by D. C. Ruins
"Hardly!" Bunz replied. "I just want you two to cut the shit and get on with things already."
"Good-bye, Ms. Williams," Drew called, leaving the kitchen. The dining portion was empty for now; it was just after the lunch rush. Drew knew it would fill back up in another hour or so, when people came in for their mid-afternoon caffeine and snack fixes.
Later that evening when they were finishing up with closing duties, Bunz leaned over the front counter and placed a small brown paper sack in front of Drew. The top was folded down neatly. Drew glanced up from where she was finishing counting the drawer and placing the day's deposit into the cash bag.
"What's that?" she asked.
"A pie."
"Ooh, yum," Drew said, snatching at the sack eagerly.
"Not for you. For Heath. I was serious. You should go take it to him before you go to the Y."
"I'm not sure I want to share," Drew said.
"Too bad. Do it."
Drew pondered the small sack on her way home from making a quick run to the bank. She needed to change her clothes and feed Rocky and then get to the Y to work on her dance. She'd finally narrowed it down to a great song and had the first two minutes of choreography down. The showcase was still a few weeks away but she wanted to make sure it was perfect.
She supposed she could make a special delivery on her way there. Her lips curved up at the thought of seeing him. She wondered if things would be awkward. She wondered if he regretted what had happened.
Stop it, she told herself sternly. What are you, twelve?
She decided not to announce her visit; she wanted to surprise him. She changed out of the jeans and off-shoulder sweater she'd worn for work and slipped into her favorite cranberry-colored leotard, black yoga pants and a lightweight cream-colored wrap sweater. It was drizzly outside, so she stepped into a pair of shiny black rain boots and made sure her dance "footies" as well as her pointe shoes were tucked safely into her purse. She wasn't sure yet which type of footwear she wanted for her performance and made a point to rehearse in both to see which ones looked and felt better to maintain the integrity of the dance. She grabbed a hooded black windbreaker and pulled the hood over her head and slipped out into the night.
Luckily, she timed her exit just right and waited only a few minutes for the bus to pull up. As she rode toward the gym nervousness began to gnaw at her guts at the idea of facing him. He had generally been reliable in terms of staying consistent with his moods, at least around her, but then again they had never crossed this line before. She just didn't know what to expect and not knowing what to expect sent her nerves ablaze.
When the bus reached its stop, she hopped off and looked across and down the street to where the gym was. She hesitated and glanced over her shoulder. One block up and two blocks over would take her to the Y; she could go there now and completely bypass any potential discomfort and anxiety. Instead, she looked both ways and jogged across the street, her boots landing lightly in the puddles on the ground and splashing up onto her pants. She reached the other side and walked down the sidewalk, enjoying the light mist on her warm face as she went.
She pushed through the doors of the gym, immediately assaulted by the warmth from the heat of multiple bodies, the stench of sweat, and the energy of testosterone in the air. Rex was at the front desk watching ESPN like he always did, and glanced up, immediately brightening when he saw her.
"Hey, Carnevale!" he said the way he always did after she'd corrected him on the pronunciation of her name. "What's up? You bring me something to eat?" He flicked his head toward the little sack Drew withdrew from her purse.
"What do you think, Rex?" she asked calmly.
"I think you're mean, is what I think. He's back there." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the punching bags Drew always used to take her frustrations out on. "Are you ever coming back to us?"
"Maybe one day," she replied. "I'm working on this dance thing right now."
"Oh, yeah," Rex said with a nod. "For the showcase thing. Riley was talking about that one day."
"He was?" Drew's ears perked up.
"Yeah. He said you're a really good dancer." Rex smirked. "After Saturday night I tend to agree, but I don't think that's the kind of dancing he was talking ab–"
"Good night, Rex," Drew said abruptly, turning and walking off. She headed toward the bags, hearing the faint sound of fists hitting the material. Hard. She rounded the corner of the ring toward the cluster of bags and stopped short.
