by Josie Kerr
“Holy shit, do you not have any sort of shame at all?” she gabbled.
Dig stopped drying his hair and dropped his hands to his sides, still not covering himself up. “What? It’s no biggie.” He swiped the towel between his legs, grasping his balls in the towel to dry them, and then threw the towel over the sink and began to pull on a pair of tight, white boxer briefs.
The sight of him adjusting himself in those briefs was even sexier than him toweling off. Sweet Mary, mother of God.
“So, you didn’t answer my question.” Dig’s breath whispered across her cheek as he leaned into her.
“What question was that?”
“Did you see anything you like?”
Nanda swallowed hard, and one side of Dig’s lip turned up into a curl.
“I like your ink.” She blew out a small breath. “All of it.”
Dig inclined his head. “Thank you.”
Nanda’s hands once again itched to roam all over all that ink, to trace the vines that intertwined down the length of his arms. She wanted to run her tongue over the star that she now realized was made of a bike chain, most likely a nod to the gorgeous Wide Glide that she had ridden the weekend before, nestled up against Dig’s back, her thighs around his hips.
“So, Fernanda. Do you want to show me anything?”
And that snapped Nanda right back to reality. “Absolutely not,” she insisted, but her voice wobbled just the tiniest big. Dig grinned widely as he finished towel-drying his hair.
Dig leaned into her again. “You absolutely sure?”
With the intention of keeping him at arm’s length, Nanda put her hands on his bare chest.
Holy shit. Bad move, Nanda.
Once her palms touched his still-damp skin, she was a goner. Nanda fluttered her fingers over the large tattoo over his heart, hesitating on the rendition of thorny stems. Nanda’s tongue darted out, and then she bit her full bottom lip.
Dig stepped closer to her, not quite crowding her but subtly pressuring her nonetheless. “You sure you don’t want to?”
Nanda shook her head. “I’m not sure of anything at all anymore, Dig.”
Dig stroked the side of her face with the back of his fingers. “God, your skin is so soft.”
“Uh-huh. I use Dove.”
“Good to know.”
They stood there in the steamy locker room and stared into each other’s eyes, not saying a word. Dig bent his head to her like he did when he dropped her off after the bike ride, and Nanda hoped, just as she had then, that he would kiss her. His lips grazed her earlobe, then her jaw, and then hovered over her mouth.
“Holy crap, my legs are busted. Charlotte’s going to have to go cowgirl if she wants any action . . . oh, holy crap.”
Just like that, the mood was broken by a featherweight fighter in tiger-striped compression leggings.
Nanda stepped back from Dig and exhaled loudly. “Okay, it seems that everything is in order. You need anything else?”
Dig’s lip curled into a sexy grin. “I’ll let you know, okay?”
Nanda nodded, and she scurried out of the locker room.
She pushed the cart back into the laundry room and then collapsed on a bench.
“Holy crap, Nanda. Ho. Ly. Crap. You cannot even begin to handle this. No way, no how.”
Her hands still shook from the electricity that zinged between her fingers and his bare chest. Surely he felt it as well? And she was certain this time that he was about to kiss her, and Nanda didn’t know how the hell she felt about that one.
Holy fuck.
What she did know is that she needed to stay the hell away from Dominic DiGiacomo for both of their sakes. She didn’t need to get tangled up with a cocky manwhore of a fighter, and Dig sure as hell didn’t need the bullshit that she brought to the table.
What she needed right now was a cold shower.
Chapter Nine
“What on earth did I just walk into, Dig?” Tig laughed as his best friend continued to stare at the door that Nanda exited.
“What?”
Tig snorted and shook his head. “Sorry for interrupting your moment with Miss Maldonado.”
Dig rolled his eyes and scoffed at the little cowboy. “You weren’t interrupting anything. She didn’t realize that there was anyone in here.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You think Nanda’s the type to walk into a men’s locker room if she knew there was someone in here?”
Tig studied the man standing across from him. “Maybe. If she happened to be interested in someone and wanted to do some window shopping before a test drive.” Tig yelped and laughed as Dig snapped a towel at him. “Aw, man, you know I’m kidding. If she wanted to check out the goods, she’d just barge in and tell everyone to drop trou.”
