Read Point of No Return Online
Authors: N.R. Walker
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Point of No Return
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I groaned. It really would be less painful if I just went along with it.
"No boxing," Mitch said seriously. "I can't afford it."
No, neither can I
. Considering I didn't have a boxing appointment, I should be safely able to stay away from the new trainer. With a bit of luck, he wouldn't even be there.
I stood up. "Even hung over, I could kick your asses on the treadmill."
Mitch chuckled, grinning at me. "There he is! The smug, self-righteous son-of-a-bitch we all love."
Twenty minutes later, we were at the gym. There was no sign of Frankie, and we were all back to good. We were running it out, laughing and joking. Kurt and Mitch both had something on with their girlfriends this weekend, and Tony had a dinner with his in-laws.
I laughed at them. "Glad to be single."
"Yeah well," Kurt snorted. "When do we get to meet the girl who got you all bent out of shape last night?"
"What?"
"Oh, come on," Tony huffed. "To see you get your ass beat on the mats…" He gave a pointed nod to the boxing room. "And then get drunk? It's gotta be a woman."
I hit stop on my treadmill, slowing to a walk.
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Fuck, fuck, fuck.
As part of the straight game I played with these guys, I just smiled at him and said nothing, letting them assume what they wanted.
I'd never lied outright to them. I'd never said
he
or
she
. I'd always kept it vague. They were the ones who assumed.
I jumped off the treadmill and wiped my face with my towel.
"Told ya," Tony puffed to the other two. "It's gotta be girl trouble. Playboy Matt Elliott's got himself a girlfriend."
I rolled my eyes at him and, needing to put an end to this conversation, walked into the boxing room.
Thankfully, it was empty. I strapped my hands and spent a good twenty minutes punching the bag.
I could feel the sweat pouring out of me. The stress unknotted in my shoulders and last night's alcohol-induced funk did too.
I unloaded on the bag, having missed my usual
workout bout because I was so distracted by the new trainer. I unleashed jab punch combinations, relishing the feel of power, the de-stressing, and the burn in my muscles.
"I knew you were holding back," a smooth voice said behind me.
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I spun around, though I already knew who I'd find.
He grinned at me, and my chest tightened.
"You feel okay today?" he asked. "You were a little unsteady on your feet last night outside the bar."
Oh, fuck.
I'd forgotten about that. I spoke to him… Shit. I ran my hands through my sweat-soaked hair. "Last night is a bit of a blur," I admitted quietly. "I'm sorry if I said…
anything…" I finished quietly. "I don't normally drink."
He chuckled. "You might have said something."
Ugh. I groaned.
"Don't worry," he said with a smile. "You made some things pretty clear."
I stared at him, trying to remember what I said. He pulled out some mats and pads, throwing them on the floor.
"You told me no one knows," he said quietly, but seriously.
He picked up my towel, and I was unable to move—frozen in place. He walked up to me, and handed me my towel.
And quietly, so only I could hear, he said, "And you think I have a beautiful smile."
It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.
Fuck. I made my legs move and took a step back from him.
I could feel the blood draining from my face, and my heart was beating double time. I tried to tell him he was wrong. I
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wouldn't have said that. I wouldn't have let my guard down, no matter how beautiful I thought he was.
"Hey," he said softly with his hands up, palms forward. "No one knows. I get it. I won't tell anyone." His dark eyes were staring straight into mine. I knew enough about reading people to know he was telling me the truth.
"I wish I could say the same about your smile," he said almost wistfully, looking at me with those goddamn beautiful eyes. "But I've yet to see it. I'd
really
like to see you smile."
I tried to swallow, but I couldn't. My mouth was suddenly too dry. So I nodded instead.
The door swung open behind us, and it propelled my legs into motion. I stepped away from him, toward the door, where a woman stood.
"Ah," Frankie said behind me. "My six o'clock."
The girl, though I wasn't sure who she was, nodded and addressed me with a curt nod. "Detective Elliott."
I wiped the towel over my face as I walked toward the door.
"Matthew?"
I spun around at the sound of his voice saying my name.
He grinned. "Your next appointment with me is Monday. See you then."
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I nodded, almost bolting out the door. Shit. My next appointment… I had two, sometimes three, boxing sessions a week. Which meant, if anything, I'd get to see him at least twice a week. That thought alone filled me with a little bit of dread. But I could feel something else settle into my stomach. Something I didn't want to admit… something that might have been anticipation.
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Chapter 3
I spent the weekend trying not to think about him. I even considered hitting the gym on Sunday so I didn't require my Monday appointment with him.
But I wasn't one to run and hide.
Surely I could face off with this guy, no matter how hot he was, without one, getting a hard on, and two, being a gibbering idiot.
I was a detective, for fuck's sake. A fucking good detective. I just needed to get my act together when I was around him.
I steeled my resolve, and my Monday appointment started out just fine. I hit the treadmill first, as always, and when I'd done my five miles and it was right on five-thirty—and when I couldn't put it off any longer—I walked into the boxing room.
He was in there warming up with a skipping rope.
His cocoa-colored torso flexed fluidly and his feet barely hit the floor. He was agile for someone of his size. Not huge, but he was tall with great muscle definition.
He smiled when I walked in and hung up the
skipping rope on one of the hooks at the back wall. I tried not to think about his smile or his body, and needing a distraction, I started to strap my hands.
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Like he seemed to understand the effect he had on me, he was all business, though he still smiled. He was still fucking beautiful, but he wasted no time putting me on the bag, only this time he didn't hold it, so he wasn't facing me.
