4. Dom

CHAPTER 4

DOM

Something pulls me out of my uncomfortable doze on the couch. After Cameron and Emile left, I had one too many beers and had to camp here for the night. A dull throb behind my eyes is the only thing left from my buzz, and I'm fuzzy from the shitty couple of hours of sleep I've had—not just because this couch isn’t made for people my size to sleep on, but because I've been restless. Flashes of Cameron assault my mind every time I drift off, and I jolt awake, wondering what he's doing right now.

Is he on his knees for him? Is he using that perfect mouth to?—

Fuck. No. Stop. I can't think about this anymore.

I sit up, scrubbing my hands over my face. I can't decide if I'm thankful to be sober enough to drive home, or wishing I'd drank myself into oblivion. Not that Dwayne would have let me without a lecture or demanding that I talk to him. He was already on my nerves, questioning me about my pissy mood after Cameron left. I stopped drinking when I realized that I'd probably spill everything—my doubts about this match, my fear, all my inappropriate thoughts about his stepson. All of it would come tumbling out in a spectacular display of verbal diarrhea, and then he'd really be looking at me like something to pity.

The floorboards creak, and a prickle of awareness sends goosebumps along the back of my neck.

I sense him before I can see the shadow of movement moving across the hall.

"Cameron?"

There's a curse, followed by a thud. The overhead light turns on, the sudden brightness making me cover my eyes until I can adjust.

"Jesus Christ, Dom. Creep much?" Cameron exclaims. "What the hell are you even doing in here, lurking in the dark?"

"Had too much to drink. I was sleeping it off. Why are you back so early? It's barely after midnight. I thought you were staying with Alistar?"

Cameron ignores my question and redirects with one of his own. "Why didn't you stay in the guest room?"

I really should have. Cora offered, but I felt too restless to be in a room right across from theirs.

"Meh. Wasn't worth the effort."

"You can't have been comfortable."

"Quit deflecting."

"I'm not deflecting."

"Then answer the question. Why are you home so early?"

"That's none of your business." His expression is blank, but I can see sadness behind his eyes. They look almost brown in this light.

"You're upset."

He flicks his gaze up to lock on mine. He's surprised by my observation. Or annoyed by it. Or both. Probably both.

What did he do to upset you? I want to ask. And how can I fix it?

"Want me to fuck him up?" I ask instead.

When his eyes widen, I flash my teeth and shrug my shoulders. I'm totally kidding.

I'm totally not kidding.

"Who says he did anything wrong?"

"You left here with him to spend the night. Now you're back just a few hours later, and you're upset. What else could it be?"

Cameron swallows, and to my surprise, sinks down to perch on the sofa arm nearest to him. "He didn't do anything wrong," he says softly. "You can put your fists away."

"So what happened, then?"

"I let my expectations overshadow reality." Cameron lifts a hand in the air to silence me before I can get my next words out. "Emile is a good man. He's complicated and has his quirks, but that's part of his genius. He doesn't think or see the world the way the rest of us do, and sometimes he says or does things that people who don't know him would think negatively of. He can't help but be blunt. It's in his nature to be black and white and always tell the truth, and he sometimes forgets to think outside of his own needs."

"Just because you think he has an excuse to be blunt doesn't mean you should have to put up with him putting you down."

"He's not putting me down."

"Like hell he wasn't!"

I clear my throat.

"Sorry," I say in a much quieter voice. "I'm not mad at you."

"You don't need to be mad at anyone."

He turns to walk back the way he was going, to the kitchen, I assume. Before he's out of my sight, I blurt out a question that is absolutely none of my business. One that couldn't be explained away as simply looking out for him because he's my family now.

"Does he ever make you feel good?"

Cameron stops but doesn't turn around. He doesn't answer or even acknowledge my inappropriate question. He pauses in the doorway for a moment and then continues walking.

"About time you got your lazy ass out of bed," Dwayne yells across the gym when I walk through the front door.

