Grudge Match

by Jessica Gadziala

  "Have you been here a lot?" she asked, cradling her wine which she had yet to take a sip of after ordering the Italy Platter which was a small portion of chicken parm, alfredo noodles, lasagne, and ravioli because It all looks too good just to try one thing. I swear to Christ, I had to hold off from ordering the whole damn menu for her to sample. And that shit was completely insane. For a normal man, let alone me.

  "Not often. I usually eat at home." I was leaving out the fact that 'home' to me was a residence penthouse suite at the only upscale hotel in town and that the food was room service since I didn't cook.

  "Me too," she agreed, finally bringing the wine up to her lips for a sip. And I swear, she made a little appreciative, barely-audible moan sound that shot right to my dick.

  Great.

  I took a deep breath, feeling shitty about being so distant when she clearly started to feel antsy, shifting in her seat uncomfortably, likely wondering what the hell possessed her to agree to go out to dinner with me, something I was wondering myself.

  "Do you miss Vermont?" I asked, figuring it was a way to keep her talking with very little input from me until the food came and made conversation a little less necessary.

  An hour later, I dropped cash into the leather book, and moved to stand, ready to put this behind us.

  Mainly because, when she started talking about snow and skiing and goddamn apple cider donuts, and all her other Vermont shit she missed, she had become animated, sweet, charming, a little self-deprecating at times when she knew she was being a bit over-the-top with her nostalgia.

  And I had enjoyed every last second of that.

  So the sooner I could get her in the car, at her door, and out of my life, the better.

  Let her go back to her type of normal. Let her be a little safer with a deadbolt, but still unaware of the evil there was lurking everywhere. Because if she had anything to do with me, all she would see would be the bad. The criminals. The people who operated just under the normal person's nose. It would shatter her worldview.

  She didn't need that.

  I wouldn't do that to her.

  So, as I led her down the hall to her apartment, I knew it was over.

  "Again, Ross," she said after turning to unlock her door, but not opening it, "thank you so much for today. You helped turn a crummy day around. I really appreciate that."

  "You have nothing to--"

  I trailed off because, oddly, her delicate little hand slapped down into my chest. "Stop doing that, would you?" she asked, shaking her head at me.

  I couldn't say what it was that did it.

  Her hand on me.

  Her eyes that seemed to take in something in mine and respond, heating slightly.

  Or just the whole day culminating into a surge of need that I couldn't - and didn't especially want - to fight.

  My gaze drifted to her hand, then slowly back up to her eyes, even more heavy-lidded than a second before.

  My hand rose, thumb gently stroking over her bruised chin, tilting her head up just slightly before I lowered my lips down to hers.

  SIX

  Adalind

  One moment, I was sure he was just completely and utterly put-off by me thanks to my endless blabbering about Vermont, the decor of Famiglia, the quality of the food over dinner.

  The next, his eyes were looking down at me in a way that made my belly flutter and, well, somewhere else flutter as well.

  For a second, I was sure it was simply my under-sexed imagination. He was the most gorgeous man I had ever seen. He was confident, seemingly worldly, successful, and sexy as all get-out. My brain - and libido - had been on overdrive since the second I saw him again.

  But then the next thing I knew, his thumb was caressing my chin so gently that it was barely a touch at all; his eyes were molten; then his lips were on mine.

  Just like the man, there was nothing soft, nothing hesitant, or tentative about his kiss. His lips claimed mine. Demanded their response.

  As if I was capable of not giving one to begin with.

  The second of contact nearly made my legs give out.

  Whether that was from it being so long, the head injury, or just the fact that Ross Ward was sex on a stick, well, I didn't know.

  But the world disappeared as my body swayed into his. The second it did, his arm went around my lower back, hauling me closer, pinning my entire front to his hard lines. His free hand moved across my chin, sliding down, then cupping the back of my neck, holding me captive as his lips branded into mine. As a soft whimper escaped me so he could slip his tongue inside to toy with mine.

