Remington shook her head. “It’s made from an antique teaspoon, one of my great grandmother’s.”
“It’s really cool,” Wynter said touching the delicate design on the wide silver ring.
“Thank you,” Remington said quietly.
“So back to this music thing,” Wynter said, grinning. “What do you think of the song we’re working on?”
Remington looked hesitant, then shook her head. “I’m no judge of music.”
“Why not? You listen to music, I’ve heard it in the truck all the time.”
Remington looked considering for a long moment, then shrugged. “I am no judge when at times I prefer the purr of an engine to music.”
Wynter canted her head at Remington’s statement. “That gives me an idea…” she said, and she pulled out her phone, clenching her cigarette between her teeth. “Okay… tell me… do you like this sound…” she said, playing a sound file on her phone. “Or this one?” she said, playing another sound. Both sounds were engine sounds, but very different from each other.
Remington nodded. “The second one,” she said with certainty.
Wynter nodded excitedly. “Okay, okay, now… what about this one?”
Remington blinked a couple of times as her eyes narrowed in thought. “Can you play that one again?”
Wynter nodded, hitting play again on her phone.
“That one,” Remington said.
Wynter smiled brightly. “Look at that, you just helped make some music,” she said with a wink.
Remington pressed her lips together, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly.
“Careful, that was almost a smile,” Wynter told her.
Remington blew her breath out through her nose. “I do smile.”
“Really? When?” Wynter asked playfully. “Do you smile for the women you date?”
Remington gave her a slightly chiding look, but didn’t respond to her.
“Oh, right,” Wynter said, nodding, “you wouldn’t dare talk about that would you? A gentleman never kisses and tells, right?”
Remington’s look flickered, but she inclined her head in affirmation.
“So, who taught you these manners? Your mom or your dad?” Wynter asked.
“My father for the most part,” Remington said. “My mother certainly had a hand in it, but my father was a bigger influence.”
Wynter nodded. “Well, you can tell them for me that they did an excellent job.”
Remington smiled slightly, lowering her eyes.
“You won’t do that either, will you?” Wynter asked. “Because that would be bragging and you don’t do that.”
Remington didn’t answer, she just looked back at Wynter.
“So, did you have brothers and sisters growing up?” Wynter asked.
“Two sisters,” Remington replied.
“Older or younger? Or one of each?”
“Both younger,” Remington replied.
“So you’re the oldest… Hmm…” Wynter said, grinning.
Remington didn’t respond, she merely nodded.
“Oh my fucking God, Remi, you are going to have to loosen up if we’re going to become friends!” Wynter told her.
She caught the flicker in Remington’s eyes when she said ‘fucking’ and canted her head.
“You don’t like women to cuss do you?” she asked then.
Remington didn’t answer. She just looked down at her lighter, her lips pursing and then flattening, and then going back to normal.
“Women shouldn’t cuss, right?” Wynter asked. “Is that how you were raised?”
“Ladies shouldn’t cuss,” Remington said simply.
“Right so no woman should cuss,” Wynter said.
“I said ladies,” Remington stated gently.
“What’s the difference?” Wynter asked.
Once again, Remington didn’t answer, keeping her eyes on her lighter.
“You can’t answer?” Wynter asked, narrowing her eyes. “Wait… you can’t be insulting either, can you? To a lady?”
“Correct,” Remington said.
“So you can’t tell me that you don’t like it when I cuss, because that would be insulting, but you can tell me that ladies shouldn’t cuss,” Wynter said.
“Correct,” Remington said again.
“So what’s the difference between a woman and a lady?” Wynter asked again.
Remington drew in a deep breath, then looked up at Wynter. “A lady is a station; a woman is a gender.”
Wynter narrowed her eyes, a grin playing at her lips. “So you mean like a good old-fashioned lady?”
“I don’t believe it to be old-fashioned to behave like a lady.”
