RUMBLE: World Class Wrestling #2 Read online

  “I know someone else who likes to butt heads,” he quips, clearly referring to yours truly as we amble side by side along the sidewalk.

  “Who could that be?” I tap my finger to my lips, and he chuckles. The deep sound elicits an instant reaction within me. Heat licks at my stomach like flames burning. They grow stronger when I look at him. I’m positive I’ll melt when his eyes meet and lock on mine. Drawing in a breath feels impossible as my heart races like a freight train.

  Tearing my gaze away, I struggle to find something to say… anything to break the tension of these last seconds, but I’m at a loss. My brain has turned to mush, like the oatmeal I force myself to eat for breakfast every morning.

  This man standing beside me eclipses everything else when he’s around. He has since the day I met him.

  “Want to grab a drink or two with me? It’s still early and I’m not ready to head home yet.”

  A drink with Wyatt, alone? Probably not a good idea after the rush of desire I just experienced, but Wyatt and I have hung out together hundreds of times. We’ve never crossed the line I drew the moment I found out who he was. Even though I’ve been tempted, and I’m sure he has too. Still, I better not.

  “I think I’ll pass.”

  “Why are you avoiding me?” he accuses.

  “What are you talking about? I can hardly ignore you; we work together. I spent all weekend seeing you at our shows.”

  “You’ve been doing everything you can to evade being alone with me.”

  “You’re imagining things. If I was avoiding you, why would I have gone to dinner with you guys? And on a Monday night, one of our nights off.”

  “Ronnie, I’m not making this up. You’ve been dodging me for the past few months and don’t bother to deny it.”

  Wyatt’s right. I have been doing everything I can to circumvent situations where we’d have to be alone. I can handle him around others at work and even tonight at dinner. But spending time one on one with him is a horrible idea and yet, I find myself agreeing.

  “I think your imagination is working overtime, but if it will make you feel better, I’ll go out for drinks.”

  I’m a horrible person for lying, but I’m not going to admit he has me figured out.

  “Really?” He’s surprised I agreed.

  “Sure. Why not? I’ve got nothing else going on. Just a boatload of laundry to do and some packing. Nothing I can’t put off until tomorrow.”

  I choose to ignore the angel on my shoulder and side with the devil egging me on. If this ends up being a giant mistake, I’ll have no one to blame but myself - and the evil little fucker on my shoulder.

  “Excellent. Where do you want to go?”

  “How about Lou’s Pub right near my place?”

  “Sounds good.”

  I click the doors unlocked on my car and Wyatt reaches in front of me to grab the handle. He tugs it open and waits until I’m seated to shut me safely inside before heading over to his truck.

  His bright lights shine in my rearview mirror reminding me of his presence all the way to Lou’s Pub. As if I could forget he’s behind me.

  Over the course of the five-minute drive, I berate myself at least ten times for agreeing to spend more time with Wyatt. I’ve always found him unbelievably attractive, but for the last six months it’s been more difficult for me to be near him.

  Jesse, Wyatt, and I formed The Gunn Club faction and our World Class Wrestling storylines have been intertwined ever since. The three of us are having more career success than we ever have, but the downside of that is spending so much time with Wyatt. And it’s only a negative point because I enjoy his company too much. If I didn’t care for him this would all be so much less difficult.

  Wanting him as much as I do is painful; physically and mentally. My chest has a dull ache when he’s near, and keeping a barrier between us is as exhausting as if I was holding an actual wall up by myself.

  We park side by side in the lot next to Lou’s and we meet at the back of my bumper. Wyatt takes hold of my arm, assisting me over the loose gravel covering the parking lot. Walking in heeled boots on the small rocks is no joke. Once we’re on the sidewalk, he lets go and I thank him.

  He ushers me in front of him as we enter the dimly lit hole in the wall. I’ve been here many times over the years I’ve lived in this area, but never alone with Wyatt.

  His large palm burns through my thin sweater as he touches me once more, guiding me along. Slipping onto a pair of vacant stools, we wait for the bartender to make his way over.

