Until We're More

by Cindi Madsen

  Lately my thoughts kept straying from where they should be as far as Chelsea was concerned. I’d made that throwaway comment about her not having the right type of sex after the movie, and then I’d accidentally wondered if anyone had taken care of her, the way she deserved…

  My blood heated, and my heart pumped faster in my chest. Why couldn’t I stop thinking about that? Or her legs? Yeah, she had nice ones that went on forever, but again, not a news flash, and I wasn’t going there. She was my best friend, things between us were finally good again, and we were fucking living together for the next month or so.

  This past weekend was the last time since I could remember that I hadn’t been consumed with stress. I needed us to stay uncomplicated and drama-free. Needed to preserve that sense of calm our friendship brought into my hectic life.

  Good thing we were going back to our normal schedules today, because I also needed to get my head straight. And I should stop only thinking about myself—she had a lot at stake right now, too. “Nervous for your first day?”

  She bit her plump lower lip, my Chelsea back in place of the businesswoman who’d temporarily replaced her. “Yeah. They’ve already hired on a couple people, and I can’t stop hearing my supervisor say that I need to be more assertive. But as much as I tell myself I can do it, it’s hard for me to be as bold and bossy as I need to be. I want the new people to respect me, but…” She dragged her fingers along the edge of the counter. “Is it so bad that I want them to like me, too?”

  “You don’t need them to like you.” I made a slicing motion with the spatula in my hand. “In fact, forget about that.”

  “Did you forget who you’re talking to?”

  I placed one of the plates of food on the counter in front of her. “I know that you want everyone to like you and that you’re nice to a fault. But you’re not there to make friends.”

  “That’s what every person on those awful reality TV shows says.”

  “You mean the people who win?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Not sure. I can never watch them because I don’t like how mean they are to one another. You get off on competition. I don’t.”

  “I…wouldn’t put it that way.” Get off, get off, get off. Those words were going to haunt me.

  Red crept across her cheeks. “You know what I mean.”

  The temptation to ask her to explain called to me, but I batted it away so I could focus on her needs. “Chels, you said yourself that you want to climb up the ladder…”

  A fiery gleam entered her eye. “If you call me a monkey again and offer me a banana, I’m going to shove it up your—”

  “Hey, hey.” I held my hands up in a soothing I-surrender gesture. “Save that feistiness for your coworkers.”

  “Feisty, huh? This guy who hit me up after seeing my online dating profile said he assumed I’d be feisty because of my red hair, and I’m afraid I failed to impress him on that count. What if the same thing happens with the employees here?”

  “You have an online dating profile?” Creepers were out there scrolling through her pictures and judging her? Probably sending her unimpressive dick pics, too. Because really, there was no such thing as an impressive one. Not that I’d received any, but Brooklyn had mentioned it was a different dating world out there, and the thought of my sister dealing with it had made me angry. The thought of Chelsea dealing with it… Anger was one of the emotions, for sure, along with that stupid pinch in my gut that kept happening whenever I thought of her with someone else.

  Chelsea sighed. “Can we focus on the here and now?”

  “Sure,” I said, even though I’d be circling back around to the online-dating thing. If she was going to be meeting with people from the internet, I was going to up her self-defense training, stat. “Today you march in there and you show them you can handle being in charge of a group of people. Demand respect. And if you need backup, I’m just a phone call away.”

  “But the point is to have them respect me without backup.” She patted my arm. “Even though I appreciate the thought.” She dropped onto the barstool, scooped eggs into her mouth with her fork, and gave one sharp nod. “Okay. I can totally be a hard-ass.”

  “You can be,” I said, because that was what she needed to hear. All it’d take was one sob story from a coworker and she’d fall for it hook, line, and sinker. Clearly I should’ve done more prep work on the bold and assertive front instead of getting caught up in the ease of hanging out with her and how much more I laughed whenever she was around. “And remember that most people are big liars. Especially in their online profile.” I couldn’t help it. It just popped out.

