Free Off Limits: A Stepbrother MMA Romance by Callie Harper Page B

the moment with her brain still sleepy and
half shut-down, and I could seize it, grab her, inflame the physical
need I could sense within. She felt it, the same as me. We wanted
each other.
    Fuck it. I wouldn’t
open the door. I’d let her sleep, if that’s what she was doing.
Or maybe she was out on a breakfast date with Mike. That was probably
the kind of shit a Marine Mammal Center guy like him did, sunrise
hikes with granola and yoga. I hated him. I’d never laid eyes on
him, but that didn’t matter.
    I adjusted myself, hard
yet again from thoughts of Jewel. The girl had me torqued up. My
plans for celibacy were being tested, that much was sure. My coach
was strict: no boozing, no drugs, no partying. Whether you had a girl
in your life or not was somewhat open to interpretation. Some guys on
the team had girlfriends and coach seemed to think that was OK, when
they were supportive.
    What coach didn’t go
in for was drama, the girls showing up with fake nails and hair
extensions to scream and hit the bastard they’d fucked last night.
He didn’t want his fighters distracted. He wanted them keeping
their eyes on the prize. The thing about a girl was she could make
you motivated like nothing else, give you a reason for it all, be the
one person who told you she believed in you and what’s more, make
you believe it, too. But that kind of girl was hard to find. The
other kinds, the ones who played games and knocked you down worse
than any guy in the cage? Those ones seemed to be a dime a dozen.
    I couldn’t figure out
what kind of girl Jewel was. Jewel, the shy, timid poker-player. The
smoking-hot yoga girl super nerd.
    I wanted Jewel to come
see me fight. I couldn’t exactly say why, but I knew I did. Plenty
of girls would be there watching me. My fan base was growing. I
wasn’t interested in any of them. I wanted Jewel.
    But that didn’t
matter. It didn’t make sense to think about what type of girl she
was. She’d never be any type to me, other than a part of my
fucked-up family. For a while. Our parents’ marriage might end
fast, or it might die a slow death full of cheating and spite. Either
way, I knew it wouldn’t last. But for now and for the for-seeable
future, Jewel was my stepsister and I had to get her off my mind.
    I had one goal this
summer and one goal alone: going pro in MMA. I’d told my father I
was doing an internship so he’d stay off my back. He was pretty
checked out anyway. He hadn’t been thrilled about state school
after two generations at Princeton, but I think he still assumed my
future was in the bag. All I had was one more year and then I’d be
on the treadmill in some hedge fund or brokerage firm.
    But I had other plans.
I was done being his puppet. After this summer, I was walking. As
long as I played my cards right.
    In the morning:
training. Afternoon: more training. Evening: training. No girls. No
booze. No partying. Three regular meals a day, lean proteins and
veggies. Protein shakes and water. A full eight hours of sleep every
night. Who knew what I could accomplish? I sure wanted to find out.
    Sharing this house for
eight weeks with Jewel? That was just the universe’s way of
tempting me, trying to see what I was really made of. Could I take
it?
    Hell yeah, I could. I
was tough as nails. From what I’d seen, she was a little hermit,
her nose stuck to a book, no drinking, no partying. So, I’d be the
monk to her nun.
    I’d make it through
the summer, seeing her in her little yoga outfits and swimsuits. I
had the physical toughness, now I needed the mental toughness to
match. That and a hell of a lot of cold showers.

CHAPTER 7
    Jewel
    Thursday morning when
the alarm started to sound, I hit snooze. I’d been restless last
night. But by six-fifteen I headed out poolside for some yoga. I knew
Tuck might see me, that it would be safer to go through my routine in
the locked privacy of my bedroom. But this was L.A. What was the
point in putting up with all the traffic and