“You don’t huh?” Wynter asked her look narrowed. “Should we all stay in the kitchen barefoot and pregnant too?” she asked snidely.
Remington looked back at her for a long moment, her chin raised slightly. It was obvious to Wynter that she’d just insulted her.
“Remi, I’m sorry,” Wynter said, reaching out to touch Remington’s hand. “I shouldn’t have said that, I just… I’m sorry,” she said again, shaking her head.
“I believe there’s a vast difference between having respect for oneself and being a slave to a man,” Remington said, her tone reflecting the tension in her face. “I would never suggest that a woman be beholden to a man, any man, ever.”
“I know, I’m sorry, Remi, I really am…” Wynter said, her blue eyes begging Remington to forgive her.
Remington inclined her head but the tension was still palpable.
Wynter knew that any progress she’d just made with Remington had just been lost. She blew her breath out and stood up, and Remington did the same. As she looked up at the woman who was a full five inches taller than her, Wynter wondered if she’d ever stop making an ass out of herself in front of her. She walked back into the studio and Remington followed her as usual.
A week later, Wynter really got to see a different side of Remington. It was a Friday night and Remington had taken the night off. She was going to The Club to meet up with the rest of the group. Wynter was doing the same, dragging John Machiavelli along with her.
Remington looked especially good in black jeans, black leather boots with buckles and zippers as accents. She wore a white denim button up vest with a black tweed and leather sleeved jacket with a leather hood on it. Around her neck, she wore a gunmetal cable chain with a Hollywood Tribal pendent from the MMA collection called the Phoenix that represented the “indestructible spirit.” She also wore a watch that looked extremely expensive, so much so that Wynter had had to ask her about it and take a closer look.
“I got it from a promoter of one of my fights,” Remington said offhandedly.
“Remi, this is a Patek Philippe…” Wynter said, looking at the intricately carved rectangular face and sides of the watch. “A very expensive looking Patek Philippe… I think this is incredibly rare, Remi.”
“I like it,” Remington said simply.
“Uh-huh,” Wynter said, shaking her head.
She was looking on her phone. “Remi, you can’t even get this anymore and it’s worth like at least a half a million, if not more…” Her voice trailed off as she looked up at Remington, shaking her head again as she saw Remington’s unimpressed look. “I know, I know, you like it,” she said with a grin.
Remington left a few minutes later. Wynter watched as she drove away, still impressed by the 1967 black Pontiac GTO with a supercharged hood scoop and side exhaust. It was one of the most incredible cars she’d seen. Even when she herself drove a sapphire-blue 1967 Shelby Cobra.
Remington sat outside on the patio at The Club. She was smoking and drinking a beer, sitting in a back corner. Many women looked in her direction, though none of them approached her. She was an imposing sight to most. One woman who didn’t have a problem approaching the former MMA fighter was Quinn Kavanaugh. Quinn walked out onto the patio looking left and right to locate Remington. She nodded when she sa
w her and walked over to where she sat. Remington held up her hand to Quinn who clasped her hand companionably as she moved to sit down next.
“How’s it goin’?” Quinn asked.
Remington nodded. “Alright, you?”
“Good, good,” Quinn said, nodding. “Xandy just got word about the tour BJ is putting together with your girl, mine, Jordan Tate, and Billy and the Kid.”
Remington looked surprised. “Haven’t heard anything like that.”
“Maybe he hasn’t approached Wynter yet,” Quinn said, shrugging.
“Billy Montague?” Remington queried.
You didn’t have to be around the music industry long to have heard about Billy Montague; the woman was legendary for her tantrums and hissy fits. She was a bodyguard’s nightmare and, no one knew how her husband, Skyler, put up with her. Most had him pegged for a saint. It didn’t bode well that Billy would be on the tour.
As Quinn and Remington talked, a woman ventured toward the two bodyguards. She was small, standing only about five four, with long golden-brown hair and green eyes. She wore a black dress that stopped high on her thighs, with colorful embroidery at the neck, and a lace up V-neck, with knee-high caramel suede boots. Standing with her hands clasped together uncertainly, she glanced repeatedly at the two women sitting in the corner.
