Page 74 of Only Him (Only One 1)
“God, what happened to you?”
I glare at her as I kick off my shoes, then go to the bathroom. Immediately, I strip out of my wet clothes and hop in the shower. My heart pounds and races with adrenaline. The need to punch someone or something weighs heavily on me, but I grip my cock and punish myself instead.
Gemmaisn’tmine.
I don’t deserve her.
Even twelve years ago, I knew I didn’t, but I still had her. I’ve fucked up a lot in my life, but giving her up is my biggest regret. Tasting her again and knowing it can’t ever happen again might kill me. I’m so fucked. I should’ve walked away when she asked me to kiss her, well before her lips touched mine.
I shake my head.
I should’ve bent her over and given her a dozen reasons she’ll always bemineand not his.
My thoughts jostle as I roughly stroke my shaft and grunt to images of Gemma’s mouth falling open as she came by my touch.
You can’t rewrite the past, I told her.
You were my first love.
Being alone with her is equivalent to playing with fire and then getting pissed when I get burned.
I should know better.
Gemma’s pure and sweet and shouldn’t get wrapped up with a guy like me who has more baggage than an airport. Even if Robert is a phony fuck, he can give her things I never could. A life she deserves.
My balls tighten as my hand squeezes hard, and I hiss through the orgasm as the memories of her flood my mind. I’m never going to get over her.
I toss and turn all damn night, fighting with the urge to text her or keep my distance. Deciding on the latter, I give up trying to sleep and get out of bed at four a.m. Grabbing my workout clothes, I change and brush my teeth, then head outside for a run. This pent-up rage isn’t going anywhere, so I have to work it off.
After an hour, I head to the gym, stretch, then I give the punching bag hell. After another hour, I feel better, but my frustration is still there.
A guy who’s at least ten years younger watches me, and I wonder if he’s on Victoria’s payroll.
“Do you think you could teach me to box like that?” he asks. I realize he can’t be more than a few years out of high school.
“Sure. What do you wanna know?”
“How to kick ass and take names,” he says with a grin. “My name is Luke.”
‘“Tyler.” I give him a pair of gloves and go over some basics. As I guide him on proper form, I hold the bag in place for him while he practices. The kid has some power behind his punch and reminds me of myself when I was his age. Eager to learn. For the forty-five minutes, I instruct him, and I actually forget about being pissed as a rush of happiness surges through me. I loved training and teaching people how to box, and this brings me right back to coaching Mason and Liam. When I moved to Vegas, I taught at an elite gym, and after working with him, I realize how much I miss it.
“You’re so good. Thank you,” Luke says before grabbing a towel. “Will you come back tomorrow?”
I nod with a smile. “Yeah, I’ll be here.”
He waves as he walks to the locker room, and the owner approaches me.
Shit, is he gonna be pissed I was training?
“Tyler, hey.”
“Hi. Good morning.”
“You lookin’ for a job?” he asks, taking me by surprise. “Could use another trainer.”
“Depends. Are the hours flexible?”
“You can make your own. How’s that?”
