Pushing the Limits

by Jennifer Snow

  “It’s faster than waiting for service,” Kate said, lifting the divider and joining her at their usual table in the corner near the window that overlooked the Vegas Strip. She removed her sweater, revealing her nurse’s uniform, and yawned as she sat.

  Wow, she made sitting look so easy.

  Colby was terrified that if she crossed her legs, peeling them apart again might kill her. She slowly lowered herself into one of the plush leather chairs, holding her breath as her ass made contact.

  Kate’s dark brown eyes narrowed. “Oh, my God. You slept with him again.”

  Colby shuddered. The idea of anyone anywhere near her business at that moment made her cringe. Would the swelling ever go away? “Who?”

  “That hunk of a cohost of yours.” Kate’s expression went dreamy and the look of interest in her eyes was almost enough for Colby to allow her to believe the lie.

  Almost.

  “No. I did not.” The first time had been a mistake, one she had no intention of repeating. Especially not now that they were competing for the same job.

  “Well, why are you moving like you rode a mechanical bull for hours?”

  She laughed. “It’s nothing. How was work?” Kate was an emergency-room nurse at Sunrise Hospital, but with her long, wavy, light blond hair and tall, curvy frame, she could be a model. Looks and brains. If Colby were the insecure type, she’d never be able to be best friends with the woman. Next to Kate, she disappeared. Which had always been fine with her. In high school, she’d always been more concerned with beating the guys at sports than feeding their egos. Unfortunately, that habit was a tough one to break; therefore her success rate with relationships was pitiful.

  Kate suppressed another yawn. “Long. These fourteen-hour shifts are killing me. How did your meeting with Ari Connolly go? Am I looking at the newest anchor for Knock Out Sports?” She looked at Colby expectantly, as she had seconds before when she’d been expecting to hear that Colby had finally gotten laid. Colby couldn’t bear to disappoint her friend twice in thirty seconds, so she forced a smile.

  “It went great,” she said slowly. “I mean, as well as it could have . . .” Should she tell her friend about her crazy new story idea? She hesitated.

  “What?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing.” She couldn’t. Kate would kill her if she knew she was going undercover in one of the most questionable fighting organizations in the city to get a story. She’d be worried about her that evening, and her friend had enough stress in her life. Besides, she knew Kate wasn’t a fan of MMA, having seen and treated far too many injuries from the sport. “I’m just up against a few other candidates for the job, so nothing is definite yet.”

  Kate waved a hand. “You have a master’s in journalism, a sports broadcasting diploma, and five years’ experience. They’d be crazy not to offer you the job. Don’t even worry about it. You got this,” she said sincerely.

  Colby wished she shared her friend’s optimism. Kate believed that good things happened to good people and she thought all you needed to do was want something bad enough and it would happen.

  So far in Colby’s life, that hadn’t been the case. Hard work had been the only way she’d risen to the top and achieved her goals. And she knew that’s what it would continue to take—for her at least.

  She took a sip of her coffee and forced a fake note of confidence into her voice. “You’re right. They would be crazy not to give me the job based on my credentials.”

  But just in case . . .

  * * *

  Colby backed up against the wall in the noisy, too-small, crowded bathroom at the Xtreme Fight event center, readjusting her skimpy bootie-shorts over her butt cheeks. Through a thick haze of hair spray and perfume, she eyed the other ring girls getting ready. How did they keep these things from creeping into their butt cracks? Even if by some miracle she were able to keep her knees steady on the three-inch heels and make it successfully around the octagon, holding the second-round card over her head, there would be no avoiding showing off her ass to the crowd.

  She clutched her purse at her waist, in an effort to both hide her stomach and not have the bag stolen, the mix of strong scents killing her. She had to get out of the bathroom, but that would mean actually going out in public and leaving the small comfort of security it provided. Fear over what she’d signed on for that evening gripped her, making it difficult to breathe.

  “Hey, new girl, you all right over there?” The tall blonde at the mirror closest to her eyed her.