  She rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh. “I was afraid that was going to come back to bite me. It’s hard to meet people, okay? And I’ve only gone on a few dates with guys I’ve met through there. Really I should be making fun of you—you’re the one who needs to get with the times.”

  I crossed my forearms on the counter, bringing me down to her eyeline level so I could peer into her big brown eyes. “How do you know I don’t have an online profile?”

  She nearly spit out her orange juice. “Good one. All you have to do is step outside or go to a bar and you could meet a girl like that.” She snapped her fingers.

  Maybe the old me. And sure, the current me could, but there was a difference between being able to and having the desire to. I hadn’t done much of the casual hookup thing since my early twenties. Girls tended to want more than I could give, and I had way too much on my plate as it was. I didn’t have time for a full-blown relationship, and I’d only occasionally missed it until Chelsea moved. Without her to fill in the missing parts, life seemed to be constantly holding up a big old mirror and showing me how empty mine was.

  Someday I’d deal with that, but for now I was going to enjoy having her here. Hell, I’d already talked more in the past few days than I usually did in an entire month. With the exception of barking out orders, I really only talked to my family, and how much depended on the day and if they were on one of their point out how grouchy Liam is kicks.

  “Thanks for breakfast. I better get going.” She scooted off her stool and rounded the counter so she was standing right in front of me, and it struck me as the type of domestic moment that would include a kiss goodbye.

  Instead she dumped her plate in the sink. On her way past me, I got a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek, something I’d also missed. “Later, roomie.”

  “Knock ’em dead,” I said, then I forced myself not to stare at her ass or think about the way those pants showed it off so nicely. Good thing I was headed to the gym, because I suddenly felt the need to expend a lot of energy.

  …

  “I heard Chelsea’s back in town and staying with you,” Dad said the second I stepped into his office. My siblings had big mouths.

  Dad was another reason I’d stayed away from relationships in general. As much as I’d tried to stop it, I ended up more like him than I would’ve preferred. Not that he wasn’t a good guy, with a lot of admirable attributes. He was a hell of a fighter, a great coach, and he was dedicated to his sport and his gym. Often to the detriment of his family, something he was working on, but in spite of how much he wanted to change, old habits died hard. He and Brooklyn had come a long way in repairing their relationship, but it’d required a lot of patience on her part, and he’d still hurt her feelings a few times along the way.

  I worried I was destined to do the same to people around me. Finn and Brooklyn would forgive me because they were family, but I could never seem to leave work behind, and I wouldn’t be satisfied until I won a belt. Until Team Domination became synonymous with winning, along with the Roth name. The career I’d chosen was all-consuming and brutal, and I’d be damned if I would drag someone I cared about through the same things my mom endured as she’d supported my dad. “Yeah, just for a month and a half.”

  “Tell her to come in and say hi. I’d like to see her.”

  “I’ll let her know.” At first C
helsea had been completely intimidated by Dad, the way most people instinctively were, but once she’d gotten to know him better, she saw his softer side. That didn’t mean he hadn’t sometimes spoken too harshly to her or hurt her feelings by calling her a “distraction.”

  While I’d barely admitted it to myself, she had been one leading up to one of my previous fights—a big, high-stakes fight, at that. We’d been having a ton of fun over Christmas break her senior year of college, and instead of stopping them, I’d let my thoughts fully stray to wanting to kiss Chelsea territory. I’d lost the edge on my focus, and it was painfully evident in the cage.

  It’d taken me nearly a year after that loss to claw my way back to where I’d been, and if I wasn’t careful, I’d barter six weeks for the eighteen months it took to reach title contention. If I lose this next big fight, I probably won’t get another shot at the belt, not for a long time, anyway.

  On top of being a waste of a lot of hard work, it’d be a huge blow to the gym, and I couldn’t stand the thought of my teammates’ and my family’s disappointment. It’d hurt enrollment, too. Why would anyone sign up to train with a coach who couldn’t clinch a win when it came to the big fights?

