Love On The Ropes (Ringside Romance)

by White, Pat

  “Very funny. It’s green tea.”

  He made a face.

  “It’s delicious.”

  “How do I…?”

  “Boil water. The tea ball is in the top drawer. But I should be making it for you. You were gracious enough to get me back inside.” She started to get up.

  “Stay right where you are, kid. I know my way around a kitchen.”

  He disappeared from view. She heard a crash and a muttered curse word.

  “You okay in there?” she called.

  “Fine. I’m putting the water on.”

  He must have hit his head on the chakra wind chimes. She loved them so much she’d hung them in the middle of her kitchen, which suited her petite frame. But a guy towering six feet would have to take evasive action not to get poked in the eye. Tough, this was her place. She shouldn’t be worried about his comfort.

  Now she sounded like a prospective spinster bitch. Must be the dull headache from the booze. She wasn’t a big drinker by nature, and the two glasses of wine at dinner had definitely killed off some brain cells and left her with a pre-hangover, if such a thing even existed.

  The Stripper came into the living room and sat in the rocker on the other side of the coffee table. Probably didn’t want to get too close. Good thing, considering Madame Bovary’s protective mood tonight. Where was that wicked little feline, anyway?

  “Nice place,” he said.

  “Thanks,” she replied, fiddling with the beaded design on her purple pillow. Purple, blue, and green: her favorite colors that graced the condo. This didn’t look like the world of a spinster, it really didn’t.

  “It’s not what I’d imagined,” The Stripper said, glancing at a photo of Sandy, her father and brothers.

  “What did you imagine?”

  “I don’t know.” He put the picture frame down. “It’s girly, but comfortable.”

  Wait till you meet Madame Bovary, she thought. “You haven’t seen the cat, have you?”

  “No, I... hey, there.” The Stripper glanced down at his ankles. As if she’d heard her cue, the feisty cat rubbed against his legs, back arched, head high, begging to be stroked.

  “This is what scared off your date?” He gently petted the cat’s back.

  “This is her charming mode. You didn’t see her in attack kitty mode.”

  “You’re exaggerating.” As The Stripper stroked, Madame Bovary purred, and Sandy fumed.

  “I’m telling you, she’s bipolar,” Sandy warned.

  “There’s no such thing.”

  The phone interrupted their discussion of cat psychology. Sandy knew who it was and didn’t want to answer.

  “Aren’t you going to pick up?” The Stripper asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s my brother calling to yell at me about disaster date.”

  “How would he know about your date?”

  “My date was a friend of his.”

  “It’s not your fault. The guy was a tool.”

  “You make a lot of snap judgments about people,” she said. “Decker is a good guy.”

  “Decker?” The Stripper’s eyebrow shot up.

  “Stripper?” she taunted.

  “That’s not my real name.”

  “Whatever. Decker Smitts is a gentleman.”

  “Which is why you were nearly naked when you chased him outside?”

  Sandy glanced at her toes, wishing she’d worn polish. “He didn’t take off my clothes. That was my idea.”

  Silence hung between them. There, she said it. She was a desperate slut.

  “You’re being too hard on yourself,” he said.

  Her gaze shot up to meet his eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “I can tell. You do this funny thing with your lip and your bottom teeth.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The kettle whistled and she got up to turn it off, but he blocked her.

  “Sit down,” she said. “You’ll screw it up.” She went into the kitchen, needing some space.

  “Answer the phone while you’re in there,” he called. “It’s driving me nuts.”

  She poked her head around the corner. “You can leave at any time.”

  “And who would pet the cat?” Madame Bovary eyed him with admiration.

  “Traitor,” Sandy said.

  She prepared the tea, trying to block out the obnoxious ringing of the phone. It finally stopped, giving her peace to think. What would she say to Curt? If Decker told him how she’d practically jumped the guy...

  RING.

  She jerked and spilled hot water onto the counter.

