Love on the Mat (Powerhouse M.A.) Read online

  Copyright © 2017 Winter Travers

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduction, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) utilization of this work without written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  For questions or comments about this book, please contact the author at [email protected]

  Model: Mike Welch

  Photographer: David Gaustad

  Cover Designer: MG Bookcovers

  Table of Contents

  Also By

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Coming Soon

  About the Author

  1st Chapter Loving Lo

  1st Chapter DownShift

  Also by Winter Travers

  Devil’s Knights Series:

  Loving Lo

  Finding Cyn

  Gravel’s Road

  Battling Troy

  Gambler’s Longshot

  Keeping Meg

  Fighting Demon

  Unraveling Fayth

  Skid Row Kings Series:

  DownShift

  PowerShift

  BangShift

  Powerhouse M.A. Series

  Dropkick My Heart

  Love on the Mat

  Quick, Hot Read

  Wanting More

  Dedication

  For my boys.

  Fall in love with someone that doesn’t make you think love is hard.

  Hadley

  I hated mornings.

  Nothing good ever happened before noon. At least not to me.

  In the past six months since my nephew moved in, mornings had become something that I couldn’t avoid. Getting a sixteen-year-old out the door for school was no joke; especially when the sixteen-year-old hated mornings more than I did.

  I yanked back the comforter he had pulled over his head and tossed it on the floor. “Ry, get your butt up. You’re going to be late for school, and I don’t feel like explaining to Principal Pey why we aren’t morning people. He doesn’t care.” When I went on a tangent about how mornings should be outlawed and the official work day shouldn’t start until noon, I think I lost what little credibility I had.

  Ryker mumbled from under the sheet and slightly stirred. I should have pulled off all of his covers.

  “Move it, Ry. We need to be out the door in five minutes. I’ll rustle up a Pop Tart and meet you out in the car.”

  Ryker slapped his hands on the mattress and glared at me. Whenever he looked at me like that, I saw Jeri staring back at me, and my heart clenched at the fact that I would never see her again. “It’s Friday.”

  I rolled my eyes and headed for the door, “And your point is, Ry?”

  “You shouldn’t have to work or go to school on Fridays,” he grumbled.

  I couldn’t help but agree with him. “You now have four minutes.” I shuffled down the hallway into the kitchen and grabbed my cup from under the coffeemaker.

  Keurig. God’s gift to every person who hated mornings, but was forced to wake up. If I had to take the time to brew a full pot of coffee, I would more than likely kill someone in the time it would take for my cup to fill.

  I snapped the lid onto the travel mug and hollered one last time for Ryker. The cold, brisk morning air hit me, just another thing I hated about mornings. By the time noon rolled around, things warmed up to closer to sixty instead of the forty degrees making me shiver in my black yoga pants and mismatched flip flops. My school drop-off attire was another thing that smashed my credibility to hell.

  My eyes fell on my car, the crowning, shining turd in my life that made me cringe every time I pulled up to the high school. Sixteen and seventeen-year-olds had nicer cars than my nineteen eighty-one convertible Lebaron. That’s right folks, she was a classic piece of crap, but she managed to get me from point A to point B.

  The door slammed shut behind me, and Ryker slogged past me. “Can I drive today?”

  I cringed and tried not to look terrified just at the thought of Ryker driving. “Uh, how about on the way home?”

  “I have to be at Powerhouse right after school. I told Master Yeck that I would help wash the mats.”

  “You have your key to get in, right?”

  Ryker scoffed and stood next to the driver’s door. “Yes, and you completely avoided answering me.”

  I rubbed my stomach and cringed. “I think I’ll drive today. My stomach is feeling a bit queasy right now.”

  He shook his head and trudged over to the passenger door. “You do know one day you are going to have to let me drive, right? Someone has to drive you around when you’re old and gray and don’t know the difference between east and west.”

  If the qualification for driving a car was knowing the difference between left and right, I was fucked. I needed to know landmarks like the huge cow statue on the left and then turn right past the greenhouse. North, south, east, and west were Greek to me. “This weekend, before work. I promise, we’ll find an empty parking lot where you can drive around.”

  Ryker scoffed and ducked into the car.

  I took a sip of my coffee and shook my head. There were days I didn’t know if I was cut out to be someone’s guardian. Especially when I wanted to smack Ryker upside the head every time he rolled his eyes at me. I had been thrown right into the angsty teenage years with no warning and just a good luck from my sister before she died. I had four weeks to accept the fact that I was going to be responsible for someone else before he became my responsibility. Cancer sucked big hairy balls.

  I slid into the car and stuck the key into the ignition. “Remember what I said about rolling your eyes, Ry?”

