by Cindi Madsen
“I can ask, but I think they’ve got busy schedules, and I was hoping it’d just be you and me.”
“I’ll ask them,” I said, not giving him the out he wanted because I needed a buffer. Every time we tried to have a conversation alone, things went downhill fast. “Just text me when and where.”
“Text? Your desk is ten feet outside my office.”
“If you want to go old-school texting and hold up signs from your doorway, have at it.”
Dad’s shoulders deflated. I could already hear one of Finn’s speeches on second chances and giving things 110 percent in my head—no wonder no one else could do math here. They’d been talking in wrong percentages for too long.
I supposed I’d have to have a solo conversation with Dad that was longer than three minutes eventually. Might as well get it over and done with. “How about we set it up for six o’clock? Where do you want to go?”
“You pick. I have to run an errand around five, but I’ll meet you wherever you want.”
I’d been dreaming of seafood ever since Trey mentioned it. “How about Blue Point Grill?”
He smiled, the lines around his eyes growing more defined as his whole face got in on it, and an ill-advised flicker of hope tried to ignite. “See you there.”
…
I was coming out from the tiny closet that doubled as the laundry room, where I’d done two loads of towels and still had at least two more to go, when I came face-to-face with Shane. Or more like face-to-firm-chest.
He must’ve just come in. I threw out a quick “excuse me” to the well-defined pecs his gray wife-beater could barely contain, and then darted away, rushing toward the safety of my desk.
Hey, if I made things awkward enough, maybe he’d stop talking to me altogether. A pang went through my chest at the thought, and I hated that I’d opened myself up to caring, even the tiniest bit. You don’t even know him. And the little you do know is that he’s an arrogant, unabashed innuendo machine.
I settled in my desk chair, and when Liam walked by, I hollered out to him. “Hey, what’s the deal with the laundry? Before I left, I set up a service to take care of it.” Originally, I’d told Dad we should drop it and make everyone bring their own towels, like most gyms did, but he’d said he didn’t want to be like most gyms, and that he’d always disliked having to haul a towel in the same bag as his smelly gear, leaving it dirty before he used it.
Liam glanced around like I’d revealed state secrets and then leaned in. “It was costing us too much, so Finn and I take turns.”
“You mean you did before I showed up.”
“It’s been a busy week. I have a lot more on my mind than the fucking laundry, but I’ll do the next load if you can’t handle it.”
“Jeez, bite my head off, why don’t you?”
He scowled and then stalked off. When Thor came out, Chelsea and I often joked about the similarities between Liam and Thor. Same build, same dirty-blond hair—although not quite as long—and same one-word, half-grunted answers. But at least they used to be friendlier answers.
Finn stood off to the side, and judging from the whoa look on his face, he’d seen our interaction.
“Dude, you said it was bad, but I’m about to tell him to pull his head out of his ass and call Chelsea, or I’ll do it on his behalf.” I tapped the stack of papers I’d finished sorting against the desk so February’s invoices would fall into place and fit in their folder better. “Has he even talked to her since she moved?”
“You wanna ask him, be my guest, but I suggest body armor and a shield first.”
I placed the folder in the done pile, the first of many to come, hopefully. “He needs an intervention.”
“One where we encourage drugs so he can stop being so damn pissy.”
I laughed, and Liam looked over his shoulder at us. His grouchy expression hardened even more, like he suspected we were talking about…well, exactly what we were talking about.
“We’ve been made,” Finn said, pressing a finger to his ear like he had a com unit. “I repeat, the target knows we’re talking about him and his”—he made air quotes—“‘best friend,’ abort, abort.”
He glanced around before conspiratorially leaning in and whispering, “I’ll meet you at the safe house at 1900 hours.”
“I’ll bring the beer.” I’d probably need it after my inevitably tense dinner with Dad.
“Good thinking.” Finn flashed his big, easy grin. “See how much fun we have working together? Imagine all the fun we could have if it wasn’t only temporary.”