Dig snorted a laugh because that’s exactly what the feisty gym manager would probably do.
“Seriously, though, I didn’t mean to ruin your moment. That was intense the way she was looking at you.” Tig whistled and wiggled his eyebrows. “You sure there’s nothing going on?”
Dig shook his head. “Nope, not a thing. We’re friends.”
“Friends?”
“Yeah, is that so hard to believe?” When Tig began to wheeze with laughter, Dig grinned and shrugged. “Okay, I guess it is that hard to believe, but we are. She’s cool, you know? She’s just a cool woman.”
“You like her! Oh my Lord, Dominic DiGiacomo is twitterpated.”
“ ‘Twitterpated’? Is that some SAT term for horny?”
Tig scoffed. “No, it’s from Bambi. Sheesh.” He scoffed at Dig and continued pulling off his pants.
“Well, I didn’t know. Half the time I don’t know what you’re talking about, between the big words and the accent.”
“I don’t have an accent,” Tig said, sounding insulted. “You have an accent.”
“I don’t.”
“You betcha you do,” Tig mimicked Dig’s Minnesota speech.
Dig cackled. “Oh God, I don’t really sound like that, do I?”
Tig shrugged. “Maybe not quite that exaggerated, but yeah, you do.”
“God, that’s not sexy at all. How do I keep getting laid?”
Tig held up his hands. “I’m not touching that one.”
“That’s good that you’re not touching me. I don’t think I’m your type at all. I’m way too tall and swarthy.” Dig snickered, thinking about Tig’s fiancée, who looked sort of like a tiny rockabilly Snow White.
“Oooh, ‘swarthy.’ That’s a good word.” Tig grinned. “But seriously, nothing’s going on with you two?”
Dig shook his head. “Nope. We even went on a bike ride yesterday, and there was absolutely no hanky-panky whatsoever.” Unfortunately, dammit.
Tig halted, one leg out of his pants. “Come again? You went on a bike ride?”
“Yeah. Nanda was trying to get that sign up out front, and I pulled in on my bike. She admired it a bit, said she liked to ride, so we went on a ride.”
Tig narrowed his eyes. “Where did you go?”
“Just around. Up to Helen, saw the waterfalls.” Dig shrugged. “Had some lunch. No biggie.”
“You put a queen seat on for her?”
“Well, yeah. It’s too far not to.”
Tig grinned. “You break out the Bluetooth helmets?”
“Well, yeah . . .”
Tig threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, man. You are so smitten! You’re a smitten kitten!”
Dig stammered a response but then just shook his head, giving up. “We’re friends, Tig. That’s it.”
“Sure. Whatever you say, buddy.” Tig winked at Dig and continued chuckling.
Dig shook his head and huffed a breath. “As much as I’d like to continue shooting the shit in my underwear, C wanted to meet, so I’m going to go to do that.”
“You think he has a fight for you?”
“I’m hoping so. We’ll se
e.”
The two fighters bumped fists, and Dig finished dressing while Tig headed to the showers. Dig wandered down to Colin’s office, mulling over his conversation with Tig. He stopped outside of Colin’s office door, stunned by the realization that what he said was the truth: Nanda was actually his friend.
Huh.
The door opened, and Dig came face-to-face with Colin, who looked like he was ready to give someone a beat-down.
“I was just coming to haul your ass out of the shower, Dig. I swear you take longer to get ready than Bailey does.”
“Sorry, C. Um, you wanted to see me?”
“Yeah, have a seat.”
“So, Southland Fight Promotions’ matchmaker got me on a call with Raptor Pryde yesterday.”
Dig’s attention snapped from Nanda to the big former champion behind the desk. A call from a matchmaker could only mean one thing, a potential fight, and a call with Raptor Pryde meant a quality opponent.
Dig listened closely as Colin related what was said in the call.
“Title elimination match?”
Colin nodded, his face serious. “Title elimination match.”
