Page 8 of Sunflower Persona (Classic City Romance #2)

Gage

B right sunlight radiates from the cloudless sky, blinding me with its brilliant rays.

It should be hot, but the sun’s kiss against my skin is nothing more than a faint tickle.

I shield my face with my hand and take in my surroundings through squinted eyes.

Sunflowers in endless rows over rolling hills paint the landscape all the way to the horizon in every direction, stranding me in the middle of a yellow sea.

Yellow.

The lone word sends sparks of awareness tingling down my spine.

Why? And why is the aroma of sweet citrus drifting off the blooms? Why is that scent familiar?

“Hello?” I shout into the dazzling void, but nothing returns my call.

Idling will get me nowhere, so I step deeper into the field. The stems grow taller as I pass—impossibly so—until they tower over me like a forest of trees. The thick petal canopy blocks out the sun, draping the ground in a blanket of shadows.

Cold fingers of unease claw down my spine, standing the hairs on the back of my neck on end.

Beyond the edge of my vision, something watches. With every step I take, it follows. My pace quickens with the rapid beating of my heart, but even then, the gloom never loses ground. Darkness closes in around me as it stalks closer, but it never comes into view.

I’m going to die.

That thought paralyzes me where I stand. The shadows peel away from the trees, morphing into cursed specters that dance around me in a threatening display.

“Gage,” an ethereal voice calls to me on the breeze.

The sound is so familiar, yet entirely unplaceable. I search for its source through the shades, but I’m blinded by the cyclone of night.

Then there is light.

With a golden flash, my demons are banished, and she remains. I understand now why the sun’s heat was dulled—sunlight is nothing but a cheap imitation of her aura.

Her gaze finds mine—those large orbs the same golden-brown hue as her skin — and she extends a hand to me with a smile.

Buried within the depths of my mind, something churns.

Recognition. A name. It flitters through my head like a hummingbird on a breeze, not staying still long enough for me to pin it down.

“Who are you?” The words spill from my lips like molasses from a jar.

“I’m—”

“Asshole, wake up. Your appointment’s here.” Karis’s sharp command yanks me from unconsciousness.

If I wasn’t already awake, the two striking pads that slam into my chest a second later would do the job.

“I’m up. Jesus, woman. Has anyone ever told you your bedside manner sucks?”

The pads fall to the floor with a thud as I uncurl from the cramped confines of my makeshift bed.

A stack of spare mats in the storage closest isn’t exactly five-star accommodations, but after a rude wake-up from campus police this morning, I’ll take sleep where I can get it.

It took over an hour for me to convince them I wasn’t crazy or on something, just desperate.

By the time they finally decided I wasn’t a threat, it was already time for me to go to work, cutting my two hours of planned sleep in half.

At least I’m allowed to drink as much coffee as I want at the Bean Bar.

I don’t think I’d have survived otherwise.

The only thing getting me through today is that when I leave here, I get to go back to my apartment and sleep in my own bed.

“There’s a reason I didn’t go to med school. Now, if you want to keep napping, I’ll let Morgan get the commission,” she snarks as she walks away.

No fucking way am I about to let that happen. I love the guy, but it’s every man for himself out here. He at least has his stipend to hold him over, plus I know his girl will never let him go hungry.

Ignoring the pins and needles in my legs, I follow my friend and try to shake off the remnants of that bizarre dream.

What the actual fuck is wrong with me? I have no right to be thinking about Kori like that—fuck, I shouldn’t be thinking about her at all.

That sunflower comparison was dead on, though.

Her roots have embedded themselves deep within my brain, whether I want them there or not.

Bleach mixed with sweat stings at my nostrils. The unpleasant odor does wonders to settle my head. It’s a Pavlovian response. Nearly two decades of training will do that.

The calm doesn’t last—not when my dream woman is standing in the tiny lobby, chatting away with my most sane friend.

Whatever she and Morgan are talking about has her fully animated, swinging her arms around in erratic patterns as she speaks.

It’s so similar to the way Karis gets sometimes that a smile pulls at my lips.

That is the only similarity between the women.

My friend is a night alone in the frozen wilds, while Kori is a stroll through a garden on a mild summer’s day.

As Karis joins them at the front desk, Kori’s movements falter. The infectious smile fades from her face, and her spine stiffens. Karis either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care as she closes in like a shark circling its prey.

What the hell is that about?

My pace quickens while Kori shrinks in on herself. Best friend or not, I know exactly how much of an asshole Karis can be when she wants to be, and she has that gleam in her eye that means trouble.

“Hey, Kori. What are you doing here?”

Her panicked eyes snap to mine when I call out, and her whole body relaxes. The relieved smile that overtakes her features stirs something in my chest—an uncomfortable, pulsing ache. No one but the kids in my classes has ever looked so goddamned happy to see me.

“You remembered.”

“Of course. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

A rosy tint darkens her cheeks as she drops her eyes to the floor. “I-I’m, ah—”

“She’s your appointment,” Karis supplies.

She ’s my appointment? There is no fucking way.

Running into her a few times downtown is one thing, but for her to end up here without prompting is another altogether.

I know I mentioned the gym, but not by name.

This is either some cosmic intervention bullshit, or she’s stalking me.

And she’s far too innocent for the second… I think.

“I didn’t know you had any interest in martial arts.”

More stunted ramblings fall from her plush lips as her gaze darts between my friends. Right. She freaked out the last time they were around too. Thank God Nathan isn’t in yet, or she might have run for the hills the second she got inside.

“Come on. Let me give you the tour.”