“Careful. I’m about to take you out of play myself.”
“Ooh, a double agent.”
I rolled my eyes and then shoved him toward the other side of the gym. “Go do your jujitsu training, you slacker.”
I kept myself busy with my never-ending stack of paperwork for the next few hours, and it wasn’t until I was packing up my laptop to leave for the day that I remembered the load of towels in the washer.
Ugh, hopefully they’re not already mildew-scented.
They passed the sniff test, so I transferred them to the dryer and set it on the longest it would go, hoping it would be enough. No way was I coming back here to check.
Shane and I met in the hallway for the second time that day. His hair was damp, and judging by the fresh, soapy scent, he’d come from the showers.
I took a giant step back, giving him a wide berth.
He advanced one step, his eyes locked on mine. “You’re avoiding me.”
I backtracked, but I didn’t have anywhere to go. I’d have to pass him to get to either exit. Unless I took my chances in the locker room. Maybe I’d cross my fingers none of the guys were changing and duck through real quick. “It’s just been a busy day.”
He raised a dark eyebrow. “Seriously? This is how you’re going to play it? Dodge and weave with a side of denial, until what? I tire out enough for you to give me the slip?”
I lifted my chin. “Punching is another option. One that’s sounding better by the second.”
He took another large step toward me, the toes of his shoes hitting mine, and his soapy-clean scent enveloped me. “Go for it. Last time you punched me, you ended up writhing underneath me. I’m perfectly fine with a replay.”
My mouth dropped, shock and a pinch too much desire clashing through me. After the two or three seconds it took to unfreeze myself, I shoved his chest and squeezed past him. Then I spun back around, the heated blood in my veins making it hard to simply let it go. “This will probably blow your mind, but I’m not looking for a repeat. I’m in a relationship with a great guy, and—”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “You’ve got a boyfriend. I heard you loud and clear the other night. I already promised I wouldn’t cross that line unless you asked, and while I might have a lot of undesirable traits, I keep my word.” He slipped his thumb in the strap of his duffel bag, and it was ridiculous how it made every stupid freaking muscle in his arm pop out. Even more ridiculous that I had to go and notice. “I’m just letting you know that you don’t have any reason to keep avoiding me. Not to mention, it won’t work. The gym’s not that big. And before you go off on me, like that little crinkle between your eyebrows tells me you’re about to, that’s not a threat. It’s a fact. Surely we can be civil?”
I worked on smoothing out my forehead—damn it, I had been doing some eyebrow crinkling—and crossed my arms. “As long as you keep your hands and lips to yourself.”
He tucked his hands in his pockets, like that would keep me safe, when everything about him screamed NSFW. His height and the muscles upon muscles and his strong jaw and razor-sharp eyes.
Unsettled—that’s how he made me feel, and I wished I could be impassive around him. Fake it till you make it, right? “Okay, then. Good talk. I have dinner plans, so I better get going.”
“I’m on my way out as well. I’ll walk you.”
“There are other people in the gym right now, and I’m pretty sure the sun’s st
ill up. You don’t need to walk me out.”
“I’ll walk you out,” he repeated.
“Fine. Suit yourself.”
He waited for me as I grabbed my purse. I slung it and my laptop bag over my shoulder. “It suddenly strikes me that you’re acting all chivalrous, but I don’t really know you that well. You claim you need to walk me out for my safety, but you could just be a lying psychopath.”
One corner of his mouth turned up. “Only a lying psychopath would jump to that conclusion.”
“Or would they try to turn everything I said back around to further their nefarious mission?”
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know.” He moved to put his hand on my back, and I dodged.
“Hands to yourself, remember?”
He dropped his arm, but the amusement on his features remained. Who cared if he thought I was going overboard? Not me.