  He tossed his book bag on the floor and buckled his seatbelt. “They are not going to get stuck that way. That only works on ten-year-olds.”

  I went through the process of starting my shiny turd of a car which included trying to turn it over three times, waiting ten seconds, and then throwing up a Hail Mary as I tried the fourth time. “Yesss,” I purred when she roared to life.

  “When are you going to trade this in and get a car that starts on the first try?”

  I backed onto the street and headed in the direction of the school. A peek at the clock told me Ry was going to be damn close to being late. Again. “Shit muf
fins.”

  “You do know that adding a bakery item to the end of your cussing doesn’t make it less of a cuss word, right?”

  I glanced over at Ry. “And do you know I don’t care?”

  Ryker growled, but made the wise choice of not saying anything else.

  “Pye Face is going to have a shit fit if you’re late again,” I mumbled as I turned into the school parking lot.

  Ryker chuckled and put his hand on the door handle as I pulled up to the front doors. Ryker had mastered the roll and jump in the six months he had been living with me. “You know one day you’re going to end up calling him that to his face, right?”

  And if that wasn’t the damn truth. Every time I got a phone call from the man, I had to hold my tongue and think twice before saying his name. I slammed on the brakes and rolled down my window. “Hi, Mr. Pye!” The old goat was sitting on one of the benches by the front door looking like someone had just shit in his chocolate milk.

  “Good job, Haddie. You got his name right.” Ryker gave me a quick smile and jumped out of the car. I hated when he called me that. I hated it even more when he called me Aunt Haddie. It made me sound like a ninety-year-old woman instead of thirty-six with a rockin’ body. Okay, maybe not a rockin’ body, more like thirty-six with a body.

  “I work until two. I’ll be home right after,” I called. “I love you!”

  Ryker waved over his shoulder to me and disappeared into the school.

  Mr. Pye unfolded his legs and strode over to my car. Son of a bitch. I had been hoping to avoid a lecture from Pye Face today. “Is it really wise to leave an impressionable teenager alone at all hours of the night?”

  I smiled sweetly at him and leaned out my window. “Until I find a job that pays as well as the one I have, then yes, it is wise.”

  Pye frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Being a stripper is not something to be proud of, Ms. James.”

  I rolled my eyes and sighed. No matter how many times I told ol’ Pye Face that I wasn’t a stripper, he didn’t listen. “If I were a stripper, Mr. Pye, I would be rolling up to school in a Benz, and Ryker would be wearing Nike from head to toe. I’m a waitress. Granted, I’m a waitress at a strip club, but that doesn’t make me a stripper.”

  “There's hardly a difference,” he mumbled under his breath.

  I couldn’t roll my eyes hard enough at that. The difference was I kept my clothes on. A huge difference in my book. “Is that all you had to tell me, Mr. Pye?” I asked sweetly. “I’m glad you are so concerned about Ryker’s safety while I’m at work.”

  He stepped back from my car. “Try to get him here on time, Ms. James. I doubt his mother would be happy with the way you’re raising him.” He turned on his heel and marched back into the school.

  My blood boiled, and it took all my willpower not to yank the wheel to the right and run the bastard over. He hadn’t even known Jeri, but he thought he knew I was a shit aunt.

  I pulled out of the parking lot and slammed my hand on the steering wheel.

  And this was why I hated the bastard so much. He spoke of my biggest fear and knew I was a fraud.

  I was a shit aunt, and I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing with Ryker.

  Fucking cockwaffles.

  **********

  Tate

  “I don’t know how the hell you stay in shape with a cookie in your mouth all the fucking time.”

  Dante flipped me off and shoved the rest of the cookie in his mouth. “Fukmof.”

  I shook my head and fell into the chair behind the front desk. “Molly should let you buy interest in Java Spot.”

  He swallowed hard and grabbed his water bottle off the desk. “I asked. She said no. Kellan also said he was the only one who was allowed to take interest in Molly’s cookies.”

  “You’re an ass for even asking,” I chuckled.

  Dante shrugged. “A man will do crazy things for a good cookie.”

  I dropped my chin to my chest. This motherfucker was crazy. “You think you can concentrate long enough to make it through class tonight?”

  He pushed off the desk and bounced on the balls of his feet. “I’m good, bro. Pumped for sparring tonight. I love watching these kids go a round with each other.”

  “You do know we’re supposed to be teaching them and not just watching them beat the hell out of each other, right?”

  Dante waved his hand at me, then put his hands up protecting his face as he continued to bounce around. “I teach. Hell, these kids are being taught by one of the greatest sparrers in the past twenty years, and they don’t even know it.”

  “Good to see those few titles you picked up haven’t gone to your head.”

  He ducked to the left, and then to the right, then jabbed with his left arm. “Eight, asshole. It was eight titles, and I earned every fucking one of them.”

