It was so much shit and it was all happening at once, and worse; it was all pretty much out of my control. It was like being the lone little girl in a family dominated by alphas, of both genders.
“Such a shame.” Terry smacked his lips as his lean body cast a shadow over the table. “There’s this nice party going on and still, you can’t relax.”
His voice pulled me from my thoughts, and I took a deep, cleansing breath before I turned a bored look up at him.
“This is me relaxing. Not all of us need to be the center of attention to relax.”
It was one of his most engaging qualities, always grabbing the limelight, but I’d always hated it because he pulled everyone near him in. Everyone but me.
“I can’t help it if people like to be around me.” He shrugged and dropped down on the booth seat right beside me. “I’m just that kind of guy, I guess.”
He was. Terry was the definition of the life of the party with a ready smile for just about everyone, maybe a compliment too. “And I guess I’m just a girl who can’t relax.” Not that Terry knew what it was like to have the weight of the world on his shoulders and nor would he care about the weight I had to carry.
“Did you come over here to bust my balls or did you want something?”
His blue eyes looked at me, and I swore he could see down to my soul, but that was just wishful thinking. Remnants from a childhood crush that had never fully died. How could it when he was always around, that nearly white blond hair in such stark contrast to his sun-kissed skin and those blue, blue eyes that made him look so much softer than he was. And, good God, that plump bottom lip that pulled beautifully when he smiled. And he was always smiling.
“I just came to see why you’re scowling at a mighty fine whiskey.”
“Thinking,” I told him honestly. “There’s a lot going on right now.”
“Yeah, there is. But this is the Ashby family. Something is always going on. Figured you’d be used to it by now.”
I laughed bitterly. “Are you used to your family situation yet?”
He froze and flashed a sarcastic grin. “Nope.”
“Then you understand.”
“A bit too much,” he said before taking a long pull 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,