Shane quickened his pace to push open the gym door, and after walking me over to my Mustang, he opened the car door for me as well. “Tell your boyfriend I said hi. I assume that’s who you’re meeting for dinner.”
“It’s none of your business, and why would I do that, and just no.” I tossed my bags into the passenger seat and unrolled the driver’s side window to help counteract the stifling temperature of the interior. My A/C took forever and a day to cool down.
“I get it,” he said, and I could somehow sense by his tone that he was staring at my ass. “You wouldn’t be able to mention me without giving away how you feel about me.”
I straightened and gave him a syrupy sweet smile. “Yes, I’m afraid he’d hear the murderous rage behind my words as I explained how irritating you are, and report it to the police. Then when they found your body, I’d be their first suspect, and I need enough time to get to Mexico before that happens.”
His grin spread, because he obviously didn’t understand words.
I rolled my eyes, making it nice and big so he’d be sure to see. “Oscar Wilde once said ‘To love one’s self is the beginning of a lifelong romance.’” I patted his chest. “I hope that you and yourself will be very happy together.”
“Who’s breaking the keeping-their-hands-to-themselves rule now?”
I jerked my hand back. And immediately regretted it, thanks to the smug expression on his face.
He shoved both hands into his pockets and leaned closer. “Have a good night.”
My traitorous heart beat faster. “Highly doubtful, but sure, whatever. You, too.”
“Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?”
Why did I go and open my mouth instead of climbing in my car and driving the hell away from the gym and this frustrating guy? Probably because I didn’t want to go to dinner. I wanted to fast forward the next uncomfortable hour or so and slow it down once I was finally back at Finn’s, tossing back beer. And ice cream—except he only had that low-sugar bullshit ice cream and I was going to need the hard stuff, which meant one more stop.
Shane was watching me way too closely. Looking for chinks in my armor, no doubt, and I had plenty. Particularly when it came to attractive fighters who seemed to know how to make me feel weak and then exploit that.
“I’m not…” I sighed. I’d rather him aim at this chink than take stabs at other ones. “I’m having dinner with my dad. Even though, again, it’s none of your business.”
That made him give me a few extra inches of space. Evidently I should talk about my dad more. If only it were a cheerier subject.
“You say it like a death sentence. I know thousands of people who’d jump at the opportunity to have dinner with Blake Roth.” Shane put up his hands when I frowned at him. “I get it. I remember what you told me on Friday when we were having our little heart-to-heart.” He lowered his voice and the cocky facade faded. “I don’t usually talk to people about all that…stuff. Just so you know.”
The mention of that part of Friday night made my pulse trip over itself. For a few minutes I’d gotten caught up in how easy it was to talk to him. Adrenaline was a hell of a catalyst, but it didn’t completely explain away our sparked connection, the way I wanted it to. “I normally don’t, either.”
The fact that I’d been more open with him about my complicated relationship with my dad than I ever had been with Trey sent guilt flooding in with the rest of the conflicting emotions. It’s just because Shane gets the MMA world and Trey doesn’t. Something I’m glad about 99 percent of the time.
“I’m not telling you what to do, I swear,” Shane said, and apprehension bobbed up to take the lead in my mass of emotions, anger on deck just in case I needed it.
“Seriously with the crinkle.” He reached out and smoothed the spot between my eyebrows, and while I should’ve slapped his hand away, there was something comforting about it, especially given the unexpected tenderness behind the gesture. “Life is short, but it feels a lot longer with regrets weighing you down.”
“And in this situation the regrets would be mine or his?”
“Yes,” he said, the cockiness in his grin back in full force.
I scowled at him, going heavy on the pout. “Don’t give me good advice. You’re supposed to be an impulsive jerk who doesn’t think about anyone but himself.”
He leaned closer, one hand braced on the roof of my car, and I could feel the warmth of his body and the way it made a deceptively safe cocoon. “Don’t worry, bruiser. I’m still that guy. But whenever you’re in a mood, you get all snippy or try to avoid me, and then that affects my mood. So, see, still totally selfish.”