I wrap an arm around her waist and shepherd her away from the others. This close, a whiff of sweet perfume dances in my nose. Citrus—exactly the same as the flowers from my dream.

How the fuck did my sleep-deprived brain summon that one? If you had asked me this morning what she smelled like, I couldn’t have told you. I don’t exactly go around sniffing pretty women and committing their scents to memory. But that knowledge was there, buried deep down. Like a goddamn creep.

As we walk, the tease of her cleavage glows under the fluorescents, catching light with each shallow breath.

Fucking hell, that is the last place I should be looking.

I avert my gaze and focus my attention on showing her around.

She is silent as I point out each of the mats, show her the tiny locker rooms, and lead her to the weight room in the back.

It isn’t much, but I never said the tour was grand.

In the room by ourselves, her breathing finally slows.

Normally, this is when I would dive into my pitch to get her to join, but getting the sale is the last thing on my mind.

“What do you think?” I ask as I sit on the spare mat in the corner and motion for her to join me.

“It’s…um…very padded.” She plops down without grace and gestures to the foam around us.

A snort of laughter catches in my throat.

This girl has never stepped foot inside a martial arts gym. Hell, she probably doesn’t know what we do here. I bet Karate Kid is the most exposure she’s ever had to something resembling the sport. She doesn’t strike me as the type who’s into UFC.

“Why are you here? How did you even find this place?” Why can’t I escape you?

The pitch of her voice rises as she lies, “I’ve always wanted to learn judo.”

“Jiu-jitsu.”

“Bless you.”

It’s a struggle to keep a straight face.

“No. Jiu-jitsu is what we teach, along with Muay Thai. Judo is a different sport altogether.”

“Oh.” She buries her face in her hands with a heavy sigh.

“Why are you here, Kori?”

“Do you promise you won’t think I’m weird?” The words are muffled against her palms.

I grunt in response but make no promises. As cute as she is, if she says she hacked my phone or put a tracker on me, I won’t be able to withhold judgment.

She lets out a deep groan and flings herself back on the mat.

“Fine. I saw the name of the gym on your shirt the other day and looked it up. I know nothing about fighting, but I thought it might be fun.”

“That isn’t that weird. The whole point of those shirts is marketing, anyway.”

“Really?” she asks, sitting back up.

“Yup. Coach David will be glad to know it worked.”

My chest tightens again at the way her whole face lights up as she relaxes.

“I’ll spare you the pitch,” I tell her and cough away the weird sensation. “If you aren’t sure, don’t sign up now. Come back next Tuesday at seven and try out a class. If you like it, then we can talk membership.”

“It’s a date.” Her eyes widen as the words spill out, and she drops her focus back to the ground, sucking her thick bottom lip between her teeth.

A shiver courses through me at the sight. She needs to stop doing that shit, or I’ll show her exactly how those lips deserve to be treated.

“Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

In one smooth motion, I’m on my feet, and I help her off the floor.

She stands with as much grace as a newborn foal, stumbling forward and catching herself on my arm.

Another wave of her fruity scent washes over me.

It’s even more mouthwatering mixed with the sharp pinch of her nails digging into my skin.

“Sorry,” she hisses as she jerks away.

“No personal bubble, remember?”

“Right. How long have you been doing this, exactly?”

“I’ve been with the gym since it opened, but I’ve been training under Coach since I was sixteen. So eighteen years, give or take.”

“Holy shit, that’s a long time.”

Almost as long as you’ve been alive.

Fuck me, she’s young—too young for me to have any business messing around with. Whatever this weird…interest…I have for her is, it can’t go any further, or I’ll cross the line into creep territory. Despite my growing trepidation, I keep talking. I’ve been an ass to her enough already.

“It’s all I ever wanted to do,” I tell her with a shrug. “My dad showed me Rocky for the first time when I was six, and I was hooked. I knew I wanted to be a fighter. While the other kids were playing games during recess, I was shadowboxing.”

More spills out than I intended. Something about this woman makes it far too easy for me to bare my soul. That might also be the sleep deprivation.

“Why here? I know you said no sales pitches, but this place has to be special if you’ve stuck around this long. So sell me on it.”

“It’s a good gym. We are way more family-oriented than some of the others in the area, and it’s a lot more welcoming to those who are looking for a hobby, not a career.”

“That’s great, but it doesn’t tell me why you’ve stayed.”

“What do you know about Coach David?”

She cocks her head to the side in question and thinks. “Not much. That’s the owner, right?”

“Yes. David Boyd: two-time UFC featherweight champion, and he holds the record for the fastest submission in UFC history.”

“That’s impressive?” she says, but her inflection sounds as if she isn’t quite sure.

“Sure.” I shrug.

His credentials are legit. When I was younger, I looked at him with stars in my eyes, but after nearly two decades of knowing someone, the novelty wears off.

“His résumé is why I started, but that’s not why I stuck around. He was a beast back in the day, but he’s also one of the best people I know. Wouldn’t want to train under anyone else.”

And I doubt I’d still be alive if it weren’t for him.

When I was in the depths of my despair after my injury, he was there, and he never gave up on me.

He didn’t let me quit—on MMA or on life.

Once I was cleared to resume physical activity, he dragged my sorry ass back into the gym and told me I was in charge of the kids.

He gave me something to live for, and I’ll never be able to repay him for that.

Of course, I’m not telling her all that.

“Do you think I’d like it here?” she asks. “Sports have never been my thing. I’m more of a video game girl, if I’m being honest.”

“It’s hard to say. I think you’ll like the people and the culture, but neither of us will know if you’ll like the sport until you try it.”

“We’ll see on Tuesday, I guess.”