Which was much better.
I found it easier to concentrate when I wasn't looking directly into his eyes.
He stood at my side and corrected my footing.
Apparently my left foot turned in when I stood in position, making my right swing overcompensate.
By the time my half hour was up with him, he had improved my focus. I'd hardly had time to think about him.
He was good at what he did, of that there was no doubt.
When I was done, he threw my towel at me. "That's better, Detective," he said, with a one-dimpled smile.
He had a sheen of sweat over his shoulders, and his tank top barely covered him, his pecs, his shoulders…
"Yeah, it was." I pretended to wipe my face with my towel to cover the fact I'd just checked him out.
"More focused today," he said.
I let out a nervous laugh. "Something like that."
When I looked up at him, he was staring at me.
"Oh, I almost got a real smile," he said with a smirk.
I could feel myself blush. Fucking hell. I couldn't help smile a little. "Almost."
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"I think you should call me Kira," he said, matter-of-factly.
"Why?"
"Because it's my first name," he said with a shrug.
"And everyone here calls me Frankie."
He must have seen the confusion on my face,
because he clarified. "See, if you tell your friends at work you're having dinner with Frankie, they'll know it's me. But if you tell them you're having dinner with Kira, they won't have a clue."
And right then, someone else—another cop—
walked into the room, saving me from answering.
Kira smiled at his next appointment, and when I got to the door he called out to me. "Matthew?"
I turned and waited for him to continue.
"Think about what I said," he said, straightening out the mats. "And I'll see you for your Wednesday appointment."
Fuck.
He basically just asked me to have dinner with him.
He asked me to call him by his given name so the guys I worked with wouldn't catch on. It wasn't that I was really considering it—because a part of me was already looking forward to it.
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But I didn't get to see him on Wednesday. I got caught up with work and missed my appointment. My job was hardly Monday to Friday, nine to five.
But he was all I thought about, his smile, his lips, his eyes…
His offer.
And by Friday afternoon, after a long week, we headed to the gym early. I did my usual time on the treadmill before heading into the boxing room. I wasn't even sure what I was going to tell him, whether I'd take him up on his offer. I wanted to… God, I wanted to. But I had my reservations—something I knew I should tell him about before this went any further.
If
it went any further.
When I walked into the room, he was with another appointment. "Oh, sorry," I mumbled. "Didn't realize you had someone else in here."
He smiled when he saw me. Looking to the clock then back to me, he said, "No, it's okay. We're nearly done.
You can start on the rope for me, if you like?" he asked, nodding toward the skipping ropes on the far wall. "We'll be another five minutes."
Throwing my towel and water bottle onto the mat in the corner, I picked up a skipping rope. I faced him as I started jumping rope and watched him with his
appointment.
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It was a woman. She was a cop on the fourth floor, I think. I'd seen her around. She was quite attractive, in a female kind of way: blond, thin, and fit.
He had her, with her back to me, jabbing into the punching bag while he held it. He was facing me. Looking at me.
He still gave her instructions, like square your shoulders, chin down, move your feet.
But he was looking directly over her shoulder, straight at me, as I skipped rope. "Much better. Looking good," he said, almost smiling. His eyes were intense. Even though he was saying it to her, he wasn't. He was saying it to me.
It made my dick throb.
So I turned and faced the mirrored wall, hoping it would distract me enough. But as I watched myself skipping rope, I could see him in the reflection.
Even though I had my back to him, his gaze met mine in the mirror, and it somehow made it worse. He was watching me, inconspicuously, but still… I could feel his eyes on me, burning into my skin.
I watched him watch me, our eyes locked in the mirror, until the woman he was training said something, his eyes darted to her, and the connection between us was broken.
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He wrapped up his appointment, so I hung up the rope and started strapping my hands.
This appointment was going to kill me.
Needing to focus on the task at hand, I started on the bag while he talked to Jenny, Jane, Janette, whatever the fuck her name was. When she'd left, I knew he was standing behind me, just watching me, but he said nothing.
I knew we were alone in the room—my body
seemed to know it. I stopped hitting the bag, held it steady, and rested my forehead on the bag, not realizing how hard I was breathing.
"What are you doing to me?" I heard myself ask, not really meaning to say the words out loud.
He cleared his throat, seemingly at a loss for words.
"What do you mean?"
I looked at him then and figured maybe if I said this shit out loud, I'd get it out of my system. "You," I said, almost accusingly. "You're all I can think about."
He looked down to the floor mats. "You missed your Wednesday appointment. I thought maybe you were telling me you weren't interested."
So he not only noticed I wasn't here on Wednesday, but he also missed me. I liked that more than I should.
"I was working," I explained. "See, that's the thing with me, and why this would never work. My job."
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His brow pinched. "Is that a reason or an excuse?"
"Look, Frankie… Kira," I amended, and he almost smiled. "I'm a narcotics detective. I don't work set hours.
My job is hard on relationships. Just ask any of the guys—
their wives and girlfriends will tell you it's not easy."
He smiled shyly. "While I like the sound of a relationship, I thought maybe we could start with dinner."
I barked out a laugh, a little embarrassed. He stood on the other side of the punching bag and held it between us. "But let me guess," he said. "You got burned once, maybe even had your heart broken, and you swore you'd never do it again."
I ignored that. "Kira, thanks for the offer—and believe me," I said, looking him up and down, "I'm very interested, but I'm also
not out
—no one at work knows." I tried to explain. "In fact, they all assume I'm some playboy with a different girl every weekend."