Except I haven't been to bed. I tried to sleep after returning home to the apartment above the gym, but couldn't get any rest. I went for a jog around four in the morning, and I've been walking around the city ever since.Now I’m extra exhausted on top of my headache.

"I went for a run."

Dwayne makes a noncommittal sound that suggests he doesn't believe me. I don't have it in me to spar with him today.

"Grab a cup of coffee. I've got some ideas I want to run past you."

"That doesn't sound ominous at all."

Dwayne chuckles as he walks into his office and takes a seat. I pour myself a cup of much needed caffeine and follow him in. Sitting down in the chair opposite his desk, I wince at the bitter flavor of the coffee.

"This coffee is crap."

He takes a sip of his own sludge. "I think it's fine."

I attempt another sip and frown. "It tastes like you brewed asphalt. But moving on, what are these ideas you wanted to talk about?"

"Ah, yes!" He looks excited, which puts me on guard. The last time he was this excited, he'd scouted an opportunity to do a commercial with a local used car dealership. I could have killed him. "I've got you set up for a couple of local fights." I sit up straighter, immediately interested. "No one high profile, but good fighters that will challenge you."

"When?"

"Two weeks. It’s an amateur gig hosted by one of the bigger fight clubs. They agreed to put you on the roster if we let them flash your name around a bit.”

Great. Because more publicity is what I need. "We can’t get anything sooner? This fight with Hoyt is coming up fast.”

"You still need work. Your balance is off and your footwork is lacking."

"I'm telling you, the best way for me to improve on that is to get in the ring?—"

"And we're doing that," Dwayne interrupts. "This is my attempt at a compromise. I set you up with some real fights, and you try something new for me in the meantime."

"Something new?" I’m feeling wary again.

"A new training technique. Something, uh, a bit different. I've been doing a lot of research since last night, and I think it could work."

"Last night?"

Dwayne's grin nearly splits his face in two, and it only gets wider when he looks down at his buzzing phone. "He's here!" He stands, knocking into his desk and nearly sending his coffee everywhere.

"Who’s here? What the hell are you up to?"

"You'll see." He's practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Cameron walks in at that moment, looking curiously at his stepdad before quickly darting a glance at me. "What's got him all worked up?"

I disguise my surprise at seeing him with a shrug and gulp down the last few swallows of the crappy coffee. "No clue. Still waiting to find out."

Dwayne's face is lit up, and he's holding his hands out in a tada type gesture. His gaze flits back and forth between me and Cameron, waiting for us to catch on.

Wait. Was Cameron the something different? I’ll admit he's definitely something different, but I don't see how he has anything to do with my training. Unless Dwayne has figured me out and wants to dangle him in front of me like the proverbial carrot on a stick. It's not a bad plan. I'd run a little faster, hit a little harder, go a little longer if Cameron was watching me.

"Are you going to tell me why you wanted me here this morning?" Cameron asks. He looks like he's just come from the gym. He's wearing loose, light grey joggers, a tank top with oversized armholes that show off his dusty pink nipples when he adjusts his bag on the opposite arm, and the same pair of beat-up Converse he was wearing yesterday.

I turn my head sharply away from him before I get caught staring at his nipples.

"Your schedule with the shows has slowed down a bit, yeah? You're doing shorter workouts in the mornings while the show runs?"Dwayne inquires.

"Um, I guess."

"And your classes at the community center haven't started yet?"

"No, not yet…"

"Well, I have a proposition for you."

"Okay," Cameron draws out the word, sounding as unsure as I'm feeling.

"Wanna get to the point?" I deadpan.

"I'd like to hire you to train Dom."

We both shout at the same time. "What?!"

"No offense, but I'm a ballet dancer, not a fighting expert."

I cross my arms, glaring daggers at my brother. "Full offense, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

Dwayne waits for us to calm down before he turns his computer screen to us. There are several tabs open, some to YouTube, others to news articles, and one that looks to be a professional sports medicine journal. Cameron and I flick through them, giving each page a cursory glance before we look back up to Dwayne, who looks far too pleased with himself.

