waist and tilting her face up to look at him. “Did you get Mac registered?”

The tweak pinched his gut a little bit harder this time, and Mac worked his neck, trying to relieve the irritation.

“Yep, I grabbed both packets when I saw you coming toward the registration tent. Your bibs and drink tokens are inside.” He held out a piece of paper and pen to Mac. “I need you to sign this.”

Mac snatched them from him and scribbled his signature on the release form, hoping it would get the man to go away. All the lightness he’d felt was now gone, and it hadn’t disappeared until this asshat had shown up and Gayle had started fawning all over the fucker.

“Your heat will start gathering at the starting line in about twenty minutes,” the man said. “Have fun, and make sure to stick around afterward.”

“Plan to.” Gayle rose on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. The sight of those inviting lips he’d been fighting not to take for days, now on another man’s skin, had Mac grinding his molars. “Thanks for arranging this, Milton,” Gayle said. “I owe you one.”

“A favor!” Milton looked at Mac and waggled his eyebrows. Mac swore he felt a tooth crack. “You heard that, right? She owes me one. Woman, I know exactly what I want.”

If this asshole didn’t get the fuck out of here, Mac was liable to toss him in one of the mud pits. Thankfully, he dropped a peck on the top of Gayle’s head, then sprinted off toward the tents again.

Gayle turned toward Mac. “You read— What the hell is the matter with you?”

Since he could actually
feel
the scowl on his face, God only knew what it looked like. He sure wasn’t going to express the immense aversion he had for Milton on first sight—nor was he going to examine it. “So this is a mud race. You kind of left out that little piece of information.”

“Did I forget to mention it?
Oops
.”

“Since this is one of my favorite shirts, looks like I’ll be running without it.”

“Trust me, handsome, I won’t mind.”

Warmth spread across his chest, easing the aggravation. It was the first time she’d used her nickname for him since things had gone awkward yesterday…and she hadn’t called Milton by anything other than his name.

“I still would’ve come, you know,” he said. “I was thinking about doing the one in Atlanta this year.” Though that race was definitely more serious, since it was one of the most grueling mud races anywhere. Costumes were not encouraged. The one today was just a good-time race, which fit Gayle.

“You can line dance, and now you’re willing to wallow in mud. You can be such a
stick in the mud
, I just wasn’t sure how you’d react.” To soften the insult, she stuck out her tongue. “Take pride, handsome. You’ve surprised me. Twice. That doesn’t happen often.”

She started walking toward the tents and he fell into step beside her. “How often do you do these?”

“Whenever one is within driving distance. Rick is usually my mud buddy, but he bailed on me.”

“Rick?” How many men did this woman hang out with?

“He’s a co-worker.”

“You’re a meteorologist, right?”

“Yep.” As she came to a stop at a table under one of the tents, she dropped her backpack off her shoulder and handed it to the person behind the check-in desk. “If you’re taking your shirt off, you’re going to want to do it now.”

She leaned a hip against the table…waiting expectantly. A rush of heat ran over him. Yeah, he was planning to do this shirtless, but he hadn’t planned on doing a strip show right in front of Gayle.

“Come on, handsome. Take it off.”

Groaning, he yanked the shirt over his head, wadded it up, and stuffed it into the backpack that sat by his feet, then straightened.

“Holy. Shit.”

He glanced at Gayle, who was making it no secret she was gawking, or that she liked what she saw as her gaze slowly appraised every inch of his exposed torso. A part of him wanted to puff out, let her get a really good view, but he was enjoying having her eyes on him a little too much. Instead, he reached down, lifted his backpack, and turned to check it in. The woman behind the table had apparently been in the process of scribbling down something, because now she was bent over a yellow notepad with a pencil still pressed to the paper, frozen…and was openly staring, as well. He glanced around. A lot of women were. Heat crept up his neck. It’d been a very long time since he’d been the object of such ogling—or at least been
aware
he was an object of it.