  He sure did. Dante was one guy I would never want to meet in a dark alley. The fucker would fuck me up and not even break a sweat doing it.

  I grabbed my bag from under the desk, slung it over my shoulder, and stood. “What are your thoughts on Ryker?”

  He dropped his arms to his sides and stood straight. “He seems all right. He’s got a mean right hook, although he’s a badass with those kamas.”

  “We ever decide what we’re doing with him? I know Kellan mentioned the kid couldn’t afford classes.”

  Dante strode to the mat, bowed, and headed to one of the standing punching bags. “I think we’re helping the kid out. He helps wrangle the kids; we give him a school to hang his black belt on. You know it ain’t cheap going to the tournaments, so I think we’re gonna help him get in there too.”

  I nodded. It sounded like a good plan. It would be nice to have an extra pair of hands around, and we could all take him under our wing, to hopefully craft the next superstar on the circuit. “He’s helping out tonight, right?”

  Dante jabbed the bag and nodded. “Yeah. He should be here around three-thirty to give the mats a quick scrub down, and then I figure he’ll help with classes.”

  “Good.” I ducked into the bathroom and turned the water on in the shower. Last night was rough. By the time I finally fell asleep, it was well past four. I slept all day and barely made it to the studio before class.

  Sleep had been evading me lately, and it was driving me insane. I was running out of things to do and I always ended up lying in bed watching late night porn and infomercials until I passed out. You wouldn’t believe the seventies porn they play late night. Back then was a very hairy and strange time.

  “Hurry the hell up!” Dante hollered through the door. “Roman and Kellan just pulled up.”

  I quickly stripped off my clothes and hopped in the shower. Thank god we decided to put one in when we renovated the studio. Although, at the time, we did it so we wouldn’t have to leave the studio reeking after a hard workout, not for my lazy ass to use when I slept all day.

  Dante was still beating the hell out of the punching bag when I stepped out of the bathroom with wet hair, and Roman and Kellan were sitting on the mats stretching.

  “You look like hell.”

  I flipped off Roman and dumped my bag behind the desk. “Hello to you too, asshole.” I bowed into the mat and collapsed by Kellan.

  “Ryker should be here soon. I was going to have him give the mats a quick wipe, but I think it can wait until next weekend.” Kellan leaned back on his arms.

  I surveyed the mats and spread my legs out. “They’re good. Compared to some school’s mats out there, I’m pretty sure we could eat off ours.” I slowly bent forward, my arms reaching for my left foot.

  The small bell above the door dinged, and I turned to watch Ryker scurry in and head straight for the bathroom. “Hi, Master Wright, Holten, Craig, and Yeck,” he called.

  A chorus of ‘hi’ and ‘sup’ sounded, and the door shut behind Ryker.

  I laid back and put my arm over my eyes. “So, what are you going to have him do?”

  “He can fuck ar
ound until class starts. The kids are going to start rolling in anytime,” Kellan replied.

  I sighed. I didn’t have the energy to deal with twenty rambunctious five and six-year-olds.

  I heard the bathroom door swing open and peeked out from under my arm to watch Ryker bow onto the mat. The kid reminded me of myself and the guys when we were his age. We were eager to be doing anything that had to do with karate and had begged to help run classes.

  “Did you want me to wipe down the mats, Master Wright?”

  Kellan stood up and shook his head. “Nah, not today. I think maybe next weekend we’ll work on them. You can just practice until class starts.”

  Ryker glanced around, uncertainty in his eyes.

  Kellan clapped him on the shoulder and took pity on him. “Why don’t you run through your bo staff routine, and Roman can give you some pointers.”

  Roman slid to the side of the mat and leaned against the half wall. I rolled to the side a few times to give Ryker room.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, his eyes roaming around.

  Kellan nodded and glided over to the half cylinder full of student bos. “This used to be my old one. You can use it today. Make sure you bring your bo every day. You never know what we’re going to be doing.” Kellan tossed it to Ryker, and he caught it mid-air.

  “Holy hell,” he whispered. He twirled it around, fluidly rolling it behind his back, then transferring it up, and rolling it around his neck. The kid had talent.

  “This shit look familiar to you at all?” Kellan asked as he sat down next to Roman.

  “Yeah, it was me eleven years ago,” Roman remarked.

  Ryker tossed the bo around, weaving it behind his back and through his legs, getting used to the weight and length. He twirled and moved the bo so fast that it sounded like a propeller on a helicopter.

  He snatched the bo out of the air, widened his stance, and bowed his head. He took a deep breath and bounced on the balls of his feet.

  For one second, he was still, and then he exploded, the bo constantly moving, his yells deep and loud. He zoned out everything and gave it all he had.