He had his back to her, and he was shirtless. His tattooed skin shone with a sheen of sweat, and she was mesmerized by the way the muscles in his back contracted and moved with the force of his blows. She tilted her head to the side, her eyes drinking in the sight of his well-formed traps, the heavy curve of his shoulders, the definition in his triceps and the bulge of his biceps. They were visible even under the heavy black ink of the dozens of tattoos littering his upper body. She had never really noticed before, but somehow, his tattoos instantly became incredibly sexy on his skin. His forearms were thick and sinewy with muscle, the tendons tensing and releasing with every movement of his arms. His shoulders were broad and he had a perfect triangle-shape to his body, broad at the shoulders before narrowing at the waist. Just looking at his back called out to everything female inside Drew; he was big, he was strong, and he was utterly powerful. She'd seen him shirtless before, obviously, but it was affecting her differently now somehow.
As though he had caught her scent, he suddenly whipped his head around. His hair was slicked with sweat and brushed off his forehead and she studied with a sudden intense interest how his ribs melded into his oblique muscles and how his heavily defined, muscled abdomen contracted as he turned at the waist. Her eyes traveled back up to his face, and the fierce, focused expression that had been there was slowly disappearing. His eyes brightened at the sight of her before any other feature on his face moved, and just that tiny, almost imperceptible glimmer made her heart soar. She couldn't stop a ridiculous grin from spreading across her face as she looked at him. As though her smile were infectious, he returned it, his eyes dropping to her cheeks by the corners of her mouth where she knew her dimples were on full display. He seemed to like her dimples.
"Hey," he said softly, stepping toward her. He seemed to think better of it and doubled back to snatch a towel off the floor, rubbing at his face and arms and torso, over his hair, before dropping it and grabbing a white tank top from the floor.
She watched in disappointment as he tugged it on, her eyes raking him. "Hi," she replied to his back, standing still and unsure of what exactly to do now. Since they'd kissed, was she supposed to go and kiss him now? Was that expected? Or were they to pretend nothing happened? Drew knew she was too old to be worrying about these things, but she genuinely had no idea what her role was or what "other people" did after such an occurrence.
When his tank top was in place and he'd mopped himself up, he turned around to face her and stepped toward her again. She felt her body tensing, but it was more with anticipation and curiosity than anything else. He reached out and took her hand, pulling her gently toward him, and leaned down, letting his lips graze her cheek softly.
She was surprised and indescribably pleased with the show of affection, smiling at him again when he pulled his face back. As much as she had enjoyed kissing him the day before, she didn't know how she would have reacted had he tried to kiss her on the lips now. But she also knew that if he'd done nothing at all, not even hug her, she would have felt slighted and let down. His light kiss on her cheek, taking her hand in his, had been exactly right as far as she was concerned. He wasn't trying to push her, but at the same time, he'd let her know he wanted to be affectionate with her. She blushed a little and looked down at their hands as he let hers go.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, noting her attire. "You come to work out?"
"No," she replied. "I'm actually on my way to the Y to work on the showcase piece. I stopped by to b
ring you something."
"What's that?" he asked, his eyes going to the little paper sack in her hands. She held it out to him and he took it.
"It's a mini-apple pie," she explained. "Something new. Bunz baked them. Thought you might like to try it."
"Smells good," he commented, sniffing the bag. "Even through the plastic wrap. It's not just sweet though." He frowned and took another sniff. "It smells like…bacon. And cheese too, maybe. This is an apple pie?"
Drew laughed. "Yes. It's mostly sweet. The cheese is in the crust. Cheese and apples have gone together since the dawn of time."
"And the bacon?" he asked, lifting his eyebrows.