  Colby shook her head no as she mumbled, “Of course. I’m great.”

  “Well, which is it?” The girl paused, her mascara brush midair.

  Several others turned to look at her as well, and memories of the cheerleading camp her parents had forced her to attend when she was fourteen in an effort to “girl her up a little” came flooding back. Lipstick, high heels, high-pitched giggles, and whispers that were no doubt about her all crashed her memory as she stood frozen, her back pushing against the cool brick wall.

  This is ridiculous, she told herself. She wasn’t a tomboyish young girl anymore. She was a successful journalist and she had a job to do.

  “She looks like she’s going to faint,” a shorter brunette with tattoo sleeves covering both arms said.

  “Nah, she’s naturally that pale. I saw her yesterday at her interview,” the tall blonde said, moving closer.

  Now Colby did feel as though she were about to faint. She was crazy to be here. She was so far out of her element. She swallowed hard when the girl lifted her chin.

  “You have absolutely no makeup on,” she said, a note of terror mixing with disbelief.

  “Bullshit,” the brunette said, coming closer. “No one’s skin is that perfect.” She peered closer to study Colby’s face in the dingy lighting.

  “I have makeup on,” Colby said. Not as much as they did. The bright colors around their eyes and the heavy application of black eyeliner was way over the top, and the bright sweeping of color over their cheekbones was almost clownlike.

  “Not enough. Where’s your makeup bag? We have like five minutes to get out there,” the short brunette said.

  She cleared her throat. “I think I’m fine,” she mumbled, but she opened her purse and pulled out a pale pink lip gloss.

  “You’re kidding, right?” the blonde asked.

  Colby shook her head. “Why would I be kidding?”

  The women each grabbed an arm and dragged her toward the mirror, where their oversized purses were full of makeup products.

  “This fresh-face look might be cute in normal lighting, but out there, you’re going to look like a seasick ghost.” The brunette opened a compact and started pressing a silky powder to her cheeks and forehead.

  The blonde dug through her bag and retrieved a bright red lipstick.

  Colby backed away. “No way. I’ll look like a clown.”

  The blonde frowned, placing a hand on her hip. “I’m wearing it.”

  Shit. Perfect way to make friends. “Sorry . . . it looks great on you, but . . . do you have something a little less . . .”

  “Hookerish?” the brunette supplied.

  “Yes.”

  The blonde shook her head. “No. Besides, this color will really make those nonexistent lips stand out.”

  Nonexistent lips? Colby glanced in the mirror and sighed. It was true. She barely had a top lip. “Fine,” she muttered.

  The blonde applied the lipstick expertly as the brunette added bronzer to her cheeks, then some to her eyelids. “That’s all we have time to do. It’s better at least,” she said, stashing the makeup away and sliding her feet into even higher heels than the ones Colby was wearing.

  She barely recognized herself in the reflection. She looked . . . definitely different.

  “Come on. Stash your purse in here,” the blonde said, ope
ning a tiny locker in the corner.

  She hesitated, seeing no lock anywhere.

  “Take your cash and credit cards out and put them in your top,” the brunette said, lowering hers to reveal several bills and a credit card.

  Colby did so quickly. “Oh, wait, one more thing. How do you keep . . . ?” Her cheeks went red as she motioned to the ever-creeping bootie-shorts. “How do they stay in place?”

  “Turn around,” the brunette said, grabbing a can of hair spray from her bag.

  Colby did, glancing over her shoulder to watch the girl spray her butt cheeks beneath the shorts and then press the edges in place. “Hair spray?”

  “A modern-day miracle,” the girl said with a smile.

  Yeah, well, she was going to need as many of those as she could get to survive the next three hours.

