Falling for Tyson Read online

  When her phone rang again, she frowned. Her mother’s number flashed across the screen, and she picked up, trying to put a smile in her voice.

  “Hey, Mom, how you doing?” she asked.

  “Hello, love, all good here,” her mother said brightly. “Did I catch you in the middle of something?” The question was redundant. Anytime Cassie took a call at the office, she was ‘in the middle of something’. It was time for a break, though. She stretched and felt that wonderful ache again.

  “Not at all, Mom; what’s up?”

  “Nothing important, love. I don’t want to take up too much of your time. Just thought I’d see if you’re free for dinner tonight. Nonna’s staying with me for a few days, and she’d like to spend some time with you.” Although her parents had divorced when Cassie was still young, her mother had maintained a strong relationship with ex-husband’s family. After he’d passed away a few years before, she’d spent even more time with his widowed mother.

  Cassie pulled a face and tried to silence the sigh that escaped. She hadn’t seen her grandmother in nearly two weeks, and she was going to be run through the wringer. “Sure, Mom, I’d love that. I can come straight after gym if you don’t mind me catching a shower at your place?”

  “Of course I don’t mind, love,” her mother replied. “We’ll see you later. Nonna’s making Bolognese.”

  Cassie smiled. “Looking forward to it,” she replied, turning back to her work when they ended the call.

  ✽✽✽

  Cassie had a whole new set of aches and pains by the time she reached her mother’s small suburban home that evening. She’d never tried a Pilates class before, always thinking they were too tame. Oh, how wrong she had been. Her stomach muscles were letting her know that tomorrow was going to be another painful day.

  The house was rich with the fragrance of garlic and tomatoes when she walked through the front door, still in her gym gear. Her mother hadn’t locked it, and she made a note to remind her. Again.

  “Helloooo, family!” she called out as she made her way to the kitchen, where chattering mingled with the sound of sauce simmering and pots clattering. She was met with an embrace that enveloped her.

  “Cassiopeia, mia cara!” her grandmother cried, kissing her on both cheeks before hugging her and then kissing her again. She broke into a string of Italian that left Cassie smiling, even though she barely caught a few words. “So long! So long you don’t visit!”

  “Hello, Nonna,” she smiled indulgently, tightening her embrace then extracting herself. She was a head taller than the rotund woman but still felt overwhelmed by her hugs. Angela Cataldi had never been a small woman, but in her later years, she’d become larger than life in more ways than one.

  “Hello, love,” Cassie’s mother’s greeting seemed tame in comparison. Cassie brushed her lips against Eileen Cataldi’s cheek. The discordant name fitted her perfectly. Of English descent, she’d married into a Continental family and had never really found her feet there. She never gave up trying, though.

  “Hey, Mom, smells good in here,” Cassie smiled and sniffed the air appreciatively. Oversized pots bubbled busily on the stovetop, and Angela was fussing around them, lifting lids, inhaling, and stirring. “What’s for dinner, Nonna?” Cassie asked, although she already knew. Her grandmother took great pride in her cooking and relished any chance to discuss the topic. It was also one of the few times anyone could convince her to speak English.

  “Ahhh… It is your favorite,” Nonna replied, turning to aim the spoon towards Cassie’s mouth. “I make a Bolognese, just for you! Here, taste,” she instructed. Cassie opened her mouth obediently, savoring the flavor of sun-ripened tomatoes and ground beef. “Is good, Patatina?” she asked. Cassie nodded, smiling warmly, although inside, she railed at the endearment. Little Potato. She was never going to get away from it.

  “It’s great, Nonna,” she affirmed.

  “You don’t think more basilico?” her grandmother asked. Basil. It was a trick question. Angela Cataldi did not make a sauce that needed anything added. She was waiting for a compliment.

  “Best I ever tasted, Nonna,” Cassie assured her. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

  The little round woman radiated happiness. “Bene, bene!” she said gaily before her face darkened slightly. “You know, your Nonno…he say I have no…fantasy…in the kitchen. No imagination.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “But that man…he love my Bolognese!” She kept stirring, and Cassie draped a hand over her shoulder and squeezed.

  “We all love your Bolognese, Nonna,” she smiled. “I’m going to take a quick shower. Be back in five.” Her mother nodded. Her grandmother had turned to give her a long moment of scrutiny, spoon still in hand.

  “Cassiopeia,” she said, her brow furrowing in disapproval. “Why you no wear…una cintura?”

  Cassie frowned. “A what?”

  “A…girdle,” her grandmother translated her own words. Cassie’s stride faltered. “So your butt don’t wobble. I always wear one when I were your age. So you find a nice man now, okay?”

  Really? The woman wouldn’t say three words of English in a row, but she could say ‘So your butt don’t wobble’? Cassie shook her head.

  “I’m working on it, Nonna,” she sighed. ‘Honestly…I should wear one under my gym gear?’

  Her mother gave her a small smile. “Don’t worry about it, love, I’ve made you a salad,” she murmured. Cassie headed for the shower and decided to avoid looking in the mirror.