Remington’s eyes connected with the other woman’s and she grinned, her eyes softening as she did. It seemed to be the encouragement the girl needed, and she walked toward them then. As she approached, Remington stood up, so Quinn did as well.
“Got me doin’ it now, damnit!” Quinn muttered.
“Hi,” the young woman said, looking directly at Remington as she did.
“Hello,” Remington said, inclining her head respectfully.
“I’m Katrina,” the young woman said with a soft smile.
“Nice to meet you, Katrina. I’m Remington, this is Quinn,” she said, gesturing to the Irishwoman at her side.
“Hi,” Katrina said to Quinn, then her eyes went back to Remington.
“I’m gonna go work on calming Xan down,” Quinn said, winking at Remington. “I’ll be back.” She smiled at Katrina again. “Good to meet you,” she told the girl as she touched her arm and walked back toward the patio door.
The girl glanced over her shoulder as Quinn went back inside, then looked back at Remington.
“I hope I didn’t interrupt,” she said, her look concerned.
“Not at all,” Remington said. “Please…” she said gesturing to the chair Quinn had just vacated. She remained standing until Katrina had taken a seat.
“That’s very gallant of you,” Katrina said smiling.
“What is?” Remington asked.
“Standing until I sat down,” Katrina said. “Where are you from?”
“Lexington, Kentucky,” Remington said, smiling at the girl.
“So sort of the south…” Katrina said.
Remington smiled, inclining her head. “Yes, it’s a much-contended location when it comes to the war of north and south.”
“I guess you’ve heard all of that, huh?” Katrina said.
“For many years,” Remington said, smiling, glancing up as the patio door opened again. Wynter stepped outside with John Machiavelli not far behind.
“Is that Wynter Kincade?” Katrina asked, sounding surprised.
“Yes,” Remington said, her lips twitching as Wynter looked in her direction, her eyes widening noticeably.
Remington looked back at Katrina then. “Can I get you a drink?” she asked, as she held up her empty bottle.
“Sure,” Katrina said, “white wine, please?”
“I’ll be back shortly,” she said, moving to stand and walking toward the outside bar.
She stopped to shake John’s hand. “Sorry about this,” she told him, glancing at Wynter, who grinned unrepentantly.
“Yeah, you owe me,” John told her, clapping her on the shoulder. “Cassie assures me that hanging around lesbians doesn’t make me one though,” he said with a wink.
Remington laughed out loud. “She’s right about that,” she assured him.
She looked over at Wynter then, pointing at her. “You behave.”
“Or what?” Wynter said, batting her ice blue eyes.
Remington narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips but didn’t answer. Wynter only smiled widely at her. Remington shook her head and looked at John again.
“I apologize in advance for any trouble she causes you. I’ll be here to back you up if she gets out of hand,” she said, giving Wynter another narrowed look.
Then she headed for the bar and ordered another beer, a shot of bourbon, and a glass of white wine. As she walked back, she heard Wynter whistle lowly. She simply shook her head and kept walking. As she got back to where Katrina sat, she handed the girl the glass of wine and sat down.
“Thank you,” Katrina said, smiling up at Remington. “Okay, what is that a shot of?”
“Bourbon,” Remington told her. “It’s actually from my hometown; it’s called Town Branch.”
“I see,” Katrina said, smiling and nodding. “I’ve never had bourbon.”
“I can get you one, if you’d like to try it,” Remington said, smiling.
Katrina pressed her lips together pensively, looking like she wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure she should.
“Did you want to taste it?” Remington asked, holding out the shot.
Katrina bit her lip, taking the shot glass. She took a sip and made a face.
Remington laughed softly. “It’s not for everyone,” she said as she took the shot back and drank it.