  “Enough!” She ripped the receiver off the wall. “Hello!”

  “Sandy?”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Decker Smitts. Listen, I’m sorry about before.”

  “Oh, hi. I didn’t expect to hear from you.”

  “The truth is, I’m a little sensitive about the hairpiece.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s the cat’s fault. She’s horrible with strangers.” She peeked around the corner and spotted Madame Bovary curled up in The Stripper’s lap. “I’ll lock her up next time.”

  “So, you’ll consider trying this again?”

  “Sure. I’m on the road for a few days, so call me midweek. I really had a nice time tonight.”

  “Thanks for saying so.”

  “I mean it. You’re a nice guy.”

  “And you’re hot—I mean, you’re nice, too. I think we could have fun together. I’ll give you a call next week.”

  “Great, bye.”

  She hung up and whispered, “There’s hope for me yet.” What did he call her? Hot? She sighed.

  With a bounce in her step, she took two cups of tea into the living room and placed one on the table next to The Stripper.

  “I take it that wasn’t your brother,” he said, with a gleam in his eye.

  “Nope.” She settled back on the couch. “It was my date. Apologizing for what happened tonight.”

  He sipped his tea and shrugged. “And that makes you happy?”

  “Absolutely.” More like delirious. She had to be somewhat attractive if the guy would swallow his pride and call her after such a dreadful end to the evening.

  “Good. I’m glad you’re happy.”

  She eyed The Stripper warily. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just what I said. Why are you so suspicious?”

  “What do you expect? We’ve been sparring ever since we met a week ago, and you tell me you’re glad that I’m happy? It doesn’t add up, Stripper.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  He looked upset. She really was being a bad host. After all, she was inside her condo, toasty in her sweats and T-shirt, thanks to him. If he didn’t come charging to her rescue she’d still be dangling, half-naked, from her neighbor’s balcony.

  Wait a minute. What was Jason doing outside her condo?

  “Hey, why were you lurking outside my building?” she sat straight. “How did you even know where I lived?”

  “Don’t freak out on me.”

  “Oh, my God. I’ve picked up a stalker.” She started to get up.

  “Stop, okay? If you must know, Cosmo asked me to keep an eye on you.”

  “What? Why?”

  “He said you were under a lot of pressure and he was worried. You don’t trust anyone in BAM besides Johnny, and Johnny’s got a wife and four kids so he doesn’t have time to baby—keep an eye on you.”

  “You were going to say babysit me.”

  The Stripper shrugged. “What difference does it make? You’re lucky your employer cares so much.”

  She shook her head. “No, he’s got some other plan hatching, trust me.”

  The Stripper glanced into his tea, then up at her. “You must have been through a lot to make you so cynical.”

  She sighed. How much did she want to share with this man, a man who would probably be out of her life within the next six m
onths? She knew he wasn’t a career wrestler. He’d be in it for the quick cash until he could get a better gig.

  “I was born into pro wrestling,” she said. “I watched my father get screwed over by one wrestling promotion, then get injured and have to quit. My brother Curt quit when his wife gave him an ultimatum: Get a normal job or she’d divorce him and take the kids.” She tapped her teacup in contemplation. “She couldn’t handle him being gone all the time, not knowing if he’d be sent home on crutches or worse. Then there’s my brother Duke,” she paused, “he’s in a wheelchair.”

  “Because of wrestling?”

  “And his ego.”

  “What happened?”

  “He was suffering from a back injury. The doctors gave him a list of moves to avoid until he could get with the specialist, but he didn’t listen. He let some bonehead do a pile driver on him and he hasn’t walked on his own since.”

  The Stripper shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “How did your mom handle all this?”

  Sandy narrowed her eyes. “You’re awfully nosy.”

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to pry.”

  “No problem, but after I’m done, it’s your turn.”

  He cleared his throat and glanced into his tea.