  * * *

  Another long, shitty shift over, his eyes were barely open, so how he noticed the woman chasing after the bus as it pulled away from the curb, he didn’t know. Maybe because she was the hottest woman he’d seen in months . . . or maybe his recent lack of action was affecting his judgment. Either way, he couldn’t tear his gaze away. Even from inside his truck, stopped at the red light twenty feet away, he could make out the shape of her cherry-red painted lips uttering the f-word. Dane sighed as he watched her remove a pair of heels and start walking barefoot down the sidewalk.

  A little early for the walk of shame, he thought as he waited for the light to change. He glanced around. Barely another car in sight at this time of night, yet the light was taking forever. “Come on,” he muttered, turning up the volume on the stereo, hoping the loud music would help keep him awake.

  He glanced in the rearview again. Where was she coming from this late? The nearest club was The Vault, and he would have noticed if he’d let her inside earlier that evening. In fact, he probably would have tried to talk her out of it. Beautiful women seemed to be the catalyst for the majority of the arguments that broke out on any given night.

  Tearing his gaze away, he looked around again, the temptation to blow through the light strong in his desperation to get home and get to bed, but breaking the law wasn’t exactly something he wanted to mess with.

  The woman passed his truck, crossing against the signal to the other side of the intersection. Oh, sure, she could break the law. She was certainly getting to her destination a hell of a lot quicker than he was.

  The light turned green as he noticed two guys rounding the corner from an alleyway, picking up speed as they neared her. She seemed completely oblivious to her surroundings. “Come on, lift your head up, notice shit around you,” he muttered as he drove slowly past, keeping an eye on the two men, his gut urging him to both slow down and step on it at the same time.

  But as he passed them and risked a glance in the rearview mirror, he swore under his breath, tore to the curb, and threw the truck in park. Jumping out, he headed back toward them as one of the men took the purse from the woman’s shoulder.

  “Hey! Give me that,” she said, lunging for it.

  Dane’s teeth clenched. Let the stupid purse go.

  The other guy grabbed her arms and Dane picked up speed. “Hey!” he called out but stopped when he saw the woman stomp on the guy’s foot and then elbow him in the chest.

  The guy released her and she didn’t run. Instead she eye-gouged him and then turned her attention to the guy fleeing with her purse.

  Dane’s mouth dropped as the one she’d assaulted took off as well, his hand covering his eye.

  Clearly his assistance wasn’t needed.

  Still, he approached slowly as she stopped and threw her hands up, admitting defeat over the purse. “That was impressive,” he said.

  She swung around, looking ready to take out more eyes if necessary.

  He held his hands up. “Don’t attack. I was coming to your rescue. Which you obviously didn’t need.”

  Her dark emerald-colored eyes lit up. “Can you go get my purse?”

  Ha! “No.” A woman in danger? It was his obligation to try to help. A purse? No fucking way.

  Her shoulders slumped and she tossed her dark hair over her shoulder. “Figures this would happen tonight.” She took a deep breath as though trying not to lose it.

  He hesitated, glancing back toward his truck, still running on the side of the road. Don’t do it. The woman proved she could take care of herself. And the chances of her getting approached twice in one night? Slim to none. Still, he said, “Do you . . . uh . . . need a ride somewhere?” He prayed she lived close. He was exhausted, and besides that, his truck was running on fumes. The gas light had come on two days ago, but until he got paid the next day from the club, even the items at the top of his priority list had to wait.

  She eyed him. “How do I know you aren’t as dangerous as those two assholes?”

  “You don’t. But being out here alone at two o’clock in the morning you’re taking a chance with a lot more assholes than me. And besides, I value my vision. Trust me, you’re safe.”

  She looked around as though weighing his words. “Okay . . . Shit, no . . .”

  “Your call,” he said, turning to walk away. If he left the truck running any longer, there wouldn’t be enough gas to get himself home, let alone her. And the idea of being alone in his truck with her didn’t appeal to him anyway. The soft smell of honey lingering in the air in the dirty, run-down neighborhood could only be coming from her skin . . . and, well, he preferred to keep temptation at a distance.

  “No, I mean I’ll take the ride, but can you drop me off at the hospital?”