"Haven't you ever had salty and sweet mixed together?" she asked, and he slowly shook his head. "It's one of the most delicious combinations in existence, in my opinion," she went on. "Salty and sweet are meant for each other. Like caramel and sea salt, or chocolate and sea salt. With the bacon in the filling, it gives you that savory, salty payoff after the tart and sweet of the apples. It's the perfect mash-up of everything your tongue craves." Her final words hung in the air, and while Drew had genuinely been talking about food, she realized how sensual the words were. And it wasn't lost on Heath. She'd noticed his eyes fall to her mouth as she was speaking, and they lingered there for a long moment after she was done. Despite her desire not to do so in that exact moment, her body rebelled and the tip of her tongue slipped out and swept over her slightly dry bottom lip, drawing it between her teeth as she withdrew it.
His eyes followed every movement, then lifted to hers, holding her gaze for a moment. Finally he nodded.
"Can't wait to try it," he said. "It'll be my post-workout snack. My nutritionist will be so happy with me."
Drew smirked. "Just tell him you had protein, fruit and a little dairy and he'll be fine." She shrugged. "It's true, after all."
He let out a chuckle. "You could be right about that," he replied, folding his arms over his chest.
Drew stared at his bicep until she realized she was staring and shook herself. "Well," she said. "I'd better get going. I'm hoping to get another full minute of my dance completed tonight."
"All right," he said softly. "Good luck on it." He unfolded his arms and stepped toward her again, and her pulse sped up until it was completely out of control. She could feel it pulsing in her throat. He leaned down to brush his lips to her cheek again, and they hesitated there for just a moment. She turned her head slightly toward his and looked up into his eyes, then down at his mouth. It was just centimeters from hers and he seemed to be asking the silent question he'd asked from the night before. She was about to be bold and initiate it herself this time, her hands even coming to his shoulders as though they had a mind of their own, but then she heard footsteps behind her and she quickly stepped away, dropping her hands, following the sound as Heath's head snapped up.
"Heath," Rex said, then stopped short, noting their closeness. "My bad," he added with a smirk. "I didn't mean to interrupt anything."
"What you want, Rex?" Heath asked curtly.
Rex's smirk widened. "I just wanted to let you know some of the competitors who are going to be at Smackdown are on ESPN right now, showing some highlight videos. Might be good to come take a look, study their moves."
Heath sighed, glancing at Drew, then nodded. Drew wasn't upset; she knew next to nothing about MMA but could agree that it did sound like a very good, helpful idea. She glanced back up at him, giving him a half-smile and noting the wistful disappointment in his eyes.
"Gotta go," she said lightly, shoving her hands in her jacket pocket.
"Be careful," he replied. "What time you goin' home?"
"Couple hours," she said. "Long before you even close up here."
He nodded. "Send me a text when you get home, okay?" he asked. "So I know you made it home safe."
"Sure," she said with a smile. "Enjoy the pie. Have a good night."
As turned to leave, she gave Rex a dirty look and brushed past him. His laughter echoed in her ears as she pushed through the doors of the gym, pulling her hood up against the drizzle. She couldn't stop a little smile from crossing her face, though. If she were contemplating being the initiator this time, it was progress. Or maybe it was just what Heath did to her.
She laughed to herself.
***
After watching the clip on ESPN with Rex, Heath retreated to his office. He decided some research was in order, and hopped on the Internet to read about his two strongest competitors—Clay "The Punisher" Cavasso and Richie Marsden. He became engrossed in watching clips of them in the ring, and realized he needed to be adding this form of study to his overall regimen. Just from fifteen minutes of film, he could already see that Clay was very fond of the left roundhouse kick. He tended to punctuate jabs with hooks from the opposite arm, and didn't seem to be very good at blocking. However, he seemed to be able to take a fair amount of hits without it even fazing him. Richie liked to feint and then catch his opponents from the other side. He also was extremely quick and agile, and if he took hits that put him on his back, he was quick with the leg sweep on his way back to his feet. Heath knew he'd need to watch out for that. Neither one of them seemed any stronger than he was, or even better or faster than he was. He could simply read their strengths and pick out their weaknesses from these couple of clips he'd watched. He'd make a point to watch more and dissect their fighting styles even further. He knew the same was being done to him. He knew that whatever seed he was put into, his opponents were chomping at the bit to take a bite out of the famous Heath Riley. He'd be damned if he let it happen. He was unofficially nicknamed "The One Hitter Quitter", a name he didn't particularly care for or ask for, but there it was anyway. It stemmed originally from his fight with Mad Dog, although it had taken slightly more than one hit to knock him out. At Ultimate Warrior, he had mowed through his first several opponents that way. He'd have to make sure it happened as such at Smackdown.
