Page 8 of Fighting Fate

4

The alarm is blaring like a motherfucker. Even though my head isn’t as sore as it should be, my mouth is dry, and I have the sweats. It’s part of the reason I don’t drink often. The alcohol sweats are the worst. Still, from what I can remember of last night, they’re worth it.

If I thought that Willow’s attitude was hot before we fucked, now that I know that she’s as fiery in bed…I’m digging sticking around for the next six months.

Turning off the alarm on my phone, I flip over to find her. Except she’s gone. Of course, I should’ve seen this coming. Nothing about her is easy, despite our tryst between the sheets. But I fucking wore her out. The girl could barely keep her eyes open after our last round. By all rights, she should not be able to move right now.

Well, I’m going to be here a while. I have time to make up for that.

With a glance around the darkened room, I press the button to open the blinds. The view of Tower Bridge greets me with the sunrise, tinging it a pale pink. I’m about to get up when my phone rings.

I know who it is before I check.

“Taylor,” I answer my trainer, trying to sound as well-rested as I can.

“She better have been a good lay,” he says with a pissed-off edge to his tone. “You said five thirty, and I’ve now been waiting almost an hour.”

Fuck.

“Be there in twenty,” I tell him, hanging up before he can lay into me some more.

After a quick shower, I get myself dressed. I already know Taylor is going to do everything he can to crush me, so I take a moment to text Frank.

Me:What’s her number?

There’sno point in warming up to what I want or going into it all. He knows who I’m referring to, given he saw us leave together. Grabbing my keys and helmet from the cupboard by the apartment door, I wait for him to reply. When I reach the Ducati waiting for me, there’s still no word from Frank. It’s the morning after the night before, but for as long as I’ve known him, he’s hit the gym before the sun’s up.

Dialling him, I perch on the bike. It’s a thing of beauty, even if the bright red is a little ostentatious for me. The call goes to voicemail after the fourth ring, and I call again.

“What? What the fuck do you want?” The grumble in his voice makes it obvious he’s still in bed.

“Her number.”

“What?”

“Willow’s number.”

“What time is it?” he asks with an annoyed groan.

“Send me her number and I’ll—” I pause at the sound of the giggle in the background. “I’ll let you get back to your company.”

“No can do. I give you my client’s number, and she’s going to sue me…and trust me—” A yawn interrupts him. “—Willow will sue me for everything she can get.”

“I’ll pay you back.”

“Didn’t you take her home last night?” The question must be rhetorical because I’m certain he saluted me when we left. I may have been wasted, but I wasn’t that wasted. “Not my fault you didn’t rock her world, asshole.”

“You realise I know where you live. Where you work. Where you gym…motherfucker, I’ll—”

The line goes dead, and that’s it. I shoot a text to Taylor to let him know something’s come up, aware that he’s going to make me suffer. I learnt this lesson way back when he started training me at fifteen. We’ve been together for almost twenty years, and there is no one I trust more with my career and business.

My phone goes berserk in the pocket of my leather jacket with the slew of emojis from Taylor. His niece recently introduced him to the fuckers, and now he abuses my inbox with them. With my helmet on, I roar out of the garage, relishing the vibrations of the beauty beneath me. Not as rewarding as the feisty princess from last night, but great nonetheless. The streets are still empty and easy enough to navigate to Frank’s place. The town house is in a picturesque part of town where the wealthy seems to congregate. With the morning fog dissipating, it looks like a scene from the Hugh Grant chick flicks my mom and sister are obsessed with.

I stop beside his classic E-Type Jaguar, his pride and joy, which rattles when I rev the Ducati so that he knows I’m outside. By the third or fourth time, my phone is going crazy again.

Frank: Fuck off.

I laugh at the text when I check my phone. He’s an idiot if he thinks I’m leaving empty-handed. If nothing else, the sixteen years we’ve known each other should have taught him that I’m persistent in my pursuits. Quitting isn’t something I’m familiar with. It’s why I’m still training and still competing.