  My hands went up, one grabbing the lapel of his suit jacket, the other wrapping around his shoulders, holding on as I simply seemed to melt into him.

  A shudder moved through me.

  And that, apparently, was what managed to break through the fog for Ross, making him pull back suddenly.

  My eyes had barely fluttered open when I felt myself being pressed back against my door.

  He spared me one last look.

  Then he turned and stormed away.

  I'm not too proud to admit that I had to lean back into my door for a long moment to pull myself together.

  My lips felt swollen and sensitive. My breasts felt heavy. There was an intolerable pressure on my lower stomach. And the lightheadedness was back, but clearly for completely different reasons than earlier.

  Taking a deep breath, I moved off the door, letting myself inside, going straight for the teapot, knowing this was the time for a hug in a cup, as my mother would call it.

  Even thinking her name, I realized I hadn't called her back. I went right for my cell, looking and, yep, seeing five missed calls. Even as I hit the call button, I was worried she was already on the road.

  What can I say, she was a bit over-protective.

  She was somewhat overbearing when I lived just five minutes down the road in the safest town in the state. But living off in Jersey where she was convinced mobsters were waiting around every corner, ready to 'whack' me and give me 'cement slippers,' she was borderline psychotic with her need to hear from me.

  "Adalind!" she shrieked as soon as I picked up. "What happened? Where were you? Why haven't you answered, or texted?"

  I had to drive home to teach her how to text because she kept trying to call me during work hours over small things, and I was worried about losing my job. So now she was a texting pro.

  "Sorry, Mom. I was--" Beaten? Unconscious? Trying to piece my life for a whole day back together? Yeah, no. "On a date," I concluded, figuring it was as close to the truth as I could get.

  There was a pause as she, I imagined, sucked in a deep breath to prepare for what was to follow.

  "Finally! Oh, Adalind, I'm so happy to hear that! Oliver was so long ago! You needed to start dating again. Where did you meet him? Through work? What does he do? Where did he take you?"

  I flipped her onto speaker, moving around to prepare my tea, knowing I wouldn't be allowed to get a word in edgewise until she ran out of air.

  Which, well, gave me some time to think about what to say.

  And once I figured that out, I just let myself think in general.

  About the strange course of events that continued to take place.

  It wasn't enough to wake up in a man's arms in a dress I didn't know, in pain. Then I had to go to the hospital, get stitched together. I had tried to piece events back in place. Then I had some hot guy installing a deadbolt on my door. Then taking me out to dinner.

  To be perfectly fair, it wasn't the best date.

  Sure, the wine and food were almost enough to make a girl weep. The restaurant was beautiful. The man across the table actually rivaled that beauty.

  But he had been oddly cool, distant, detached.

  I felt like he was asking me questions just so things didn't get awkward, not because he actually wanted to have a conversation.

  Hell, until he kissed me in the hall, I was pretty convinced he had regretted the entire invi
tation.

  And that kiss.

  Holy hell, that kiss.

  It was a knee-weakening one, like they talked about in movies, in romance novels, in fictional situations not based in reality. I had never experienced anything even close to it before. And I thought I had been kissed silly in the past.

  Nothing even came close.

  Even as I raised my tea to drink it ten minutes later, I could still feel a tightness in my chest, a fluttering in my belly.

  "He's a businessman," I supplied when she came up for air. "He owns an upscale lounge." You could hear the Mama Gears working. I swear through her silence I could hear That sounds like the kind of man who can take care of her! Even though I had never shown signs of letting a man take care of me before. I always worked to support myself.

  "Tell me he's good looking."

  "He makes George Clooney look like a swamp person," I supplied, knowing that was her biggest man-crush.

  "Oh, my heart," she said dramatically. "Does he treat you well, angel?"

  "We've only been on one date, Mom. But he has been very respectful." His hands stayed off my ass, after all.