Dig stroked his beard with a shaky hand, silently giving thanks for the opportunity. The last time he had a chance at the title was when he fought the man sitting across from him, a man who barely beat him, but in the end, did.
That was almost three years ago, and he’d had a major injury in that time. Damon Pierce, a former teammate from Raptor Pryde, had “accidentally” broken his arm during a sparring session, forcing him to withdraw from a promotional rematch against Colin. It had taken two surgeries and six months of steady physical therapy to rehab from the injury. During that time, the heavyweight title had changed hands twice, and Dig’s ranking dropped due to his relative inactivity.
But things had turned around in the past eighteen months due mostly to his decamp from Raptor Pryde and joining the DS Fight Club team. He had three consecutive wins, and his rank was almost at his pre-injury levels. And thanks to Colin and Junior’s aggressive training regime, Dig, at age thirty-three, was in the best shape of his life.
“Six months out.”
Fuck. That was a long time, and Dig expressed his displeasure with the timeline.
“I don’t like it either, but Ricky Elliot’s still got three months on his medical suspension. Pryde said he’s cleared to start training, but with no sparring, in two weeks. Add ten to twelve weeks post-suspension for a camp, and that brings us to five months. And you know that big-ass promotion in New York State is going down that month, so that’s a no-go. So yeah, six months.”
“Elliot, huh?”
“He’s the only one. You know him; you used to train with him. Use that.”
Dig nodded. He had been considering a break from Raptor Pryde, even before he discovered the fight-fixing rumors, because he felt that Raptor’s training techniques were stale and weren’t helping him grow as a fighter. He also knew that Raptor’s training techniques most likely wouldn’t have changed in the past three years.
“Do we have any tape of him lately?” Dig asked, and Colin nodded with a grin.
“That’s exactly what I was thinking. Good. Yeah, we’ll find some of his last fights, see what has changed.”
“Or not.”
“Yes, or not.” Colin sat back in his chair and tented his fingers on his abdomen. “This is it, Dig.”
Dig nodded. He knew, and he was going to make the most of it.
Chapter Ten
Nanda threw back the whiskey shot and chased it with half of a Guinness. She was well on her way to a nice buzz, and she felt glorious. After her run-in with Dig in the locker room, she’d tried to avoid him for the rest of the week lest she make a complete ass of herself, stuttering and stammering like a schoolgirl and mentally undressing him.
“So, are you still liking Atlanta?” Charlotte Markham had her own whiskey in front of her, but she sipped it daintily and seemed amused at Nanda’s robust drinking.
Nanda nodded and finished off her beer. “I am, a lot more than I actually thought I would. Truthfully, I was really nervous about this move.”
“I’m sure. New Jersey is very different. Why did you decide to come to Atlanta, of all places?” Charlotte cocked her head and took another sip of her whiskey.
“How the hell do you not leave lipstick all over that glass?” Nanda asked, evading the question. Charlotte’s ruby-red lipstick wasn’t smeared in the least. She didn’t even look like she had had a couple of drinks. Everything on her gorgeous face was perfect. “If I wore that, it would be everywhere but my lips. That’s why I just wear lip balm.”
“Porn lipstick.”
“What?”
“It’s the lipstick that they wear while filming porn.” She blushed and fanned her face. “I think this whiskey is getting to me. Whew.” Charlotte pushed her dark hair back from her face.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Sorry.” The two women sat at the table in awkward silence, and Nanda wanted to kick herself. “I’m not very good with women.”
Charlotte barked a laugh. “Honey, I’m not very good with people.” She raised her glass. “To the socially awkward.”
Nanda laughed and clinked Charlotte’s glass. “To the socially awkward.” She chuckled some more. “Your ring is beautiful. May I see it more closely?”
Charlotte’s smile turned shy, and she extended her left hand, the ring finger decorated with a lovely amethyst ring. “I love it. It’s perfectly perfect.”
“It is. It matches your eyes.”
Charlotte rolled her violet eyes. “That’s what Tig said when he slipped this ring on my finger. He’s such a goofball.”