  ✽✽✽

  “Did you check over the new contracts?” Max asked as Tyson was reaching for his keys. His class started at 5.30 pm, and he still had to get across town. But for the first time in months, he was eager to get there.

  “Yup. Looks fine,” he said.

  “You sure?” asked Maxwell.

  “Yeah, I’m sure, Max.” Tyson really wanted to go.

  “You don’t sound sure. This is a pretty big deal. You’ll be tied into this series once you put your million-dollar on that piece of paper.”

  Tyson sighed. “Yeah, I know.” His friend knew him well. He’d had reservations from the start. It was a year-long engagement with multiple appearances. Fights every few weeks. He’d be training like a beast. No big deal. He could do it.

  He didn’t want to.

  “Ty?”

  “Can they sweeten it?” Tyson asked. He was looking around for his bike helmet.

  “How much sweeter do you want it,” Maxwell asked. “This is a pretty tasty paycheck.”

  Pretty tasty? It was unprecedented. More money than they’d know what to do with. Again.

  Tyson had found his helmet. He turned to look at Maxwell. “I want to start a campaign.”

  “A campaign?” his friend seemed bemused. “Like…a Million Man March?”

  “Kinda,” Tyson answered. “Well…no…I dunno… It’s just something I’ve been thinking about.” He turned to a desk in the corner where he kept his much-hated admin folders, reached for a desk pad he’d been doodling on. He tore a sheet off and handed it to Maxwell, not quite meeting his eyes. His friend glanced over the rough notes, his face remaining expressionless. It was a skill he’d learned on the streets that had served him well in the ring. For a second, Tyson wished he’d never honed that skill. He wanted to know what the man was thinking.

  Max squinted at him. “Inner Beauty?” he asked. Tyson nodded. Maxwell’s expression remained inscrutable as he looked over the lines on the page. Curving, swooping lines. Hips and waistlines and … and breasts. Yeah, he’d drawn breasts. Lush, full beautiful breasts. The kind that spilled over palms and between spread fingers. The way he imagined Cassie’s would. Screw it. If the man couldn’t handle that, then they weren’t friends. Max was reading the notes Tyson had jotted down. He looked up.

  “Let me think on it. I might be able to come up with something workable.” He smiled, and Tyson left for his class.

  Maxwell continued to stare at the page for several minutes. He�
�d long ago stopped questioning his friend’s judgment. Tyson had a way of spotting opportunities…or creating them. And once he had his sights set on something, it was damn near impossible to stop him. It was why he won in the ring. Why he’d been able to parlay a talent for fighting into a multi-million dollar business.

  And probably why he’d invited that woman to the gym.

  Maxwell sighed. But smiled a little too.

  ✽✽✽

  “Focus, people!” Tyson called out, prowling around the front of the studio. Cassie was surrounded by swinging boxing bags and sweating humans. If anyone had ever asked how she planned to spend her Thursday evening that week, this would not have even made the list. Yet here she was sweating, hands curled into mitts and partnered up with an equally sweaty youngster who’d admitted his dad had signed him up for the class. Wanted to toughen him up, the ‘old man’ said. She wasn’t feeling particularly tough right now. Her shoulders burned, her forearms ached, and her breath was burning a hole through her lungs.

  “I want you to hold your bag for your partners for the first round, then switch,” Tyson continued. He’d barely acknowledged her, apart from a short interaction at the start. “Hey, Wallstreet,” he’d greeted her. “Got gloves?” Of course she didn’t. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. Crap.

  “Um… Hey,” she’d answered. “Gloves?” When she’d arrived at the studio, she’d been jostled at the door by Stacy and Sasha. They’d given her the once-over before snickering behind their hands in some secret interaction. Spandex and cropped tops seemed to be created for their tightly honed bodies. Now she was acutely aware of her unflattering t-shirt and leggings.

  “Heads up!” Tyson had called out, tossing her a pair of bright pink boxing gloves, then striding into the class. The gloves were still in their wrapping, and she’d torn the cellophane open and tugged them on awkwardly, tightening the Velcro fastenings, thankful that there were spares available. Definitely needed to get her own tomorrow.

  Her partner was huffing and wheezing. She held the bag and tried to smile encouragingly as he aimed half-hearted blows at the surface. Tyson was moving through the group, correcting positions, snapping out instructions, explaining things to the class. Yesterday’s intimacy seemed like a long-lost memory now. Had she imagined it? Of course, she had. Cassie sighed. Nearby, she could pick up the occasional giggle from Sasha and Stacy, who’d naturally partnered up.

  “Ty! Ty!” Sasha…or was it Stacy…called out. They both looked alike to her. He strode towards them, barely glancing at her. Not glancing at her. She was invisible.

  “What’s the problem?” he asked. Cassie could see them from the corner of her eye. Sasha had the perkiest breasts she’d ever seen, and they were thrust out right now.

  “I can’t get the angle right. Can you show me?” She pouted up at him. He stood to one side of the girls, hands on hips. The sleeves of his snug black t-shirt pulled tightly around his biceps. Those biceps. Cassie groaned inwardly, imagining sinking her teeth into them. ‘I could eat you like an apple,’ she sighed silently to herself, trying not to let her mouth hang open.