  The hospital. About four blocks away. “Sure. You hurt?” His eyes did a quick once-over from her shoulder-length hair to her bare feet. She was crazy to be walking around the streets of Las Vegas with no shoes, but other than that, she looked okay. Actually, okay was an understatement. Her curvy hips and full chest only further accentuated her tiny waist, and her expressive eyes and pouty lips made a far too irresistible combination.

  “No. I just remembered my keys were in the purse and my best friend has the extra key to my apartment. She works at the hospital. I can wait and get a ride home with her.”

  Dane nodded. “Okay.” He headed toward the truck, then stopped. “Wait a sec.”

  “What?”

  He wasn’t really sure how to ask the question. “Well, I just . . . I mean, I’m not going to get in trouble for solicitation or anything, am I?” He frowned as he looked around. He’d seen television shows like this, where they set up the men looking for “a date,” then nabbed them as soon as the woman got into the vehicle. She was far too pretty to be a real hooker, but a decoy—it would certainly work.

  And call him paranoid, but he’d already spent more than enough time at the police station for one lifetime.

  She was staring at him, her expression unreadable. Disbelief? Annoyance? Both. “You think I’m a prostitute?”

  He let his gaze drift over her once more. Skinny jeans and a plain T-shirt. The outfit wasn’t the usual sales pitch. “No.” His gaze landed on her lips. “The lipstick threw me off, that’s all. Seems a little out of character with the rest of you.”

  She sighed. “You have no idea,” she mumbled, heading toward his truck.

  * * *

  Inside the truck, Colby slid her feet back into her shoes. This night was a freaking disaster. Who would have thought that parading half naked around a cage eight times, all the while praying she wouldn’t wipe out and fall into the front row—where the scary-looking men were almost preferable to their glaring girlfriends—would have been the least horrible part of the night?

  She knew she should have driven her car instead of relying on public transit, but she hadn’t wanted to park her vehicle in the shady neighborhood. But only to miss the bus and have her purse stolen? Well, universe, I hear you loud and clear. Fuck off now.

 
; She sighed as she buckled her seat belt.

  “You okay?” the guy, whose name she’d yet to learn, asked as he pulled away from the curb.

  “Let’s just say getting my purse stolen was the icing on a really shitty cake.”

  He nodded. “Been eating a lot of those cakes lately myself.” He shoulder-checked and switched lanes to make the right toward the hospital. “Anything of value in the purse?”

  “Just everything I need to survive. House keys, money, driver’s . . .” She stopped and a relieved laugh escaped her. “That’s not true.” She reached inside her T-shirt and the guy quickly averted his eyes.

  Points for her mystery late-night encounter, she thought as she retrieved her driver’s license, her cash, and her credit card from the Xtreme Fight halter top beneath her T-shirt. Thank God for Lucy and Ella. Those ring girls had helped keep her ass covered all night and now apparently they’d saved it. “Thank God,” she said, clutching her items tight. She smiled. “Well, looks like only my house keys.”

  “So, where did you learn to defend yourself like that?”

  “I grew up with two brothers and I studied martial arts for a few years.” She wasn’t about to reveal exactly how tough she was, in case he did turn out to be someone she had to defend herself against.

  “Well, I have to admit you shocked the hell out of me.”

  “I think after the day I’ve had, I seriously just needed to take my aggression out,” she said with a laugh, feeling the stress of the day fade slightly. “I almost feel bad for injuring the guy.”

  His expression clouded slightly and she wasn’t sure what she’d said, but the mood inside the truck changed slightly. He was quiet as he drove the next two blocks to the hospital, and she took the opportunity to study him. He was a great-looking guy, despite a slightly slanted nose and a scar along his forehead, above his eyebrow. Obviously permanent reminders of one too many shots to the face. He was wearing a T-shirt with The Vault’s logo, which would explain his need to do battle, and his eyes looked tired as they stared ahead through the windshield. If he felt her gaze on him, he didn’t acknowledge it.