He gave Elise’s bag a shove, trying to make it fit into the small trunk. It wasn’t working, so he paused, sighed at the stack of suitcases, and turned back to the others. “What do you mean, Mom?”

Justine exchanged a look with Reggie. “I was just asking, darling. We worry about you and how alone you are.”

The look on Grant’s face became shuttered. “I’m fine.”

Yowch. His tone had gone positively arctic. Dane had been right—he sure was touchy about this sort of thing. Elise gave Brenna a quick, apologetic look.

“But darling, you need to get back on the horse. Get out and see new people again. You’re too young to be spending your life a widower. I know it’s hard but you can’t go through life moping.”

Grant glanced over at Brenna as if chagrined that the conversation was taking place in front of her. “Now is not the time, Mother.”

“I’ve invited Bonnie’s daughter to dinner with us, son. I wanted to let you know before we all got to the restaurant.”

Wow, that was bold of the woman. Brenna had to give her props for being on the ball . . . if it wasn’t such a dick move to pull on Grant. He needed time and space, something his mother clearly didn’t understand. Brenna felt oddly protective of Grant in that moment. It was clear that he was still wounded from his wife’s death.

“You invited her to dinner?”

“It’s just a little hello, son. Nothing to get all worked up about,” Reggie interjected, taking his wife’s side. “We both think it’d be good for you.”

“Mother.” Grant’s tone was a warning.

Justine ignored it. “She’s a lovely girl. I think you’ll like her. And she’s a marketing major, so you’ll have so much to talk about. She’s very pretty and career driven and very understanding.” His mother stressed the last word. “She won’t rush you.”

That was really a low blow. Outraged, Brenna pushed forward. This was rude and cruel and thoughtless of them. And if someone was going to be thoughtless and obnoxious to Grant, it was going to be her, damn it. She was never cruel, at least.

“Don’t,” Elise told her in a soft voice as Brenna pushed forward. “They always do this.”

“Not today,” Brenna said cheerfully.

She stepped between Grant and his parents. “You can’t invite this chick to dinner tonight.”

“Brenna,” Grant said, now turning the warning voice on her.

Justine regarded Brenna for a long moment as if sizing her up, and then smiled. “I’m afraid it’s too late, my dear. She’s already been invited to dinner.”

“Then uninvite her,” Brenna retorted. “Having her there is rude.”

Elise covered her mouth, her gaze flicking to Justine.

“Uninviting her is even ruder,” Grant’s mother replied, the smile on her face still. Her voice had gone a little brittle, as if remaining polite were testing her patience.

Now Brenna was getting angry. Grant put a hand on her shoulder, trying to pull her backward and separate her from his parents. Why was he defending them when they were harassing him? An idea struck, and she gave Justine a little smile. “I guess this ruins the surprise, then.”

“Surprise?” Reggie asked.

Brenna turned and put her hands on Grant’s collar, tugging him down and kissing him full on the mouth. She turned back to Justine, Reggie, and Elise. “Grant didn’t want to tell you guys until after dinner. He likes to keep people guessing.”

“He does?” Elise asked, clearly shocked as her gaze flipped between Brenna and Grant and then back to Brenna.

She glanced up at Grant, but he was still standing there, his mouth slightly agape, staring down at her. She leaned up and bit his lower lip, tugging on it in a sensual move of ownership. “So shy. It’s adorable.” She looked over at Justine and smiled again, this time a genuine smile since she now had the upper hand. “That’s why you can’t invite this girl. She’s just going to see me and my boo being affectionate all night.”

And just to make her words have punch, Brenna gave Grant a slap on the ass.

Undressed

by

Jen Frederick

To Jess and DS

Thanks for being such amazing friends and holding my hand this year.

ONE

Noah

"YOU'RE MAKING A BIG MISTAKE." My trainer Paulie Generoli had been repeating this sentence since the moment I walked in the door at five in the morning. It was now seven, and my patience had just about run out.

"I never would've guessed." I rolled my head on my neck and reminded myself that nothing I did ever really satisfied Paulie. It was why we made a good team. He pushed me hard. And I pushed back. I was actually surprised that he kept repeating himself—he had to know by now that I wasn't going to change my mind. "I told you. This is the first Christmas I've been able to spend with Grace. No matter what you say, I'm going."

"Randolph, tell your fucking friend to get his fucking head out of his ass and to stop making decisions with his fucking dick," Paulie roared.

Bo Randolph, my best friend for over a decade and my former Marine battle buddy, looked at me with a comical expression of helplessness. He didn't want to gainsay Paulie because Paulie was always on the verge of kicking Bo out for being too aggressive during sparring matches. Bo held up his hands in a classic gesture of surrender. "I'm Switzerland."

Being neutral wasn't enough for Paulie. "Get out then, you worthless fuckhead."

Paulie’s verbal abuse was pretty much all bark, no bite, but the grin Bo and I exchanged only served to ratchet up Paulie’s temper.

"You think this is funny?" Paulie yelled. His voice was reaching dangerous decibels and his face was redder than the Everlast boxing gloves that were pinned up around Spartan Gym.

"It'll be better for you both if you just give it up, Paulie. You know Noah. He's not going to change his mind." Bo dispatched this last piece of wisdom before gathering his hand wraps and towel and heading for the locker room for one of the cold showers so graciously allowed by Paulie.

Spartan Gym was known for its no-frills workouts and the lack of heated water in the bathroom was just one of the things that Paulie thought made this a real gym as opposed to one where people went to show off.

He was kidding himself, though. There were plenty of show offs in the Spartan Gym, but no one was angling for a date. Instead, inside the painted brick walls there was a constant battle to prove whose dick was biggest.

