“Yeah,” he taunts, “Listen to your little cheerleader, hick.”
I stiffen, my blood heating at the insult. Turning, I place myself in front of Gunnar, my hands instinctively moving to my hips. “Who the hell are you calling a hick?”
He flashes me an arrogant smirk. “Your boyfriend, sweetheart, but if you ever want to trade up, let me know. I got a premium stick you can ride.”
The remark sends Gunnar charging forward, and this time I don’t stop him.
Fists start flying all over the field, and just like back in high school, all hell breaks loose.
Ellie
The sun has started to set by the time we arrive back at the garage. It took hours to provide our statements to the police, who were fortunately nearby when chaos erupted. An ordeal that still has me seething hours later.
“Go sit,” I order Gunnar, pointing to the stool tucked away in the corner of the shop. “I’ll grab the first aid kit.”
“Elle, I told you, I’m fine,” he insists stubbornly.
He is not fine. The angry gash slicing his brow and battered lip proves it. Never mind the blood splatter staining his jersey, although thankfully, most of it isn’t his.
I shoot him a stern look, warning him not to mess with me right now.
He grumbles something unintelligible but complies.
While I retrieve the emergency kit stashed under the sink, Bear saunters over to his water bowl, guzzling down its contents before collapsing onto the cold concrete floor. I drop down to give him a quick pat, knowing it was a long afternoon for him too.
It took all my strength to hold him back from jumping in to help Gunnar. Even he wanted a piece of those assholes. I was tempted to unleash him, but if they had hurt him in any way, I would have needed to kick some major ass too and no one needed that.
Shoving the thought aside, I return to Gunnar and find him perched on the stool, waiting for me.
The fluorescent lights above cast a harsh glow on his battered appearance. His once-bloodied jersey lays discarded on the floor, revealing a large bruise in shades of purple and blue on his ribs, adding to the tally.
“Look at you.” I sigh, hating to see him like this. Setting the kit on the steel counter, I grab a damp cloth and gently clean up the crusted blood near his eye.
“Could be worse,” he murmurs.
My brow arches at that statement. “How so?”
“I could look like the other guy.” He flashes me that lopsided grin, the sight of it easing the ache in my chest.
A reluctant smile tugs at my lips before I banish it with a shake of my head. “Still can’t believe they did this,” I seethe, dabbing his cuts with alcohol. “Bunch of grown-ass men acting like sore losers over a damn charity tournament.”
Gunnar chuckles, amused by my muttered frustration. “Come here.” He plucks the cloth from my fingers and pulls me down onto his lap.
I loop my arms around his neck, melting into him. “I hate seeing you like this,” the hurt in my voice betrays just how much.
He gently sweeps a stray hair from my face, his hand lingering as it cups my cheek. “I’m good, Elle. I swear.” His voice carries a soothing rumble of reassurance. “But you know what would make me feel even better?”
“What?” I ask, even though I have a good idea of what he’s about to say.
“To feel your lips against mine.”
It’s the answer I anticipated. Smiling, I lean in and brush my lips softly over his, wanting to be mindful of his injuries.
He’s not having it.
He hauls me in close and slants his mouth over mine with an intensity that steals my breath.
I gasp when I realize how hard he is. It parts my lips, giving him the access he’s looking for.
A needy little sound escapes my throat as his tongue sweeps in to tangle with mine. The metallic tang of blood is faint, fusing with the heat simmering beneath the surface.
“Need you,” he murmurs against my lips, his hands reaching for the hem of my shirt.
“Then take me.” I follow the statement with a lift of my arms.
He wastes no time ridding me of the fabric and my bra before pulling me in close, chest to chest. Our skin meets in a feverish embrace, heartbeats syncing to the same rhythm.
“Jesus, I love the feel of your skin.” His large, calloused hands are a guided compass as they explore that skin. First, my back, then my breasts.
I arch against him as he thumbs my nipples, his lips and tongue following. Each fiery lick sends shivers down my spine. Moaning, I press down on his erection, feeling myself losing control under his touch.
The needy sound brings him to his feet, his strong hands lifting me effortlessly. Instead of heading toward the apartment like I expect him to, he carries me over to the black Challenger. A classic car he worked on for years, restoring it to its original brilliance just to proudly display it.
The world spins around me in a beautiful blur of colors as I’m laid out on the hood. The cool metal against my back is a stark contrast to the fire dancing beneath my skin.
His thumbs hook into the waistband of my jean shorts, swiftly stripping them away along with my panties, leaving me completely bare beneath his heated stare.
