Page 12

12

I sit next to Travis on the flight to Indianapolis, staring out the window. My mind's stuck on the stiffness in my back. It feels better after the three days off, better than I expected, but still not one hundred percent. I roll my shoulders, testing the tightness. The rest has helped, but that’s not what’s got me tense right now.

“So, how’s the back?” Travis asks, his voice snapping me out of my thoughts.

“Good,” I grunt. “Rest did its job. I’ll be fine tonight.”

“Better be, 'cause Jenkins is gonna come for blood. You don’t need excuses if he leaves you face down on the mat.” He smirks, and I glare at him.

“Not happening.” I grunt, shaking my head at him. Travis is always trying to wind me up.

We land, grab our bags, and head straight to the arena. It’s still early, but the place is buzzing with crew setting up for the show. The energy helps ground me. I’m focused again, in the zone—until I hear her voice.

“Ryan?”

I freeze mid-step. Natalie’s head peeks out from her office door, her eyes locking on mine. Her voice is soft, but it hits like a punch.

“You going to show up for your appointment today?”

My fists clench instinctually. Everything in me tenses at the thought of being in that room with her, alone again. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

Travis catches my reaction and smirks. “Whoa, you’re Natalie, huh?” He offers a playful nod at her, but I can’t get out of there fast enough.

I shoot him a warning glance, but he’s still chuckling as we push into the locker room. “What?” I snap, already regretting not keeping my cool back there.

Travis raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Nothing, man. Just didn’t know you had a thing for the new massage therapist. You should have told me.”

“I don’t.” The words come out harsh, clipped. “I’ve got more important things to focus on.”

“Uh-huh. So, what, if you're not into her, maybe I’ll take my shot.” He raises a blonde eyebrow, gauging my reaction.

I spin on him, chest tight with the flash of anger that rumbles through me. “Don’t.” I stare him dead in the eyes, warning him I mean it.

He throws his hands up in surrender, clearly enjoying this. “Relax, man. I’m just saying, she’s got you twisted up.”

“I’m not twisted up about anything.” I grab my gear, getting ready for the night. “She’s attractive, fine, but I don’t do relationships. You, of all people know this Moreno.”

Travis doesn’t drop it. He never does. “Maybe you should. Hell, even if it’s just a few dates, might help clear your head.”

I shake my head, yanking my shirt off and pulling on my ring gear. “It’s not happening. My head is perfectly clear.” I lie through my teeth.

But there’s no denying the pull Natalie has on me. The image of her standing in the doorway, the way her eyes had flickered when I promised I’d be there... It sticks.

When I finally head down to her office for my appointment, my steps are heavier, slower than they should be. I push the door open a little too forcefully, my gaze landing immediately on her—and him .

This mother fucker.

Kyle “The Killer” Jenkins is sprawled on her table, again, her hands working over his neck. My body reacts before my mind can catch up. My fists clench, jealousy coiling tight in my chest.

“I’m here for my appointment.” My voice is hard, cold. I nod to the clock, eyes locked on Jenkins.

Natalie jumps, startled by my entrance, she looks at the clock, “Sorry, I went over,” she says, rushing to wrap things up with Kyle. She scribbles something on a card and hands it to him, but the way he’s looking at her, his grin too wide, too familiar, makes my blood boil.

Jenkins stands, slow and cocky. He smirks, not even bothering to hide it. His eyes flicker toward me, but it’s Natalie he’s lingering on, his eyes staying just a little too long on her. “Thanks again Natalie, I’ll see you next time.”

The second he brushes past me, I shove my chest into his, our bodies colliding. “I’ll see you in the ring.”

He just grins, not backing down, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll deal with him later.

As the door closes behind him, the air in the room changes—tighter, heavier. Natalie takes a step back, her wide eyes tracking my every move as I stalk toward her. The tension between us crackles, thick and undeniable.

“You shouldn’t be alone with him,” I say, my voice low, dangerous.

She backs up until she’s pressed against the wall, her breath hitching as I step in closer, my chest nearly brushing hers. The heat radiating between us is intense, pulling me in like gravity. Her lips part slightly, and my pulse slams hard in my ears.

“Ryan…” she whispers, but it’s more breath than word. My name on her lips makes my blood run hotter. Fuck, what is wrong with me.

I reach out, my fingers barely brushing her chin, lifting her face so our eyes meet. The soft curve of her jaw, the way her skin feels against my fingertips—it sends a jolt through me, straight to my core. She doesn't move, her breath coming quicker, her chest rising and falling with every short inhale.

I lean in, so close I can feel the warmth of her breath on my lips, smell the lavender and mint that clings to her skin. My mind screams to close the gap, to taste her, to finally break this unbearable tension. Her eyes flick to my lips, then back up to meet mine. The pull between us is magnetic, and I can feel her leaning into it, too, her body softening, just waiting for me to—

“Ryan…” Her voice is soft, almost pleading, and it cuts through the haze clouding my thoughts. She’s not pushing me away, but the reminder in her tone is enough to snap me back to reality.

“Lay down,” she says gently, her voice steady but her eyes still locked on mine. “Let’s get started.”

I blink, the fog lifting just enough for me to pull back. My hand drops from her face, and I step away, cursing under my breath. I turn, heading for the massage table, my mind still racing, still locked on the feel of her, the closeness we just shared.

I lay down, but the second her hands touch me, I know I’m in trouble. My body reacts, every nerve alive under her touch. It’s too much, the fire she’s igniting in me, the way her hands move over my skin.

I can’t do this. I can’t fucking do this right now.

I sit up abruptly, the air between us charged again. “I gotta go,” I mutter, not even bothering with an excuse as I grab my shirt. I’m out the door before she can say a word, my heart pounding as I escape down the hallway.

The match later that night is pure fire. The crowd’s deafening, their energy pulsing through the arena. I take every ounce of my frustration, my rage, and channel it into every hit, every slam against Kyle. He doesn’t stand a chance. The second his body hits the mat, I’m on him, making him pay for every moment he spent alone with Natalie, for every smirk, every touch.

By the end of the match, the crowd erupts as I stand victorious, but the adrenaline only does so much to calm the storm inside me. I head back to the locker room, still heated, still thinking about her. About how I almost lost control. How I almost let myself give in, how I almost allowed myself to have what I wanted in that moment.

The hot shower afterward barely helps, but I need to wash the match—and the thoughts of Natalie—off me. I pull on a hoodie and sweats, avoiding everyone as I slip out of the arena unnoticed. I don’t have the headspace to deal with anything or anyone tonight.

All I want is to get to the hotel and be alone—with my miserable, tangled self.