  "Good. That's so good. Oh, I'm so happy you found someone." I smiled to myself, shaking my head. In her mind, a first date almost always led to matrimony. Maybe because she married my father on their third. Sure, that was insane. But, for them, it had been the right choice. "I will only text you during the day now. So I don't interrupt your dates."

  "That's really not--"

  "I won't listen. You don't need interruptions when you are trying to get to know your new man. Is he taking you somewhere tomorrow night?"

  Saturday night.

  And damn if that question didn't put a thought in my head.

  It was out of my mouth before I could stop it, reason with myself, not be such a desperate girl about things.

  "I'm actually going to meet him at his lounge and hang out for a while."

  Which was just about the stupidest thing that had ever come out of my mouth. I couldn't go to his work! I couldn't just show up like some crazy chick stalking him.

  Sure, he had kissed me.

  But then he had stormed off.

  Which was a pretty clear sign that he wanted nothing further to do with me, right?

  Ugh.

  I didn't want to be that girl.

  I was never that girl.

  Some men wanted you; some men didn't.

  There was no need to get all crazy psycho chick about it.

  So, as much as it made my skin crawl to have to do it, I was going to lie to my mother. And keep my ass at home.

  Twenty minutes later, I put my phone down on my nightstand to charge, got ready for bed, and resolved myself to a night in with Netflix. I was sure there was something I hadn't watched yet, despite having no social life, so binge-watching was pretty much a nightly ritual.

  I had just slipped into an oversized sweatshirt when I heard my phone ding.

  Rolling my eyes at her having something to say so soon, I sat down, and reached for it.

  Except it wasn't from my mother.

  In fact, it was from a number that hadn't been in my phone when I had misplaced it the night before.

  Ward.

  He had clearly put that in himself when he found it earlier.

  There was a strange, swirling feeling in my belly I knew for anticipation, excitement, as I hit the message to open it.

  Lock your deadbolt, Addy.

  There was a tugging sensation in my chest as I looked down at those words, smiling at my phone like an idiot for a moment before getting up to check to see if I had locked it. I had locked the knob and the chain like usual. But he was right; I forgot the deadbolt.

  Sliding it into place, I went back into my room, shooting him back.

  Thanks for the reminder. I totally forgot. Dream sweet, Ross.

  I worried for a long couple of moments that that was too much, too sappy, too girly. It had been a knee-jerk response, the way I always said goodnight to someone.

  But then my phone dinged again.

  You too, babe.

  I threw myself backward in bed, staring at my ceiling, trying to convince myself that a few texts didn't change anything.

  But, somehow, the next morning, I found myself deep in my closet, looking for a dress and shoes to wear.

  I settled on a simple black one with black stilettos.

  I carefully showered.

  After inspecting the stitches with a mirror, I decided it would likely be okay if I left my hair loose, but put a small amount up to fall down over the shaved part and stitches.

  I wasn't even sure, after I ate dinner, had some coffee, then slipped into the dress and heels - along with somewhat sexy underwear - if I could get into Hex without an invitation or secret password or something.

  I figured as I pulled up in front of the school, parking behind a line of other cars, that I could just try to get in saying Ross was a friend of mine.

  As I walked around the building, taking in the sheer mass of cars, each seemingly more expensive than the last, I started to wonder if maybe I should have stayed home after all.

  But then I fell into step behind a crowd. Others behind me, I was kind of shuffled in the doors and down the stairs where most of the people behind me pushed past me, nodding their heads at the man standing there with a clipboard in a leather jacket.

  I guess those were back in fashion.

  Several of the men in the crowd had been wearing them.

  I must have missed the memo.

  Also, why didn't they have sleeves?

  "And you are, honey?" he asked as the crowd finally slowed down, and he focused on me. He was good-looking - tall and a thin kind of strong with dark hair and eyes, and a lot of scars on his hands. I wondered a bit fleetingly if he was one of the fighters.

