Page 31 of Falling for Her Grumpy Boss

For a second, all I do is stare at him.

That second is enough.

Jeremy’s fist drives straight into my stomach before I can get a word out. Pain detonates through my abdomen so hard it folds me forward despite every instinctive attempt to brace for impact. Air leaves my lungs in a violent rush while gravel shifts beneath my boots as I stagger backward.

“Fuck,” I choke out, dragging in a breath that burns all the way down.

Jeremy advances immediately.

“You promised me.” His voice comes rough and furious now, years of friendship doing absolutely nothing to soften it.

The words drag the memory up immediately. Jeremy’s office after hours. The quiet tension sitting between us while he watched me too carefully and said the one thing I already knew before he opened his mouth.

Don’t make this complicated.

“You looked me in the eye and promised me you wouldn’t touch her.”

Another shove slams into my chest before I fully straighten. My back hits the side of the garage hard enough to rattle the metal siding.

Something hot flashes through me then.

Instinct.

Adrenaline.

Pride.

I shove him back.

Jeremy stumbles half a step before surging forward again, grabbing a fistful of my shirt. The fabric strains sharply across my shoulders as we slam together, boots grinding through gravel while the smell of gasoline, hot metal, and cut grass closes thick around us.

“She works for you, you selfish asshole.”

The words hit almost as hard as the punch.

I grab his forearm and wrench him sideways on reflex, turning hard enough to break his grip. Jeremy swings immediately after, fist clipping hard across my jaw this time. Light flashes briefly across my vision.

“Fuck.”

Pain blooms hot along my cheekbone.

My body reacts before thought catches up. I drive forward and slam him backward into the garage wall. The impact rattles everything hanging inside hard enough that tools clatter loudly somewhere beyond the metal.

Jeremy grunts and drives his shoulder straight into my ribs.

We grapple for position more than anything else, years of old football reflexes and roughhousing kicking in automatically. Nothing clean about it. No controlled punches or practiced technique. Just anger and momentum and too much history packed between us.

“You think this is funny?” Jeremy shoves at my chest hard enough to force me back another step. “You burn through women like cigarettes, Dylan.”

The words land ugly because part of me knows exactly why he believes them.

Jeremy comes at me again, and this time I catch his wrist before the punch lands. Gravel crunches beneath our boots while we strain against each other, both breathing hard now.

“That’s not what this is.”

“Bullshit.”

His free hand slams into my side. Not clean. Not enough to drop me. Enough to hurt.