As he continued clicking through different clips, his cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the ID. It was Carter.
"Hey," he said. "What's up?"
"Heath," Carter's voice said. "I have….not awesome news."
"What's that?" Heath asked evenly, scrolling through a list of videos on YouTube.
"It's about Smackdown." Carter hesitated and Heath grew impatient.
"Spit it out, man," he said. "What?"
"It's no longer an eight-man tourney," Carter said. "The size of the purse fell under debate, and the game warden in New York said that for a purse that size, even if the money was willingly and legitimately fronted by Smith and his company, there either needs to be more fighters, or they need to reduce the purse. Well, no one wants the purse to be reduced, so they added eight more fighters."
Heath sighed. It wasn't, as Carter said, "awesome" news by any means—who wanted increased competition with a $2 million purse on the line? But it was far from the worst news he'd ever received. Still, another sixteen-man tournament? Ultimate Warrior all over, he thought, annoyed.
"All right," he sighed. He reached for a pencil and pad of paper. "Give me the new names." As Carter rattled them off, Heath jotted them down. He recognized a couple of the names; the others were not well known to him at all.
"Who are these guys?" he asked. "I know the first couple but not the others. Never heard of 'em."
"The others are amateurs, too," Carter said. Heath knew better than to scoff at the word "amateur" and assume they were an easy win—people had done that to him and then gotten their teeth knocked down their throats. "They do have some YouTube clips though. I sure hope you've been watching film on these guys, Heath."
"I'm on it now," Heath said. "Thanks for the heads up."
He hung up with Carter and sighed again. Another sixteen-man tournament. He thought back to Ultimate Warrior. That had been a long couple days. Smackdown would have to be a two-night event now, with two rounds on the first day and two on the second. He hadn't been given th
e exact details of the tournament yet, but his best guess was that on day one, all sixteen of the fighters would be paired up randomly. Whoever won those fights would progress to round two, where the fighters would be whittled from eight to four. The first two days would be the longest; the first two bouts of the fights would be two three-minute rounds, with a third round possible if there was a tie at the end of the two rounds. With the fights, the breaks in between each round, the commercial breaks, and any and all other inconveniences that would surely come up, he knew the first day would be at least three hours' worth of fights. The second day would be less fight-heavy, with the third bout consisting of five three-minute rounds and the final bout being five five-minute rounds. For television purposes, the fights would be intermingled with live interviews, fighter profiles, behind-the-scenes footage, and whatever other shit people tended to want to see.
Heath had staunchly refused to do any interviews, telling Carter that under no uncertain circumstances would he permit the camera in his dressing room. He hated people being in his personal business and even though he was in a completely different place emotionally this time around, he still wasn't up for any interviews. He didn't care if they did a feature on him for the player profile, and had even agreed to taking photos, but he refused to permit any interviews. It would never happen.
His phone rang again, and he grabbed it, seeing that it was Connor calling this time. He always felt a curious, indescribable pang whenever he saw a call or text from his big brother; he wasn't sure how to identify the feeling, but it was a cross between dread and pleased anticipation.
"Hey, bro," he greeted when he answered the call. "What's up?"
"Hey, Heath!" Connor said enthusiastically. "I just heard the news about Smackdown. Another sixteen-man tourney, huh? You ready?"
"How did you hear that?" Heath asked in surprise. "I just found out myself, not ten minutes ago."
"Ah, I heard it from Frank," Connor replied. "One of his fighters, new kid at his gym, is in it now that they included more men."