Fighting for Flight by JB Salsbury (easy readers TXT) 📕

“Hey.” He studies the load in my arms, eyes lingering a bit on my legs.

Nope. I’m caught. I hop to standing, losing a few pillowcases on the way, and force my most innocent grin.

“What’s going on?” He tilts his chin to the sheets in my arms. “I have a maid for that.”

His sexy half grin almost makes me forget my all-consuming embarrassment. Almost.

My mind spins, trying to come up with a plausible reason why I’d be doing Jonah’s laundry. His gorgeous body, uncovered from the waist up, does nothing for my concentration. I run my hungry eyes over every muscular curve.

I blink in a flutter, clearing the optical orgasm. Concentrate, Raven. “I, uh, thought I’d help out. Um, do my share since I’ve been living here?” My excuse comes out a question.

Jonah reads me with narrowed eyes. He knows I’m lying.

My eyes dart around the room unable to focus on his penetrating gaze. On a sigh, I drop my shoulders along with the sheets, defeated.

I can’t lie to Jonah. “This morning, when I woke up, I, uh . . .”

He lifts his eyebrows for me to continue.

“When I sat up, I guess gravity or something took over and I . . . um . . .” I drop my face, concentrating on the floor in front of me. “Bled . . . on your nice sheets.” I confess and rub my forehead to avoid eye contact. “I’m sorry. I’ll wash them, and if it doesn’t come out, I’ll buy you new ones.”

I don’t hear him move, but his bare feet move into my line of sight. Standing less than a foot away, he pulls me into his arms. They flex around me and he places a kiss on my head. I relax and snuggle into his hold.

“Let me take care of the sheets. You go get some coffee, and I’ll throw these in the wash.”

He leans back, searching for my eyes. I direct my stare past his shoulder. He cups my cheek, holding my face prisoner, demanding my attention.

“I love you, baby, but I don’t love you thinking that I care about some stupid sheets. I hope it does stain so that every time I sleep on ’em I’ll be reminded of our first time, not that I’ll need the reminder. Last night is burned into my brain, permanently.”

He did not just say that. My cheeks heat and my nose wrinkles. “Eww. That’s gross.”

“What? That last night is burned in my brain?”

I break eye contact to focus on his neck. “No, that you’d want to sleep on sheets stained with my blood.”

His fingers bring my chin up as he bends down. “Not gross to me, baby.” His voice is close and rough. “It’s sexy.” His breath caresses my lips and smells like coffee. My tongue darts out to see if I can taste it. His eyes focus on my mouth and I watch his eyelids drop.

Oh boy.

“I need you to walk away now. Go get your coffee.”

I nod, but my body pushes closer to his.

“You’re probably sore from last night, and I want to give you time to heal. If you stay here, looking at me like that, smelling the way you do, inches from my bed, I won’t be able to let you.”

I shiver.

“That’s right, baby. Coffee. Now.” His demand is gentle, but still no less a demand.

I blink my eyes quickly. “I’ll go get my coffee.”

“That’s my girl. I’ll be there in a few.”

Moving past him, he lightly smacks my butt. Shaking my head, but smiling ear to ear, my mind processes his words.

Not gross to me, baby. It’s sexy.

He really must love me.

Nineteen

Jonah

Raven left for work a few minutes ago. And with her absence came my crushing reality.

My scalp is numb from fisting my hands in my hair. Sitting at my breakfast bar, I stare mindlessly at the black granite countertop, as I attempt to sort out the jumbled thoughts in my head.

Throwing a fight isn’t as easy as it sounds. I can’t just walk into the octagon and stick my chin out. I have to fight. Just not fight good enough to win.

How the fuck am I supposed to do that?

I’m undefeated because I go ape shit when I get hit. It’s impossible to reason with the primitive part of my brain. That, along with the roar of the crowd and shouts of encouragement from my team, is a violent combination, a winning combination. Fuckin’ hell, if that isn’t the problem.

I’m going to have to be completely retrained. I have one week to figure out how the fuck to lose a fight.

I grab my new cell phone that was delivered and punch in a few numbers.

“Blake, meet me at the training center in ten.”

Ending the call, I head out.

Blake is a red belt jiu-jitsu master. He earned the name Blake “The Snake” at seventeen when he constricted a guy in a cage fight and had him out cold in less than thirty seconds. If he can’t help me, I’m fucked.

I pull up to the UFL training center right behind Blake.

“Hey, man. You ready to figure this shit out?” He heads my way through the lot.

“Yeah. I have a few ideas. Wanted to go over a couple techniques with you. That cool?”

Blake shrugs his shoulders. “Whatever helps. This shit’s fucked. Still can’t believe you’re,” he looks around to make sure we’re alone in the parking lot, “really gonna do this.”

I lean against my truck. “You sure you’re up for this? I don’t want to drag you into my shit. Not gonna lie though, I could use your help.”

He rips his sunglasses from his face and leans in. “Don’t start this shit with me. You fuckin’ know I got your back. I’ll give you that one, but you say that kinda fucked up crap again, I’ll kick your ass myself.”

I suppress a grin. “Then let’s do this.” I give him a chin lift and we walk to the center’s doors.

Once geared up, we