“He’s a sweetheart. He’s probably my favorite guy at the fight club.”
“He’s my favorite fighter, too.” Charlotte giggled. “Oh Lordy. I need to slow down.” She pushed her drink away.
“You’re very practical, aren’t you?” Nanda signaled the bartender for more of the same.
“Yes, probably to a fault. And the thing is, I’m a lot more relaxed now. Looking back, I hadn’t realized how rigid I was.”
The bartender set a shot and a pint glass in front of Nanda.
“Yeah, I could probably use a little more structure.” Nanda threw back the shot and blew out a breath, feeling the delicious burn of the whiskey in her gut. “I mean in my personal life. I’ve got my work life under control.”
“From what Tig says, you’ve got that whole gym under control.” Nanda’s face creased into a frown, and Charlotte quickly qualified her statement. “It’s a good thing. The gym was okay before, but Colin and Junior didn’t have time to both grow the business and keep up with the everyday stuff. It drove Tig nuts. He’d toyed with asking C if he could be a manager, but that would mean cutting back on his personal clients, and he just loves training. You’re a godsend, Nanda.”
Nanda felt her face heat, and she smiled a little. It was nice to be appreciated, and the fact that Tig had been talking about what a good job she’d done to his soon-to-be wife pleased her immensely.
“Whoa, what is Damon Pierce doing here?”
Nanda swiveled around. “Damon Pierce? The fighter?”
A huge, heavily tattooed man with a shaved head was perched on a small stool by the front door of the bar, checking IDs and stamping hands and sometimes turning people away.
“Oh, man. It’s a good thing that C and Junior aren’t going to be here. They each fucking hate that guy.” Nanda took a sip of her beer. “You know him?”
Charlotte squirmed in her seat. “Kind of. We’ve had a couple of encounters.”
Nanda looked inquisitively at Charlotte, but the other woman wasn’t saying any more.
“Oh, I spy a cowboy hat,” Nanda said, relieved. There wouldn’t be any more awkward silences because Tig talked enough for three people.
The two women watched as Tig approached Damon Pierce. Tig swiveled a
look behind him and then turned back around and said something to Pierce, who nodded and pressed a stamp on the back of Tig’s hand. The two looked at each other, seeming to wordlessly communicate, until the guy behind Tig said something and Pierce barked an insult at him. Pierce jerked his head up in acknowledgment, and Tig strode into the bar, making a beeline for Charlotte.
“Hey, baby,” he said, stepping up behind Charlotte and wrapping his arms around her to pull her close and give her a kiss on the cheek. “I missed you today.”
He whispered something in her ear that made her flush crimson. Tig nudged Charlotte’s cheek and kissed her sweetly on the lips, and the two of them grinned at each other.
It was the hottest, most intimate thing that Nanda had ever witnessed, and her stomach knotted with jealousy. No one had ever looked at her the way Tig was looking at Charlotte.
“Hey, Nanda.” Tig greeted her distractedly, eyeing the doorway.
“Hey, Tiggy.” Nanda’s eyes followed Tig’s, and she saw Dig in the doorway, looking at Pierce, who was now standing. Dig’s hands were balled into fists, his jaw clenched and his body tense, but Pierce seemed calm and almost sheepish as he offered the small stamp to Dig, who pressed it on his hand before setting it on the stool and walking away.
“Dang. Looks like someone else doesn’t care for Pierce.” Nanda drained the rest of her beer while watching Dig stalk toward them.
Damn, he looked good.
“Jesus Christ, I need a shot or twelve,” Dig grumbled when he got to the table.
“You okay, buddy?” Tig eyed his big friend. “You need to walk it off?”
Dig shook his head. “No, I’m all right. Look, I know you two have some positive history, but he and I do not. And I’m telling you right now, I hate that fucking guy, and it will take a miracle to change that.”
Tig held up his hands. “Okay, okay. Calm the fuck down, Dig. I get it.”
“Good.” He blew out a breath. “Dammit, where’s the bartender?”
Nanda slid her latest whiskey over toward Dig. “I think you need it a hell of a lot more than I do right now.”