  “Your feet are wrong,” he said, still oblivious to her. “Get your stance…like this,” he turned and demonstrated.

  “Like this?” Sasha simpered and fluttered her lashes. She was still standing all wrong.

  Cassie scowled. ‘Bitch! She’s doing that on purpose!’

  “No, like this.” Tyson tapped Sasha on the shoulder brusquely then pointed at her other hip. “Move that back.” He didn’t touch her again, but Sasha had reached for his hand and was pulling it to her waist.

  Cassie couldn’t watch anymore. She turned to focus on her partner, who’d seemed happy for the respite.

  “You okay, kid?” she asked the boy, who looked like he’d be happier with a gaming console in his hands. He shook his head.

  “I need to sit down,” he wheezed. “I think I’m having an aneurysm.” He staggered off.

  “Um…hon, I don’t think you’d have an aneurysm…” Cassie trailed off. Kid didn’t want to train. Not much she could do about it. She was still standing holding onto a boxing bag, though.

  “S’up, Wallstreet? Kill your partner already?” a voice said in her ear. Cassie jumped. Tyson was right behind her.

  “Well, no…I think he…um…tapped out?” She scrambled for some fighting lingo in the hope of sounding like she knew what she was doing here. She had no idea what she was doing here.

  Tyson glanced around the room. “Anybody stuck without a partner?” he asked the room. Nobody responded, although, beside them, Sasha and Stacy nudged each other. “Well, I guess you got me,” he grinned, then addressed the class. “Right, time for some combos. We’re going to take some of the hooks I taught you in the last lesson and add in a kick. I’m going to show you the combination, and then you’ll practice with your partners. Got it?” A murmur moved through the group, and he turned to Cassie.

  “Okay, Wallstreet, I need you to hold the bag for a sec while I demo. You good?” She nodded, taking a grip on the bag.

  What now?

  Tyson had spun away for a second, and before she knew what was happening, he’d honed in on the bag, delivering a right, a left, and a kick that took the air out of her lungs. She’d even bounced back a step. Holy crap!

  “You good, Wallstreet?” he asked. She nodded. “Okay, you’re up,” he said, nudging her away from the bag and setting himself in position behind it. “Right, left, kick. You got it?” She nodded again, bouncing forward. Her little pink gloves batted the black leather, and she gave a flailing tap with her toe. Tyson shot her a look. “Is that it?” Cassie could feel her cheeks going pink. “Put some heart into it, Cass! Right, left, kick!” She took a deep breath and aimed a blow, felt a satisfying thump as her fist hit the bag.

  Ooh!

  She did it again with her left.

  Bam!

  That felt good! She swung her leg and felt the moment her foot connected. ‘Oh gosh, that’s amazing!’

  “Better!” said Tyson. “Again.”

  Bam. Bam. Kick!

  “Again!” said Tyson.

  Woohoo! This was totally awesome. She rolled her shoulders, bounced on her toes.

  Bam. Bam. Kick!

  “Good. Again!” he said, glancing around the bag at her.

  ‘Yes, again!’ she thought.

  Bam. Bam. Thunk!

  ‘Thunk?’ Cassie reached for her breath, took a moment to process. Tyson had dropped to a knee. ‘Shit!’ He was holding his side and gasping. ‘Shit, shit!’

  “Oh, my God, are you okay?” she gasped, rushing to where he was kneeling on the floor. What just happened?

  “No…I’m good…you did good,” he was gasping.

  ‘What did I do?’ she thought wildly. He was getting to his feet. Was he okay? ‘Shit!’ He was moving back into the group, his back to her. Stacy and Sasha were giggling almost uncontrollably.

  “Right, let’s switch it up. Onto your mats,” Tyson said, his back still to her. The class rearranged themselves into position on padded mats. Cassie found a spot and followed suit.

  By the end of the class, he hadn’t spoken to her again, aside from a brief nod as they all said their goodnights.

  Chapter 6

  “And that?” Maxwell asked as Tyson pulled a fresh tank-top over his head. The man was glancing down at a blue shadow just below Tyson’s ribcage. He shrugged.

  “Dunno. Probably picked it up in training,” he muttered. It wasn’t unusual, though it had been a long time since any of the youngsters had managed to land a blow. There was no way he was telling Maxwell it had been Cassie in the class the night before. He’d been so fixated on those jostling breasts that he hadn’t seen her foot come round. He’d taken the strike and buckled like an amateur. The girl had a kick on her. He smiled. The smile broadened when he looked at the time. She’d be here in a few minutes.

  Max nodded. “Your ‘client’ coming in again today?” he asked, his voice neu
tral.

  Tyson couldn’t suppress his grin. “Yup,” he said.

  Maxwell met his eyes with a steady stare. “Keep it clean out there,” he said.

  Tyson set his jaw. “Of course I will,” he answered. “I’m a pro.”

  “Yeah. Let’s keep it that way,” Maxwell grumbled into the empty room. Tyson was already out the door and heading to the entrance. Cassie was on her way to the locker rooms. “Damn fool,” Maxwell muttered beneath his breath.