  Everything in my life, including my fights, ran more smoothly when I kept Chelsea in the strictly friends category, and apparently my brain needed that reminder. “What’s the schedule like today?”

  Dad gave me the rundown and reminded me it was my turn to take over tonight’s kickboxing class so Finn could keep his focus on his upcoming fight. Currently, Shane and I were trading off.

  “Do you think Brooklyn might come in for a few extra hours and help with the books?” Dad asked. “The new girl’s not as fast, and I don’t want to get behind again.”

  Since my goal was to avoid drama, I knew better than to get in the middle of those two. “That’s a question you’ll have to ask Brooklyn.”

  “Just for a couple hours. She can do it while Shane trains.”

  “Again, you’re talking to the wrong person.” At least Dad now understood that she needed time to paint, and he always asked her about her job at the gallery and bragged about her paintings, but sometimes it was still hard for him to accept “no” as an answer. The new girl definitely wasn’t as quick or as detailed when it came to the books, but that was what happened when you compared years of experience to a few months. “Maddie will figure it out. If Brooklyn has time to help, I’m sure she’ll figure things out faster, but she has that big art show at the end of the month.”

  “It’s on my calendar, and I’ll be there.”

  It only took a couple decades, but Dad was gradually changing. He was nearing the end of his career, though, now retired from fighting, and I needed to keep my career going and growing before I could even think about slowing down. Even after I finally got my hands on that belt, it would mean a lot of defending my title afterward. Basically, my life didn’t have a slow-down point within the next few years, and while it was good to plan ahead, there was also a lot of getting through things day by day and month by month.

  Really the only certainty in a fighting career was that nothing was certain.

  Chapter Seven

  Chelsea

  So much for making an impression.

  Correction: so much for making a good impression. “Girl with coffee on her boob” wasn’t exactly the gold standard. Or the silver or the bronze, for that matter.

  I rubbed at the stain with a damp paper towel, smearing it and making my shirt semi-see-through while leaving teeny pieces of brown paper to go with the permanent brown tinge the coffee had left. I frowned at my reflection in the bathroom mirror of the office building and, with a sigh, tossed the paper towel in the trash. Then I positioned myself under the hand dryer. A woman with sleek chestnut hair—the kind of hairdo I’d tried before remembering that San Diego’s humidity meant straight wasn’t a possibility—stepped into the bathroom and gave me a concerned look with a hint of condescension.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m just drying my coffee boob.” I swear my spirit self floated up and out of my body to tell my mouth to stop, because when in the history of ever had explaining made me seem anything but crazier, but I kept on going because I couldn’t even listen to my spectral self. “For the record, the caffeine doesn’t work faster if you pour it directly onto your skin.”

  She gave me a tight smile and ducked into the nearest stall. The heat from the dryer soaked into the underwire of the pushup bra that helped give the illusion I had boobs and began to burn my skin.

  “Ouch, ouch, ouch. Guess that’s as good as it’s going to get.”

  “Are you talking to me?” the brunette asked, her voice slightly muffled by the stall door. “Because I prefer silence while I’m…yeah.”

  “Just talking to myself. Until now, of course. I’ll, um, leave you to it.” Yep. I should seriously have a real-life lock for my lips. The mimed version was too easy to break. The splotch of watered-down coffee was only slightly less visible now, and I wished I’d brought a jacket. I’d been all cocky about the warm weather. It was like being home threw off my game instead of improved it, and with so little game to start, I needed every ounce I could get.

  On my way out of the bathroom and into the tiled lobby of the building, I nearly collided with Brad, my manager. He steadied me with a hand on my arm.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Just so excited to get started.”

  An easy smile spread across his face. “Morning, Chelsea. I’m digging this time change. Feels like I got to sleep in forever.”