  “Ronnie, you’re a vision for these old eyes of mine. Where have you been, my sweet?” Lou beams. His wide smile stretches across his broad, wrinkled cheeks.

  “You heartbreaker, you. I’m not sure how I stayed away from you this long,” I tease.

  Lou hooks his thumb at Wyatt. “Is this big lug the reason why you’ve been neglecting to come see me? Are you two together?”

  “Huh?” It takes me a few seconds to realize what Lou’s insinuating. Swinging my eyes to Wyatt, I find him grinning like a giant Cheshire cat. His golden-brown irises are even gleaming catlike at me.

  Lou raps his knuckles on the bar. “Well? Don’t both of you answer me at once.”

  “No. We are not together. That would never happen.”

  “Never say never, my sweet. It’s like throwing a challenge at the universe to prove you wrong,” Lou cautions.

  “That may be, but I can say Wyatt and I will never happen with complete confidence.”

  “What do you have to say about that?” Lou taps Wyatt’s arm with the back of his hand.

  He rakes his blond hair back from his face and carelessly shrugs. “I think she’s in denial.”

  “Ho, ho, ho,” Lou laughs, and it sounds like something straight from a Christmas movie. “I’ll grab your usual drinks while you guys work this out.” He saunters away whistling an Irish tune.

  I slap my hand down on the bar. “What are you talking about? I am not in denial. I’m a realist and I can see things clearly. You and I are destined to be friends. Albeit good ones, but friends just the same.”

  “I agree. We’ll always be friends no matter what happens between us. That’s why I don’t have a problem with us eventually fucking. I’m not saying tonight or even any time soon, but someday it might happen.”

  An unintelligible sound leaves my throat as I practically choke on the words he so callously tossed my way. Images of the two of us, hot and sweaty, twisted together on my bed assail my mind. Stop it.

  “I could win the lottery next week. That doesn’t mean I’m going to,” I hiss.

  “It doesn’t mean you won’t either,” he retorts.

  “Here you go.” Lou slides a large rum and coke in front of me. “And for you, sir, rum with a lot less coke.” He winks at Wyatt.

  “How’s business been?” I ask before taking the first ice-cold sip of my drink.

  “Good. No complaints from me. I opened this place forty years ago and we’re still standing. That says something in this day and age.”

  Wyatt shifts on his stool. “Some people, like me, prefer the nostalgia of pubs like yours. We don’t want all the glitz and glam.”

  I glance at him over the rim of my glass and gulp down another mouthful. I guess tonight I’m not really in a sipping mood.

  Lou chuckles, “That sounds funny coming from your lips, Mr. Professional Wrestler.”

  Wyatt hikes up his broad shoulders in a shrug. “All the more reason for me to want the opposite when I’m not working.”

  Raising my half-empty glass, I study the surface. “Besides, you have clean glasses here. Look, no lipstick leftover from the night before.”

  “That’s because I put the fear of God in Ben, my dishwasher. He’s a good kid. He’s putting himself through college. Comes from a family with eight kids and no money to spare. I told him as long as he gets the glasses clean, he has a job here. And since he needs the work, the glasses are squeaky clean, and he gets all the hours he can handle.”

  “Sounds like a perfect arrangement. Give him my compliments.” I lift my beverage and down the rest. The rum hits my stomach as a pleasant, burning warmth. Setting the tumbler down, I use my fingertips to push it across the bar toward Lou. “Can I have another, please?”

  Lou glances from my glass to Wyatt’s. “You better catch up. Can’t have a little thing like her drinking you under the table.”

  Wyatt tosses his back in one long gulp. “That would never happen. When Ronnie reaches her limit, she crashes into it like a brick wall. It’s quick, unexpected, and ugly.”

  I hold my middle finger up at him. But he’s right and I hate how he knows me so well. I can drink a lot and I feel fine until the split second I don’t. It happens almost instantaneously, like flipping an off switch to on. One moment I’m sober and the next I’m falling down drunk.

  “Hey, you haven’t seen me drink much in a long time. Maybe I’m better at it now.” Even though his words rang true, I still feel the need to defend myself.

  “Here’s your chance to show me then,” he confidently challenges.