"Ballet training can be highly beneficial for a lot of different types of athletics, especially boxing. It can improve flexibility, precision, strength, and balance. All areas that you could use the help with most."

I try to suppress a scoff and end up snorting. "Strength?" Balance and flexibility, I could see. Although I still don't see how dancing is going to make me a better boxer.

"You doubt my strength?" Cameron says, crossing his arms. I don't know how to answer without pointing out the obvious and hurting his feelings. He gets enough of that shit from Alistar.

"I'm not saying I doubt your strength. I just mean…” I flex my biceps a little to make my point for me. He’s in fantastic shape, but strength is relative, and I’m way bigger in the muscle department.

Cameron's eyes flash, and I sense a challenge coming on. "Okay then, let's see what you got." He turns on his heel and marches out of the office.

Sparing a glance at my brother, who is trying and failing to suppress a smug grin, I follow Cameron into the main gym floor. The gym is broken up into three sections. There are three practice rings front and center, and behind them, there's a space dedicated to free weights, and another with about half a dozen heavy bags hanging from the ceiling, and a row of speed bags close to the wall. There are people working out at a few of the bags and at the weights, plus two guys sparring in one of the rings.

Cameron stops in front of an open ring and sets his bag down. Then he removes his shoes, socks, shirt, and sweatpants, leaving him in nothing but a pair of spandex shorts. They're down to his knees, but the tight fabric leaves very little to the imagination. I avert my gaze from the round, muscular globes of his ass as he climbs into the ring before following him up. I'm uncomfortable, and it's mostly because of his state of undress. I don't want to look at him too long, because my eyes might get stuck trailing over his lean physique. His body manages to look willowy and ripped at the same time. He has far more abs than I do, each one of them a sharp cut into his lean torso that tapers into a clearly defined V.

He extends his arms above his head, elongating his torso and coming to his toes as he stretches from the tips of his fingers all the way down to the balls of his feet. I have to admit that I can already see his point. He's small, much smaller than me, but every inch of him ripples with muscle despite his slight frame.

My eyes are stuck on his body. I’m unsure how to tear my gaze away in case he's about to try to fight me or something. Not that I'd fight back. I'd probably barely defend myself, only stand there and take the brunt of all the frustration I can tell he's holding back.

But he doesn't run at me, or assume a fighting stance, or do anything of the sort. Instead, he lifts one foot back and tips forward. The back leg flies up in a wide arc, until his head is pointed straight down at the ground, hands on either side of the planted leg. The other leg points straight up, his body a perfect vertical line. Holy shit, he's flexible.

I watch with rapt attention as Cameron plants his hands squarely on the ground, and with what looks like no effort, shifts his weight to his hands and lifts the other leg into the air. Both legs point to the sky, then fold outward in what seems like an unnatural angle until he's doing a split upside down in the air. His knees bend, and I think for sure he's going to put his legs down or fall over, but with slow, controlled movements, he extends his legs again, widening them into a side split before he curls his body, turning himself so his head is now upright again, legs outstretched on either side of him but still holding himself up with nothing but his arms. Then he moves his legs out behind him, bending his arms at the elbow, biceps bulging as he extends his arms again and holds himself parallel to the ground.

What the fuck? How is this even possible?

The muscles that were apparent when he stripped down to his shirt are almost obscene now. He's completely shredded, without any bulk. His body is a work of art. It's not just the muscle, but the control and fluidity.

“Okay, okay. I get your point.”

As Cameron slowly contorts himself into his beginning pose and comes to a standing position again, the gym breaks out in applause. There are over half a dozen people now standing around the ring, watching Cameron with open-mouthed awe the way I am. He gives a graceful, if not sarcastic, bow with a flourish before giving me a pointed look that says, " well? "

"You were right," I say, impressed and chastised all at once. "I shouldn't have doubted you."

"What, you can't do that?" Cameron snarks.

"Fuck no," I say, not afraid to admit when I'm wrong. "That was probably one of the most amazing things I've ever seen."

His posture radiates pride over being praised. "Thank you."

“You could be a circus performer.”

“Seriously?” At least I made him laugh.