It was mine, of course.

The winners of this contest were those who could take the most knocks without crying mercy. Bo and I ruled this gym, but I was the king, especially having just come off winning my first professional MMA fight over Thanksgiving. Grace and I hadn't been talking then, and I was damned if I was going to let another holiday go by without spending it together.

I'd endured too many years apart from Grace Sullivan. She'd shown more patience than any other girl in her right mind would've, and I'd almost lost her more than once through my own stupidity. I couldn’t keep taking advantage of her willingness to forgive me. This holiday, I had special plans—and they required us to be physically together.

"You have a goddamn fight on New Year's Eve!" Paulie yelled at me.

"I'm standing right in front of you," I said slowly. His endless screaming was firing up my own anger. "No need to yell."

"I'm fucking yelling because you have no goddamn idea how to fucking prepare for the biggest motherfucking fight of your pathetic fucking life."

I almost punched him then. Stepping in close so that the only thing in Paulie's field of vision was me, I leaned over him, my sweat probably dripping onto his bald head. “I've worked with you for more than seven months now, but if you don't let it go, this New Year's bout will be the last one we fight together."

I didn't wait for a response. I spun on my heel and followed Bo into the locker room.

"You think this is a mistake?" I asked Bo after we’d taken our ice-cold showers. The water temperature kept the showering time to a minimum, which required a carefully coordinated system of getting wet, soaping up, and rinsing off that took, at the most, three minutes. Any longer and my balls would crawl up my leg and try to hide themselves in my body.

Bo gave a shrug and tossed his barely wet towel onto the metal bench. Still dripping with water, Bo began throwing on his clothes. It was just that cold in here. "Can't say. You're dedicated. You know what you want, and I get that it's important for you to see Grace. So if you don't see Grace, your head might be in the wrong place. And that's worse than missing a week of training."

"I'm not missing a week of training," I insisted. This was a sore point for me. Yes, I had a fight on New Year's Eve and yes, I was going to spend three days with Grace over Christmas. But I was going to be working out during that time, and then I'd be back in Paulie's hands the day after Christmas.

"It's three days.” Fisting the towel in my hand, I said, “You know how important it is for me to get this prize money. And the win means sponsors, which means more income from fighting.”

Bo clapped me on the shoulder as he walked toward the locker room door. "Then you're golden. Don't sweat it. I'll go distract Paulie for you."

Alone in the locker room, I slumped on the bench with the towel wrapped around my waist. The cold water was beading up against my skin, but I barely noticed. I knew Grace wouldn't mind if I didn't come home. Hell, her brother was in a bowl game and he wasn’t coming home except for a couple of days before Christmas. In fact, we'd be driving from Las Vegas to Tempe, Arizona early the next morning after the fight so we could make Josh's game.

I knew Grace would tell me that I should do whatever was best for my career, but between finishing classes, fighting, and running my own little business, I didn't have much time for her. Part of me, a big part, wondered how long Grace was going to stick around while her boyfriend's attention was scattered on everything besides her.

I carved out a few hours in each afternoon for her and the nights were all hers, but when I got up at five in the morning to run and train before classes, I was falling asleep before midnight. This was a time for Grace to party and have fun, and I was holding her back.

But if I didn't pursue all these avenues, I'd never have the money to make all the things happen that I wanted to happen. Grace came from money. When I was on leave from one of my last deployments before separating from the Marines, I’d gone to Grace's home. I flew into Chicago and drove the hour up the North Shore in my rented SUV. I was too cheap to spring for an upgrade on my own, but the counter person had given me a freebie when she saw my military ID.

When I arrived at Grace’s address, I couldn't view the house itself because her driveway, which was behind a friggin' gate, was too long for me to see anything but acres of carefully tended grass and trees. The lawn looked like it belonged in front of museum or a hotel. I'd sat in the truck, staring at the house number etched on a brick post at the edge of the drive. It was the same number that had been on all the return address labels of the care packages and letters Grace had sent to me since she was fourteen. And no matter how long I had stared at it, it never changed.

I’d known then and there that Grace and I weren't ever going to be anything more than pen pals. I was some trailer trash from a town in West Texas so tiny it could've fit into the entire lawn of one of these North Shore homes. While there were guys from all backgrounds that were in the Marines with me, including officers who'd graduated from Harvard, of all the fucking places, we were bound together by the same oaths and goals. We shit in the same dirt and ate the same awful MRE out on patrol. We carried the same rucksacks and suffered the same problems. Girls who cheated on you back home, parents who cried every time you skyped them, not having an ounce of privacy.

But Grace and I didn’t have a thing in common—other than we both resorted to talking about the weather when we were uncomfortable—and I sure as shit knew that wasn't something you could base a relationship on.

After sitting outside for what had seemed like an hour but was actually only about twenty minutes, I turned and went straight back to the airport. Once there, I’d paid the change fee to get a flight back to San Diego that same day. During the long wait, I’d penned a letter to Grace where I explained we were two different people from two different backgrounds with different futures. It was the last letter I sent to her, and I never got a reply back. My message had been all too clear.

The last few months of deployment were excruciating. I got two more care packages that Grace must have mailed out before my last letter had reached her. One of them included a picture of her looking so sweet and gorgeous that everything from my teeth to my groin ached. I gave everything in the boxes away but the picture and then tormented myself by reading those last two letters of hers over and over again. The what ifs began to haunt me. I became a restless, surly son of a bitch and no one wanted to be around me. Only Bo had stuck by me because well, hell, I don't even know why. Somewhere in the desert, I figured out that if I could last out four tours of combat, I could do anything—including becoming what Grace needed.