The guy hesitated, then poked his head back into the bathroom. “Looks like we’re all going on a road trip.”

After an intense, uncomfortable drive to the bank, with a knife at his throat and the sickening smell of pot stinking up his clothes, Tyson stormed up the stairs to his apartment. A mess awaited him inside.

What a fucking night. All he’d wanted when he’d left the bar was to go home, jerk off, and try to sleep, not have to deal with two crazy thugs in his apartment threatening his life.

“Tyson, I’m . . .” Connor started to say behind him.

“Shut up.” He didn’t need his brother’s bullshit. He couldn’t stand to even hear his voice at the moment. He unlocked the apartment door and went inside, surveying the mess. Tossing his keys onto the kitchen counter, he got to work. He picked up the lamp and set it back into the corner. Then he righted the coffee tables.

Connor got the vacuum from the hall closet and plugged it in.

Tyson grabbed it from him. “How many more of those assholes can I expect?” He was inches from his brother’s face, daring him to lie again. Dried blood stuck to the gash on his forehead and his shirt was still wet from being submerged in the bathtub.

“That was the last of them,” Connor said, a note of desperation in his voice.

Tyson pointed the end of the vacuum at him. “You better not be fucking with me, Connor, or I swear next time I will let them kill you.”

His brother nodded. “That’s it, I swear.”

“If only your word meant something, man,” he said, starting the vacuum and turning his attention to putting his apartment back together. “Go clean up my bathroom.”

Chapter 5

The text message from Dane the following morning set the tone for the entire day.

His grandmother in Illinois had passed away and he would be gone for the next few days for the funeral and to be with his family. Tyson had sent his condolences, but being down a trainer wasn’t ideal anytime, especially not now. Two of his guys were competing on the following month’s fight card. They needed all the preparation they could get and he was sacrificing too much of his own training time already.

Tyson groaned as the gym door opened and Parker entered. And then, of course, there was that issue.

A memory of the night before in the bar flashed in his tired mind and he wished there were someplace he could hide.

Too late. She’d already seen him staring.

Gone was the barely there dress and curly hair, replaced by her usual gym attire, yet his body still reacted to the sight of her. He had to get control of this attraction he felt toward her—nothing could come of it, despite her flirty invitations and his body’s willingness to comply. He quickly averted his eyes and scanned the gym.

Who else could he stick her with that week? Walker Adams was training for a championship match—he couldn’t mess with his routine. Bobby was working one-on-one with a new flyweight fighter, hoping to land a manager in the coming weeks. And the only woman training currently in the gym was fighting at one fifty and was known to be . . . aggressive. Some of the other guys at the same weight class were too nervous to spar with her—she’d snap Parker in half. Everyone else had their own shit going on . . .

That left him.

Fantastic.

He saw Parker look around the gym and an uneasy expression crossed her face when she didn’t see Dane.

Well, at least they were both on the same page.

Sighing, he walked toward her. “Dane had a family emergency and had to go out of town, so he won’t be in for a few days . . .”

Her eyes widened. “He was going to start teaching me grappling this week.”

Of course he was.

Getting tangled up on the mat with her was the last thing his “avoidance strategy” had in mind.

“Who’s going to train me?” she asked.

“I am.”

She stared at him, disbelief etched on her face. “You? The guy who said ‘Let’s be clear—I will not be training you?’” Her mimicry of his voice almost made him laugh, but there was really nothing funny about this ironic turn of events.

“Trust me, this is not my idea of a good time,” he mumbled.

“Well, put me with someone else.”

What was with this woman? At first, she’d been begging him to train her, now she wanted nothing to do with him.

He could sense she was pissed off about the night before and his rebuttal to her advances. Trying to explain to her he was a one-night-per-woman kind of guy wouldn’t work. From past experience, he knew that only drove women harder to prove him wrong. Convince him they were the one to change his womanizing ways. Then he was the jerk when they realized he hadn’t been kidding. And if he was honest with her and told her he liked her a little too much to use her body for pleasure, that would surely open a can of worms he needed to keep firmly closed. Even he didn’t want to take the lid off of that one.

His life was far too complicated and too busy as it was. Getting involved with Parker would be the biggest mistake he could think of.

“I would put you with someone else, but unfortunately, no one else has time.”

“Neither do you.”

Seriously? She was choosing now to be stubborn and give him a hard time? “Exactly. So maybe you should train elsewhere,” he said a little too harshly.

Her expression clouded.

Damn. He was taking his anger about Connor, his annoyance with Dane, and his frustration with himself out on her. He ran a hand over his head and forced a breath. “Let’s start over. Dane’s gone and I’m going to help you until he gets back,” he said firmly. Hopefully that was sooner rather than later.

She looked unsure, as though she were actually contemplating training elsewhere. Finally, he saw her set her shoulders. “Fine,” she called out as she brushed by him and headed to the locker room.

*   *   *

Tyson was training her. Great. She already felt like an idiot for throwing herself at him the night before and she’d been hoping to steer clear of him at the gym—at least until the embarrassment faded from her cheeks. Now, that would be impossible.

“Let’s start by weighing you. I haven’t noticed you gaining any weight since you’ve been here.”

He’d been looking that closely? “Okay,” she mumbled, following him upstairs to the cardio equipment area.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said when she hesitated.

She shot him a look. “Age and weight—two numbers women like to keep to themselves.” Or lie about.

He crossed his arms. “I could lift you and know exactly how much you weigh.”

“Well, then why are we using the scale?”

“Get on!”

Parker sighed as she stepped onto the scale, willing herself to be heavier, but also kind of terrified to see her 110-pound body disappear. She’d been training for more than a week and she felt stronger. She could even see muscles starting to form in the back of her arms and shoulders, but she didn’t expect to see much weight gain on the scale. Her diet consisted of mainly veggies, fruit, and tofu products. She’d been watching her weight since she hit puberty, when it had become an “issue,” according to her grandmother and her agent. She refused to watch as he slid the slider.

“Seriously?” Tyson looked at her. “One of my thighs weighs that much.”

She shrugged. “I’m an actress. Hollywood places a lot of pressure on us to be skinny . . . the camera adds pounds.”

“Well, I don’t think the camera can add as much weight and muscle as you still need to look believable in the role.” His gaze landed on the cage in the gym below and he looked longingly at the other guys sparring and training.