  Glaring at him, I narrow my eyes. “You’re on.”

  Lou sets another rum and Coke down in front of me before sliding Wyatt’s toward him. “How are Jesse and Lilah doing?”

  I smile. “Great. Married life agrees with them. And you know that Lilah’s pregnant, right?”

  “I did hear that. When’s the little guy due?”

  “Little guy? What makes you think it’s not a little princess?”

  “Wouldn’t that be something? Jesse Gunn with a daughter.” He shakes his head. “I don’t think the world is ready for that.”

  I giggle, “You might be right. Talk about overprotective. Poor Lilah can barely leave
his sight without him smothering her. It’s a wonder she’s put up with him as well as she has.”

  “Hey, give the guy a break. He’s in love and we all know men in love do stupid shit,” Wyatt offers.

  I raise my glass to my lips and reply before taking a sip. “When don’t guys do stupid shit, though?”

  “Go easy on us, Ronnie. We have the best of intentions.” Lou winks at me.

  “You do? I don’t know many guys who can say the same.”

  “Wyatt, you want to jump in here with me?” Lou pleads.

  Wyatt takes his time sipping from his beverage. His tongue rolls over his bottom lip, collecting the moisture. “I can’t say much that’s positive about my intentions.” His eyes lazily sweep in my direction and center on mine. “I’ve always preferred bad intentions. They’re so much more fun.”

  Is he trying to tell me something?

  Am I part of his bad intentions?

  My stomach flutters at the thought.

  Lou slips away to wait on some new customers while Wyatt and I continue to enjoy our drinks in silence. I’m hyper-aware of his nearness.

  His thick jean encased thigh next to my much narrower one, the occasional brush of his forearm against mine, and the glowing gaze that practically scorches me every time it’s aimed my way.

  Tonight, it all seems like too much to deal with and I want to crawl out of my own skin. Or climb onto his lap, claim his full lips, and ride that muscular thigh until I come. Fuck.

  Setting my glass down, I rake my thick strands back from my face and inhale long and deep. I’m frustrated with myself. I’ve done everything I can think of to put an end to my feelings for Wyatt and it’s all for naught.

  He’s under my skin just like the permanent dark spot in my palm from when I got stuck with a pencil in second grade. No matter how much I scrubbed at my skin, it never went away.

  No matter how much I remind myself that Wyatt is off limits, my pulse still picks up speed when he’s near. My stomach still flutters when I meet his dark gaze.

  I need to stop drinking right now and go home. Or maybe I could drink faster and speed up the process. Either possibility has merit.

  Going home helps me avoid doing anything stupid, but I’ll think about Wyatt for the rest of the night. Indulging in more alcohol will help me forget him, and if I do anything embarrassing, I won’t remember or care.

  Option number two for the win.

  “Here you go,” Lou hands me another drink as if he read my mind and I smile. Clearly, the universe wants me to drink more too.

  “Guys, I want you to meet, Ben, my dishwasher.”

  “Hey, nice to meet you. Great job by the way. I can’t find any lipstick on these glasses.” I smile at the skinny, brown-haired teen.

  “Thanks.” He beams at me. His attractive smile transforms his face. I can see that in a few more years this young man will grow into heartbreaker status.

  “Benny here wants to be a wrestler someday.”

  Wyatt leans forward. “Is that so?”

  “Yes, sir.” He nods enthusiastically.

  “You work out?” Wyatt continues.

  “Yes, sir. Five days a week.”

  “Keep it up. Pretty soon you’ll start to bulk up. Sometimes it takes more time than we’d like to see the results we want, but if you stick with it, they’ll come.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ve been noticing some changes and trying not to get discouraged that some of my friends are having bigger gains than me. I’m working out more than them too.”

  “We all have different body types, and everyone develops at their own pace. You can’t measure your success against others. Focus on you and you only.”

  “I know what it’s like to be the smallest one. When I first started wrestling, I got my ass kicked on a daily basis. It took a lot of focus and determination to stick with it when I wasn’t making progress as fast as I’d hoped,” I offer.

  “I remember watching you with my dad. You’ve always been awesome,” he praises.