  “Mom’s tough, like me,” Sandy went on, “but she has her limits, unlike me. She kicked Dad out ten years ago. She couldn’t handle the self-pity, how he lived in the past and obsessed over what could have been. He couldn’t let go of his life as a wrestler. He finally got a job doing security at a mall. Then he got cancer. He’s had it rough.”

  “Sounds like she’s had it pretty rough,” he suggested.

  Sandy put down her cup and leaned against her soft pale pink couch. “Never thought about it that way. She always did her thing and never complained.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “Followed my dad and brothers from match to match. Basked in their reflective glory.”

  The Stripper snorted.

  “What? I love my dad and brothers.”

  “Sounds like you’ve sacrificed a lot of yourself for their dreams.”

  “Healing is my dream. It all ties in.” She shook off his comment. “Okay, smart ass, your turn.”

  “My turn for what?”

  “True confessions.”

  Jason sipped his tea, savoring its warmth and mild flavor. Now what lie was he going to hide behind? It didn’t matter. He’d talk his way through the next few minutes, then get the hell out of here and send his evidence to the lab.

  Good thing she’d taken her time changing her clothes. It gave him the opportunity to look around and find the unmarked bottles of pills in her freezer. When she’d caught him in the kitchen, he’d recovered with the brilliant idea of making tea.

  “Stop stalling,” she said. “Tell me about your family.”

  “Dad left when I was ten. It goes downhill from there.”

  “Wow,” she hushed. “I’m so sorry.”

  Her tone set him on edge. Genuine concern? She doesn’t mean it, McBain.

  “Tell me about your brothers and sisters,” she pushed.

  “One brother, one sister, both younger than me. My sister...” He glanced up and hesitated.

  “She’s a handful, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “And your brother?”

  “Arrogant. Thinks he knows it all.”

  “Wonder who he learned that from.”

  She smiled, and his fingers tightened around the mug. Her smile did crazy things to his insides.

  “How about your mom?” she asked. “How did she die?”

  “She ... um, didn’t really die.”

  “You jerk!” She tossed the pillow at him. “God, I hate lies.”

  He shrugged. If she only knew how many lies he still hid behind. Well, the stuff about Cosmo wasn’t a complete lie. The man did tell Jason he was worried about Sandy.

  “I didn’t know you well enough to be completely honest about my mother before,” he explained.

  “And you know me well enough now?”

  “I guess.”

  “Well, you know me better than the boys at work. You’re sitting in my condo.”

  He looked around. He surely was sitting in her living room surrounded by her stuff: a colorful glass mobile of stars hung from the ceiling, purple candles and porcelain cats lined a sofa table, and pictures of her family were scattered across bookshelves. It was very comfortable here. It felt like a home.

  “I never let any of the guys into my condo,” she remarked, crossing her arms over her chest.

  He glanced at her. “I’ve heard that. Listen, I’m sorry I lied before. The truth is, I—”

  “Need to protect yourself.”

  His chest tightened. “How did you know I was going to say that?”

  “You’re not hard to read.”

  Yeah, but baby, you are. Because if he’d read her correctly he wouldn’t have pegged her as a sincere healer, a strong, yet sensitive woman, when in fact she was a drug dealer.

  “It bothers you, doesn’t it?” she said.

  “What?”

  “That I can read you so easily.” She snuggled down in the couch, her mug clutched between her fingers.

  “You’re just talented, I guess,” he replied.

  “And smart.”

  “Don’t push it.”

  She smiled. “Tell me more about your life.”

  “It’s boring stuff.”

  She yawned. “I like boring stuff. What’s your mom like?” He suspected she didn’t want to be left alone.

  “Mom’s nice, maybe too nice. She’s trusting and gullible. It was hard on her when Dad disappeared. She thought he’d been in an accident, but no one called—police, hospitals. She finally decided he got tired of the responsibility.”

  “That’s awful.” She snuggled down even further.