  "Hi. I'm Adalind. Hollis. I'm a friend of Ross'."

  "A friend of Ward?" he asked, brows going low and then one cocking up, just as his lips curved. "Is that right?"

  "I have his number and everything," I felt the need to supply, holding out my phone.

  He actually did look at it, and I got the impression that they took the security very seriously in this place.

  "Well look at that," he said, nodding at me. "You do have his number. Alright, Adalind Hollis, go ahead in. Enjoy the fight. It's going to be bloody."

  I imagined that they would all be bloody, so him giving me a warning maybe meant that this one would be especially so.

  I wasn't sure how my stomach would handle that, but I was willing to be open to new situations.

  Even with the mass of cars outside, I hadn't expected the crush. The space was, after all, almost the entire basement to a school building save for maybe a side where the heat and air conditioning systems were likely kept. It was a huge space. But tonight, it was elbow-brushing room only.

  Unsure what else to do with myself until a fight actually started, I made my way over toward the bar, ordering a wine I intended to sip all night seeing as my pocketbook didn't allow for drinking money.

  I took one of the empty seats, looking out at the storm of people. Most of them were dressed for a night out. In suits. In nice cocktail dresses and heels. Some of them even had jewelry on that looked like it cost upward of my entire yearly salary. Others, though, came casual. Jeans and those weird leather fashion statements. There were a few younger guys too there just in jeans and roomy t-shirts.

  There was an aura to all the people too, an air around them of sort of confident ease, yet alertness, and maybe even a hint of danger, if I wasn't mistaken.

  Twenty minutes later, two men were called into the ring, a tall, bulky man with long blond hair named Igor and another man, a bit shorter, a bit slighter, named Brady.

  Deciding that maybe hanging back was the best bet until I knew how my stomach would handle a cage fight, I stayed at the bar as the rest of the crowd moved inward.

  With the cage a few feet off the ground, even with everyone c
losing in, I could still see the men as they circled each other, waiting for the cue to fight.

  Then when they had it, holy crap, they flew at each other.

  I shouldn't have been surprised. They were in a cage after all with people all around betting on the bloodbath.

  And there was blood.

  Within minutes, it was flying.

  Where I expected maybe to shrink away, having never been directly around real-life violence before, I found myself almost morbidly curious.

  So curious, in fact, that I didn't see him coming until he was right next to me.

  "Addy?" his deep, smooth voice called, sounding confused.

  My head whipped over, making my vision blur for a second. "Oh, hey!" I said, giving him a smile. "I came to see what all the fuss was about." Then, I guess, not liking the shuttered look to his eyes, I added, "I wondered if maybe coming back might jog my memory." I was pretty sure the doctor actually had said something about that. He said that sometimes it would just take time, but other times, you might experience something that makes the memory come flying back. Though, of course, he was careful to warn me that some also never recovered their lost memory at all.

  He seemed to accept that, relaxing a little. "Any luck?" he asked, taking his drink, moving to lean against the bar beside my stool.

  "Not so far," I supplied. "This is kind of cool though, Ross," I admitted. "I didn't think I would enjoy this, but it's more interesting than I expected."

  "Interesting how?" he asked, and this time when he did, he actually seemed to genuinely want a response.

  "Like how the big guy is huge. When he gets hit, his body doesn't even really budge. But he's slow. The littler guy is quick, but when he takes a hit, he always seems like he's going to go down."

  He nodded at that. "They are an odd pair-up. But because of that, people are more likely to be conflicted, sure that the other side is wrong."

  "And therefore willing to bet more on their guy," I concluded.

  "Exactly," he agreed, turning to look down at me, his lips tipped up ever-so-slightly at the side. Close to a smile, but not quite.

  "Who would you put your money on?"

  "I think brute strength might win out," I admitted, watching him take a swing that seemed to take all of the other man's strength, landing right in the stomach, and the man didn't even grunt.