  “Yeah, if only my cat would let me sleep in—he’s still stuck in mountain standard time, and he’s not exactly patient when it comes to waiting for breakfast.”

  My boss nodded, that blank expression with accompanying nod that often happened when I talked about George. Ten minutes in, and I was already oozing awkward right and left. Brad glanced at my coffee boob but nicely pretended not to notice the stain—as much as I wished otherwise, I didn’t delude myself it’d magically disappeared, although I knew looking at it myself would invite more looking. “Shall we get started, then?”

  I gestured toward the office door. “After you.”

  “No, I insist.” He opened the door for me and everything. The guy was one of those mild-mannered, gentlemanly types I tried to convince myself I liked. I mean, I did. Not that I planned to cross lines with my boss, but I had that problem of comparing everyone to Liam, who was a gentleman in a lot of ways. And in a lot of others he was…rugged, unrepentant, stubborn, kind of bossy, and sexy as hell. That last one wasn’t so much a gentleman-or-not trait. Just a fact I couldn’t help noticing this morning as I ate the eggs he made me while he gave me a pep talk. Good thing I was totally over my silly, unrequited crush on him.

  Yeah, super over it. That’s why I’m thinking about him right now instead of focusing on what I should be focusing on.

  Time to prove that not only am I good at my job, I can be assertive.

  Once we reached the conference room, I took my place to the right of Brad, and we introduced ourselves to the people who’d been hired through a mix of phone and video interviews. I’d vetted several of them, and the insecure side of me experienced a tiny pang of jealousy when I realized the one with the most impressive résumé was Ashlee Simmons, the brunette from the bathroom. She looked like the type of girl who’d made snide comments about me in high school.

  For a second I thought about trying to win her over with my charm, but then Liam’s words about not being here to make friends ran through my head. If I was going to move up to a position where I could choose my own accounts and make a real difference, I needed to learn how to get tough and exude a boss vibe.

  Tough yet encouraging. I’d have to ask Liam for more tips on how to pull that off. I’d seen him train a lot of fighters, and while he was tough to the point I worried he might break a few of those big muscled dudes, he encouraged them and made them stronger, too. I can do this. I’m gonna prove I’m management
material.

  …

  So I wouldn’t cry over my total failure of a day, I’d stopped by the grocery store, stocked up on junk food—the type Liam would never dare put in his body—and bought ingredients for dinner.

  Over the past few months, I’d relied on takeout and pasta-in-a-box dinners, mostly using the stove in my Denver apartment for those times when I hadn’t done the dishes and had to hide the overflow. I’d always meant to learn how to cook healthier, more complex dinners, and figured there was no time like the present. I also wanted to thank Liam for letting me stay with him, to show him I cared about him—in a completely platonic way, naturally—and I needed to occupy my mind anyway. Win-win.

  And I could really use a win.

  I glanced from the recipe on my phone screen to the stove. I added the sliced zucchini and acorn squash to the chicken, sprinkled in the spices, and stirred everything around.

  The brunette who’d been lucky enough to hear my joke about absorbing caffeine through my skin was the type of person who said, I didn’t come here to make friends, I came to win, and meant it. The kind who would make allies and later stab them in the back. Brad had split the team into two groups of ten and left me in charge of the one Ashlee, the only other female in a sea of dudes, was in. At every turn she’d questioned me and smirked when I used too many ums in my answers. Which basically got the other employees riled up and asking questions of their own I didn’t exactly know how to answer. When Brad had come to check on our group, it’d been disorganized chaos. He’d frowned and taken control, and I’d sat in the corner licking my wounds.

  The second I’d arrived back at Liam’s, I’d abandoned the uncomfortable bra I was never wearing again no matter how much extra oomph it gave my overall look and changed into my pajamas. For a moment or two I’d wondered if I should pull on jeans and attempt to look nice when Liam came home. But he’d seen me in my jammies more times than I could count, and after wearing binding clothes all day, my limbs craved freedom.