“I think I’ll stick to my wimpy wine,” Katrina said.
“Not a thing wrong with wine,” Remington told her.
“So do you know Wynter Kincade?” Katrina asked then.
Remington considered her answer then nodded.
“And that man with her?” Katrina said.
“He’s my boss,” Remington said.
“Oh!” Katrina said, looking surprised. “Is this awkward?” She gestured to the bar in general.
“Not at all, he knows I’m gay, it’s not a problem,” Remington said.
“Okay, good,” Katrina said. “Did I hear right that you’re a famous fighter?”
“I don’t know about famous, but the fighter part is accurate,” Remington said modestly.
“I heard someone say you’re like a batman weight champion?” Katrina said, stumbling over the last three terms.
Remington chuckled. “Bantamweight,” she corrected gently. “It’s the weight class I fought in.”
“Oh,” Katrina said, grimacing, “sorry.”
“It’s alright, it isn’t exactly a normal term,” Remington said amicably.
“Were you a champion though?” Katrina asked.
Remington hesitated then inclined her head. “Yes,” she answered simply.
Katrina gave her a measured look. “Most women here would have been announcing that on the way into the bar, but I had to pry it out of you.”
Remington didn’t know what to say to that.
“If I Googled you right now, what would I see?” Katrina asked.
“I have no idea,” Remington answered.
“Will you tell me your last name?” Katrina asked.
Remington gave her a closed mouth smile, looking a bit abashed. “LaRoché,” she said.
Katrina nodded, picking up her phone and tapping out Remington’s name. Her eyes widened at the results.
“ Five-time bantamweight champion, not just a fighter, but an MMA fighter… overall the highest paid fighter of her time… You met the president?” Katrina asked, looking awed.
Remington smiled, nodding her head.
“Are these pictures… accurate?” Katrina asked, her eyes widening as she looked up at Remington.
“Which?” Remington asked.
Katrina turned her phone around showing Remington a picture of her from before her last fight. She wore
a red and black sports bra, and black shorts.
“That was before my last fight,” Remington said, nodding.
“Which was how long ago?” Katrina asked, her look pointed.
“About eight months ago,” Remington said.
“So fairly accurate pictures,” Katrina said, smiling as she bit her lip.
Remington looked quizzically back at Katrina.
Katrina laughed softly at Remington’s look. “I’m just saying that you’re hiding a fairly spectacular physique over there.”
“Oh,” Remington said, pressing her lips together, her eyes sparkling in embarrassment.
“That embarrasses you?” Katrina asked.
Remington shrugged. “It was my job to be in shape,” she said simply.
“And what a shape it is…” Katrina murmured, her smile bemused. She looked at Remington. “Do you dance?”
“I…” Remington stammered, “not usually, no.”
“Not even a slow song?” Katrina asked.
Remington looked back at Katrina, drawing a breath and blowing out slowly. “A lady asks you to dance, you dance…” she said, smiling at Katrina.
Fortunately for Remington, the song that came on was a slow one and she rose and took Katrina’s hand to lead her to the dance floor. The song “Send My Love (To Your New Lover)” by Adele played. Remington took Katrina in her arms, putting one hand at her waist, and taking one of Katrina’s hands into hers. Katrina put her other hand up on Remington’s shoulder, smiling shyly up at her. Remington lowered her head, putting her cheek against Katrina’s head. Katrina closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of this extremely strong woman holding her so gently.
Wynter watched from where she sat. She’d been watching Remington the entire time, always curious about the ever-silent bodyguard . She’d been shocked when she’d seen Remington smile a number of times, even laughing a rich sound. Now, watching her dancing with the brunette, she felt a tug of jealousy. She knew it was stupid, but she felt like Remington never opened up to her the way she seemed to have with who Wynter assumed was a complete stranger. Knowing she was being completely ridiculous didn’t make the feelings go away. Wynter ordered a double shot, drank it and then ordered another.
Lightning Strykes Page 2