  “Maybe we can get you some tickets for one of our shows and you can come backstage and meet some of our coworkers,” Wyatt cuts in.

  I glance side-eye at him. I love how naturally helpful he is. He’s so easy going with fans and eager to help them with whatever they need.

  “Seriously?” Ben’s excitement is plain to see as he bounces on the soles of his sneakers.

  “Sure. We’ll send some tickets to Lou. He’s overdue for a visit too.”

  Ben glances at Lou all wide eyed. “Can we really go? You’ll come with me?”

  Lou chuckles, “Of course. How do you say no to the Gunn Club?”

  Wyatt holds his glass up toward mine. “Let’s make a toast to the Gunn Club. May we always be together no matter what happens between us.”

  “To the Gunn Club,” I echo. We both drink and I wonder what’s going through his mind. Why did he make that toast?

  Is he feeling as conflicted as I am? I wish he would fuck me and walk away, his typical MO when women are involved. I could hate him for it and force myself to forget about how good I know we’ll be together.

  None of that matters though, because Jesse would kill Wyatt if we got involved. And I won’t get in the middle of their friendship. The three of us work together and we need our professional relationship to remain copacetic. If Jesse and Wyatt battle over me, it would overflow into every aspect of our lives; personal and professional.

  Setting my glass down on the bar, I force a smile on my lips. I don’t have any answers right now and I’m not looking to find out what he’s thinking. All I want to do is keep drinking and fall into my bed alone at the end of the night.

  Chapter Two

  Wyatt

  My arm hooks around Ronnie’s narrow waist to keep her from falling on her bedroom floor as she stumbles across the space. She laughs until a snort escapes her slim nose and then laughs some more as I propel her forward to her bed.

  Raising a knee to the edge of the mattress she slips, but I’m there to catch and boost her up. She lands on her hands and knees with her ass aimed my way. I grimace and remind myself she’s a drunken mess right now who needs my help. She’s not deliberately taunting me with her sexy as fuck ass wrapped in painted on jeans. Although, in my less than sober state it’s not easy to convince myself of this.

  Crawling forward, Ronnie faceplants and goes still. Leaning down, I roll her to her back. Her eyes are closed, and her breathing is even.

  Getting to work, I unlace both her boots before removing them. I smile when I see her pink socks with smiling emojis all over them. This is typical Ronnie. As badass as she is in the ring and even in her day to day life with her unmatched work ethic, she's still soft and utterly feminine underneath all the outer layers.

  She may not always show people, but for those of us lucky enough to be in her inner circle, we know the truth. Beneath her torn jeans, biker boots, and take no prisoners attitude, she’s an ole’ softie at heart.

  “Wyatt.” Ronnie’s whisper is soft. “Pants off. Jeans bad.”

  I chuckle and curse at the same time. I know she doesn’t want to sleep in jeans. We’ve talked about this before. After doing so much traveling for work we’ve both learned not to wear jeans on those days.

  “I’ve got you.” My fingers undo the button and grip the zipper tab. The buzzing of the metal teeth is the only sound beside Ronnie’s soft breaths. My own can’t be heard because I’ve stopped breathing altogether. I part the material and wiggle it down her gently curved hips, which is no easy feat because I think these jeans are made of fucking shrink wrap.

  I let out an audible groan when I see her tiny, bright pink panties. Made of string and a triangle of shiny material, there’s barely anything to them. Averting my gaze, I focus on getting her pants off and covering her as soon as possible.

  Exhaling in relief, I drop her jeans to the floor and get her situated on one of the pillows. I draw the comforter over her and strip down to my boxer briefs and t-shirt.

  In no shape to drive home, my only option is to stay here with Ronnie. Her couch is too small for my six-foot five height and I’m not looking to have a kink in my neck tomorrow. Being a wrestler, I have enough aches and pains on a good day without adding to them.

  After using her bathroom, I shut off her light and slip under the covers beside her. Lying on my back, I listen to Ronnie’s slow breaths and stare up at the ceiling. This is the first time I’ve been in her bed and it’s certainly not what I was hoping for.