My eyes are glued to his dewy skin, watching him walk past me to climb down from the ring. I’m offended by the idea of him getting dressed. Covering that body with even a scrap of fabric should be criminal.

"Your body is… insane." The unintentional admission escapes on a breath. I'm hopeful for a moment that he didn't hear me, but the color that tinges his cheeks tells me otherwise.

"So, we have a deal, then?" My brother unknowingly barrels right through the tension.

Cameron shakes his head. "I'm not sure…"

The honest to God truth is that I'm not sure about it, either. I'm not convinced that ballet can make me a better boxer, however impressive that display was. The two sports—because I can acknowledge that ballet is absolutely a sport, even if I didn't realize it until recently—are on opposite ends of the spectrum. And I really don't want to be out here doing little turns and curtsies when the rest of the guys are shadowboxing. I don't embarrass easily, but that seems like it would be awkward. And what if they want me to wear tights?!

But for some reason, the idea that Cameron is questioning the plan, that he might not want to do this with me, puts me on edge.

"I'd be willing to try," I blurt. "But I'm not wearing tights," I add quickly.

There's a beat of silence, and then Cameron bursts into laughter, followed by my brother.

"I'll make you a deal," Cameron says, pulling his tank down over his ridiculous torso and helping me think more clearly. "If you promise you're going to put real effort into this and not make it a joke, I'll give it a try, too. But If you're not secure enough to follow through, don't waste my time."

He's right.I've spent my entire life thinking ballet was just some hoity-toity dancing around in tights and tutus. Just from the one show and the two quick demos I've seen, I know that my perception was way off.

Still, my eyes dart around to the guys already here practicing. I'm sure this will be a fun spectacle for them.Am I secure enough with myself to learn ballet, to risk my reputation and public image, all for the sake of getting closer to Cameron?

I sigh and nod. "Where are you thinking we can do this? We gonna block off a ring, or maybe over by the free weights?"

Cameron's eyebrow raises like he might be impressed and it makes my chest puff up.

"You’re really going to get into first position and plie in front of all these meat heads?"

I return his knowing smirk. "I'm the biggest, baddest motherfucker in here, sweetheart. First position, second, tenth… none of that changes anything.”

He chuckles. "Alright then. I say we start over here, so we can use this as a barre." Cameron walks over to the front entrance to the gym and places a hand on the metal banister that runs alongside a low ramp. "It's a bit high, but it'll do."

Without a word, and pointedly ignoring the attention of the other fighters, I stand beside Cameron at the barre. He gives me a clipped nod, then explains our first lesson.

"First, we’ll work on learning the basic feet positions. They won't feel natural at first, but you'll get used to them."

He shows me through five different positions, all different ways to contort and point my feet in weird ways. I can't quite get my feet to cooperate with some of the positions, but Cameron is patient and helps me adjust as we go. Luckily, my concentration and the effort of ignoring our spectators prevents me from popping a boner this time. Once we go through all the positions a couple times, he has me go back to the first.

"Now we're going to work in the arms."

With Cameron in front of me, I mimic each arm position. This part is both easier and worse than the feet. The motions are easy to copy, but I know I look ridiculous with my arms raised up in a circle above my head. Cameron makes sure my posture is right, and that the pose extends out from the center of the body, all the way to the tips of my fingers and toes. I see what he means when he holds the pose, but when I do it, I'm pretty sure I look ridiculous. Still, true to my word, I try my best, even if it's a bit clumsy.

By the time we're done, Cameron is smiling. "You impressed me."

"I'm terrible."

"You really are,” he says, laughing. “But you actually did it. You tried, and not some half-hearted effort to look manly in front of your friends, either. You actually tried."

"I said I would. And I don't give a fuck what they think."

Not to mention none of these people are my friends. I don't have any friends anymore, not since I walked away from fame. Not one person has called me since I left Las Vegas, outside of my agent. All my relationships were superficial.

With one look at the way Cameron watches me, like he wants to see under my skin to get to the truth, I think that he might be the most real person I've ever met.