Tough Love

Stack knew he could deal with just about anything, and had. But raging lust was a new one for him. Knowing Vanity was at home, waiting for him, that when he got there he’d finally be able to strip her down, kiss her all over, then sink into her... Yeah, a big distraction.

He wasn’t about to tell Havoc any of that.

Normally they’d all have taken off the Sunday after a wedding, especially given it was Cannon’s wedding and they’d been out late, some of them drinking.

But Havoc spent the week at his own camp, and Sunday afternoon was one of the few times the rec center was open only to established fighters. During the week they had classes for grade school kids, college grads and every age in between. The fighters also took turns teaching self-defense to women.

So he pushed aside all discomforts, including the discomfort of wanting a specific woman more than his next breath, and said, “I’m good.”

“Great. I wanted to work on some boxing moves with Denver.”

Denver was one hell of a well-rounded fighter, excelling in his stand-up and his ground game—but no one turned down instruction from a seasoned pro like Havoc. The fact that Simon Evans, another icon in the sport, was also on-site made it a day of invaluable input.

“You good with that?” Havoc asked Denver.

Denver set aside the water bottle and grinned. “Hell, yeah.”

“Just instruction,” Havoc said. “You’re too close to a fight to risk an injury.”

And so for the next half hour Dean “Havoc” Connor went through moves on Stack, demonstrating for Denver, then had Denver go through the moves with Stack so he could watch.

Just when he thought they were done, Simon joined them with a few pointers of his own.

When he finally got a break, Stack went to the side to chug down some water. Of course his thoughts were already on Vanity. Had Armie secured the yard? Were the dogs letting her get any rest?

Harper, Gage’s wife and the most frequent volunteer receptionist for the rec center, strolled over to Gage and Justice.

Stack was involved in lurid visions of Vanity naked in bed, hopefully dreaming of him, when he picked up on the words “party” and “football” in Harper’s conversation. Justice declined, but Gage nodded agreement and headed to the shower.

Harper glanced his way. “What about you?”

Without asking for details, he shook his head. “Not this time, but thanks.”

Looking impish and up to no good, Harper shook back her brown hair and propped a hand on her hip. “Got plans of your own, huh?”

He had no idea why her blue eyes were so bright and mischievous, but he knew Harper well enough to know it meant something. Probably she’d heard about his aborted rendezvous with Vanity. Women, he’d learned from Denver, liked to gossip. Of course, Cherry had been gossiping about Denver’s size, and given the man was hung like a horse, he supposed he couldn’t blame her.

“I do,” Stack said, then he pointed at her. “Stay out of trouble.”

Her laughter livened up the gym, making several guys pause to look. Luckily, Gage, a massive heavyweight, wasn’t the jealous sort. He knew that most at the rec center considered Harper a kid sister.

She shook her head, saying, “You poor, poor man,” and walked away from him.

He was wondering about that when Denver joined him.

“Thanks for hanging around. I know you had better shit to be doing.”

“I won’t tell her you said that.”

Denver paused comically. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

Because they both knew he could be doing Vanity right now. Stack grinned. “You won’t see me passing up instruction with veterans.”

“Yeah, that’s how I figured it. Still—the timing sucked.” Denver swiped a towel over his face. “Armie, the ass, should have stayed, too.”

“He’s still getting used to the idea of being in the SBC. He’ll come around, though.”

“Why he has to get used it—that’s what I’d like to know.”

True. It confounded Stack, as well.

Cannon, as Armie’s best friend, was the only one to understand Armie’s reservations over signing on to the elite SBC. He’d already taken apart the competition in local venues. Upping the ante was all he had left if he wanted to continue in the sport.

Not being the modest sort, Stack knew he was good. Denver, too. Hell, all of them were good. But Armie had something the rest didn’t. Some insane drive, a remarkable fluidity of movement. He countered strikes and submission attempts as if he knew things his opponent didn’t. As if it was a sixth sense. Because of that, he walked through the best with ease.