“Diabolical. Maybe even a tad psychotic.”
His grin turned wolfish, and alarms flashed in my head—about how I liked the way his smile brought out that groove in his chin, and how he’d somehow moved closer without my noticing, and how I wasn’t being as strong as I should be with him. He seemed to read my fears and backed off, taking a large step back. “Enjoy your dinner.”
Unfortunately, the first thought that popped into my head at his words was: This appetizer portion was more fun.
Chapter Nine
Shane
It was ridiculous how much relief washed through me when I’d learned Brooklyn wasn’t having dinner with her boyfriend. I wanted to track down Finn or Liam and find out who the guy was and how long she’d been dating him—a sure sign I’d lost it. Not to mention it’d also be a dead giveaway that I was thinking things about their sister that I shouldn’t. That I couldn’t stop, regardless of doing all I could to repress the memories this past weekend. I’d done so well.
Until I bumped into her in the hallway and everything came rushing back at once. The extra workout with her at the gym, just the two of us. How easy she was to talk to, and how even after I’d spilled too much, she didn’t respond with pity, but with a confession of her own. Then there was her adorable trash talk as we sparred and the way she’d surprised me with that leg sweep. Having her pinned underneath me.
All my instincts told me to shut it down and leave her alone. If the Roths found out I’d even thought about pursuing her, they’d change their minds about me. I’d asked them to take a gamble on my career, and I didn’t want them to think I was ungrateful.
I should’ve let her keep on avoiding me.
Easier said than done, since I couldn’t avoid her. Or thinking about her, apparently.
Probably because I’d neglected my personal life for so long. After my world began crumbling around me, I was too overwhelmed. Then I had to sort through the wreckage and see what was left—who was left. The past month I’d neglected most everything in favor of fitting in more training, first to land a spot with Team Domination and then proving myself so I could keep it.
I suppose I should at least set aside a day or two to have some carefree fun before I land a fight and that completely consumes my life. Brooklyn wasn’t an option for carefree fun—there were too many ways it could get complicated and messy, and I didn’t have time for messy. I’d had enough of that in my life.
Besides, she had a boyfriend. That fact gn
awed at me more than I’d like, which just proved how much I needed some R and R with people who got me and understood my hectic lifestyle. This weekend I’d have to take my boys up on one of the parties they were always inviting me to. Since that left me five days to keep my mind busy in other ways, I should find a way to fill the time.
I pulled my bike up in front of the steadiest home I’d ever known, a gray rancher with a dirt yard that held one lone palm tree. Next spring we’d have to plant new flowers. This past year had been too crazy to worry about things like landscaping.
I tucked my helmet under my arm and strode up the driveway. My pep talk to Brooklyn reminded me of how short life could truly be, and how you never knew how long you had with someone, so I decided to practice what I’d preached.
Within ten minutes of stepping inside, I was seated at the small dining room table, a steaming plate of food in front of me, heavy on the protein and vegetables. Smelled delicious, too.
“You don’t have to fuss over me, Mom.” It’d taken me a solid year of living under this very roof to switch over from calling her Tammy. I’d assumed she’d be as uninterested and temporary as the rest of the foster parents I’d had. Boy did she prove me wrong. “The reason I came over was to check on you.”
“What, you can’t see how I am while you have dinner? Does eating suddenly require the use of your eyeballs?”
“I’m not against trying it,” I joked, and she smiled. She was still too skinny, but the hollows of her cheeks had filled out, and the hair on her formerly shaved head was now styled in a short pixie cut that I’d reassured her a dozen times looked good on her. “Where’s Bill?”
“On a run. Last time he checked in, he’d crossed into Wyoming.”
His job as a truck driver meant he was often on the road, but over this past hellish year when Mom needed him most, he’d jumped at every opportunity to be as far away from home as possible. “I thought he was off this week.”