“My. My. My, handsome. Those abs”—Gayle finally dragged her eyes away from his chest to meet his eyes— “should never be covered up. You really are doing a disservice to women everywhere by doing so.”

Despite his embarrassment at the blatant attention, her over-the-top compliment pulled a chuckle out of him. As he handed the backpack to the check-in woman, who had finally stood up straight, a slight caress feathered across his ribcage on his left side. He flinched away.

“Trust,” she said. “That’s beautiful.”

His tattoo.
Fuck
.

Without a word, he hurried past Gayle and out of the tent into the sun. Hands on his hips, he inhaled deeply, disturbed by the way he could still feel the slight brush of her fingertips across the inked skin.

Ally had thrown the word trust around like it was a religion. Trust your decisions. Trust your instinct. Trust it will all work out. Trust, trust, trust. Hell, she even had him putting so much faith in that damn sentiment he’d permanently altered his body.

A load of horseshit was what trust was.

Trust was no damn different than hope—two worthless emotions the human psyche had come up with to try and banish the bad. All it took was finally seeing the truth. He’d seen it. He’d accepted. Nothing could be trusted. Hope was meaningless. No amount of trust or hope would make a lick of difference.

Gayle ran past him and slapped something to his chest, knocking him from his morose thoughts. Automatically his arms came up to grab whatever it was as he looked down. His running bib. Lifting his head, he watched her sprint into the group gathering at the starting line. No awkward moment. No explanations. No puzzling stares. Damn, the woman was amazing.

I’m very familiar with the look you get.

Her words from yesterday echoed back. Was it possible she had been close to someone who had gone through something traumatic? Was that how she knew when to back off?

Either way, she knew exactly when not to push, and he appreciated her for it.

He pinned his bib to his shorts, then jogged to her side. After she attached her number across her stomach, she reached her arms above her head, and arched her back. Mac knew she was stretching, knew for once she wasn’t deliberately trying to get a rise out of him…and still she did. The snug purple spandex hugged her breasts, and his fingers itched to reach out and touch her as lightly as she’d touched him.

Fuck, this was getting bad. It was easier to ignore the attraction when she was provoking it, but the awareness of her was becoming constant, evoked simply from her standing there…he couldn’t ignore that. And was beginning to think he didn’t want to.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a masculine voice boomed overhead, startling Mac out of his alarming thoughts. Thank God. “Thirty seconds.”

Gayle bent her leg behind her and grabbed the top of her foot with both her hands. Stretching. He probably should do that. Anything right now to keep from watching her. He followed her lead.

“You’re going to love this,” she said as she switched legs.

“How long is the course?”

“Four miles and fifteen obstacles.”

“Three…two…one.” A
boom
sounded, and runners started to sprint down the roped-off section of the parking lot.

Mac hopped from foot to foot, warming up his muscles as he waited for the crowd to thin. Since they were toward the back of the line, their progress forward was slow. Once they got past the bottleneck at the starting line, things opened up, and they were able to set an even pace. He set his stride to Gayle’s, making sure to stay beside her. Through the mile jog across a street and into a more tree-thickened area, he found himself anticipating the obstacles, wondering what they would be. Had he known he would be doing this today, he would’ve studied the course, found out what to expect, made sure there weren’t any surprises. Come up with a game plan.

Gayle had taken that away from him. Made him just be in the moment. And there was a thrill to it he’d forgotten he missed. At one time, he used to be a go-with-it sort of guy. What would it be like to be that guy again? Did he
want
to be that guy again?

He sneaked a glance at Gayle. Maybe. At least while he was here.

They came to an open field with tires spread out on it. He and Gayle each grabbed one and sprinted about fifty yards then tossed them onto a growing pile on the other side.

“The first few obstacles are just to warm us up,” she warned as they continued down the path.

“Good, ‘cause that was lame.”

She gave a winded laugh. “Just wait until the mud comes into play.”

“That’s when the real fun starts?”

“Oh, yeah.”