  “It’s okay. We’ve all recovered.” Jason could tell she was close to falling asleep. Good. He needed to get out of here and away from true confessions.

  “My little brother is a smart kid,” he continued, hoping to bore her to sleep. “He got a scholarship to the University of Chicago, studied physics, whatever good that will do him. He’s applying for his master’s. Knowing him, he’ll be in school until he’s forty. Some people like being career students.”

  Sandy curled up like a little girl, holding a purple blanket against her chin. It looked soft and handmade with stars and moons scattered across the dark background. She looked so comfortable, so peaceful. Envy pulsed through him. When was the last time he’d naturally fallen into a deep sleep?

  “Sandy?” he said. “You still with me?”

  No response. The perfect time to escape. He quietly got up from the rocker. Starting for the door, he switched off a few lamps, leaving on the light in the kitchen so she wouldn’t panic if she woke up and didn’t remember falling asleep on her couch. Then he noticed the mug clutched in her hand. Not wanting her to douse herself in the middle of the night, he reached over and eased it from her fingers.

  “Mmm.” She slid down into the cushions, practically disappearing. He automatically brushed his fingertips against her cheek. So soft, so perfect.

  The cat jumped onto the back of the couch and stared him down. Heaviness filled his chest. Jason’s role had always been the protector. Now he was the threat.

  “Smart kitty,” he whispered. “Protect her. Especially from me.”

  Chapter Eight

  As the guys prepped for a local BAM show, Jason cornered Cosmo to let him in on the latest Sandy development.

  “You’re wrong,” Cosmo said. “You couldn’t be more wrong if you told me my mother was going to be the centerfold for Playboy next month.” The man shook his head and started toward the dressing room.

  Jason followed. The show started in an hour and he didn’t want to drop this bomb, but at the very least he needed Cosmo to back up his story about wanting him to watch
over Sandy.

  “I want you to tell her—”

  “I don’t like this,” Cosmo interrupted. “She’s a nice girl.”

  “She’s a suspect.”

  Cosmo stopped short. “She’s family,” he hushed, as Tula the Tramp wandered by dressed in light-up pasties, a thong and spiked heels.

  And J thought his family was dysfunctional?

  “Well, it’s looking like this family member is dirty,” he said.

  “Nope. Don’t believe it.” Cosmo stuck his hand out in a stop gesture. “No more talking. I won’t listen.”

  “I told her you wanted me to keep an eye on her, that you’re worried about her. Back me up on this.”

  “I am worried,” he glared, “about what you’re going to do to her.”

  “I’m not doing anything she doesn’t deserve.”

  “You’re barking up the wrong ring post.”

  “Look, the quickest way to wrap up this case is to identify the perpetrator. Sandy’s my first suspect. I need to stick with her, discover her friends, contacts, stuff like that.”

  The promoter looked annoyed. “You’re wrong, and I’m going to prove it.”

  J grabbed Cosmo’s arm. “Don’t interfere with this investigation.”

  “Wouldn’t think of it, Stripper. But you’ll be ashamed you ever suspected her.” Cosmo stormed into a dressing room, slamming the door in J’s face.

  “You keep on living in that dream world,” Jason whispered. This guy was naive and trusting, and had the gall to scold him about doing his job? Yep, he’d scolded him like a father would his teenage son. Not that J would know what that felt like.

  Maybe if his old man had been around during J’s teenage years it wouldn’t have fallen apart. Yet J was a model child up to his seventeenth birthday. He’d taken care of Mom, Jordon and Janette.

  If only Dad hadn’t left, Mom wouldn’t have started dating that idiot Mr. Plackard, and J wouldn’t have gotten into trouble because he couldn’t stand being pushed out of the lead male role in the family.

  That’s when it all went to hell. J would never forget the look on his mom’s face when the cop brought him to the front door. It haunted him to this day: her teary eyes and disapproving frown. You’re just like your no-good father. He’d read it in her eyes.