by Shannyn Leah
How disastrous could his father coming along be? They hadn’t been on a road trip since, well, ever. They were past due for a good outing together.
He heard the passenger’s side window roll down. “Why do you have the air cranked so damn high?” He hollered it so loud a mother passing covered her son’s ears and glared at Slate and then Stone.
Good grief.
“Haven’t you ever heard of the open road? The breeze from outside is refreshing. All you young kids today, you don’t know how to live.”
Questioning his decision to let his dad tag along, Stone chucked his dad’s bag in the back and reached for the one Slate had tossed on the ground. A pair of plain-strapped brown sandals stopped beside the bag. His eyes skimmed Bowie’s milky-smooth legs—legs he’d never forget how they felt wrapped around his middle and her sweet sensual sounds of pleasure escaping her mouth with each of his kisses, his touch—by the time he met her eyes, he was lost in the past.
He straightened and cleared his throat.
She slipped her sunglasses off and her beautiful eyes made something in his gut twitch.
“What’s your dad doing here?” She eyed the bag he clutched a little tighter than needed.
“He thinks he’s coming. Where’s your brother?”
“In the limousine.” She bit her lower lip, a distress motion he remembered. “I arranged for you, and I guess your dad, to stay at my house.” She held her hand up before he could object. “And don’t even bother giving me all the reasons why it’s not a good idea. You’ll have my dad’s gym, including a fighting ring and exercises equipment, at your disposal.”
“I remember.”
She flushed. “I have contacts. I’ve already arranged training sessions—”
“I can figure out my own training.”
Without even flickering her deep blue eyes from him, her hand reached up and touched his chest. Each finger burned the flesh beneath the material of his shirt. “You can’t die on my watch. If you do, then it’s like I never walked away in the first place.”
What the hell did that mean?
He may have inquired if Hawk hadn’t stepped between them yanking Bowie’s hand away from Stone’s chest. Instant longing burned in the area warmed from her touch.
Stone ran his hand over his chest, scolding the feeling. He finished loading his dad’s final bag in the back of the truck to keep his hands busy from throwing a punch at his friend ... acquaintance ... best friend’s friend. He didn’t know what to call Hawk. They were each tight with Dax, but together, Stone and Hawk simply put up with each other. Stone would much rather watch Hawk move it along the sidewalk then follow up this run-in with a conversation. But the way Hawk wedged himself between them, forcing Stone to take a few steps back, told him he had more to say.
“There’s reason number two for my coming along.”
Stone was sure he’d heard him wrong, but just for good measure he said, “Like hell you’re coming along.”
“Reason three, fight club.” Hawk’s waggled his eyebrows. “Am I right? Fight club?”
“Oh lord, he’s an idiot,” Bowie tilted sideways to shoot a look at Stone. “An idiot.”
In an unexpected move, Hawk grabbed Stone’s jaw, digging his thick, strong fingers into his flesh. He moved his head from side-to-side, examining the minor wounds on his face. “Yup, Dax was right, you’re not taking care of yourself.” He slapped Stone’s face with the other hand and stepped back, leaving an empty space between Stone and Bowie. “Since I’m a trained EMT, and there will be no medical care at the fights, you’re looking at reason number one why I’m boarding this fighting train.”
He slid a pair of reflective aviator glasses that had been resting in his wild, messy hair—which Stone didn’t doubt he’d spent way too long styling—over his eyes. His smirk remained. “Plus, I won’t pass up a chance to get a great Oakston piece of ass.” Hawk turned a serious face to Bowie. “I’m not talking about yours, but I bet you attend killer parties and I’m up for anything.”
Bowie pursed her natural-colored lips, making it hard for Stone to concentrate on anything else. “I don’t like you,” she said to Hawk.
“I don’t like you,” he said right back.
Her mouth dropped open and her eyes flared at Stone for backup he didn’t offer. When she looked back at Hawk, she wasn’t quite as angry. “Most people don’t like me.”
He shrugged. “Lolita, we have more in common than you know.”
Stone rolled his eyes. “Stop trying to get in her pants.”
Hawk held his hands up in a pathetic attempt to defend himself. “I’m here to keep you from trying to get in her pants.”
Bowie frowned between the men. “Let me save you both the trouble. Neither of you are getting into my pants.”
Hawk chuckled. “Girl, I know how you party.”
Stone wrinkled his nose at Hawk. “Please don’t tell me you watched Bowie B & Reed?”
“Damn right. Is your bro here too?”
Bowie shook her head, but he saw the corner of her lips quirk upwards. “You brought a stalker.” He hadn’t brought anyone. “He’s your responsibility. And he better not steal.”
“You take me as a thief?”
“Stay out of my closet. You’re banned from my wing of the house, Stalker.”
As she walked back to the limousine where Duke awaited, Hawk said, “She has a wing? How many wings does she have? Maybe I’ll get a wing and you’ll get a wing—oh, hey, is that your dad too?” He tossed one of his bags in the back of the truck and Stone pulled it back out and shoved it against his chest.
“Go home.”
“Hell no.” Hawk threw the bag back inside. “I didn’t just watch Bowie B & Reed, I goddam worshipped it. That woman can drink more than any woman I’ve ever met and still put on a smile the next morning.” He started toward the front of the truck. “Take my bag or leave it, I don’t care, I’m coming regardless.” He fisted his hands in the air. “Fight club.”
He was an idiot.
Stone cursed himself for deciding not to drive his bike to Oakston.
Chapter Nine
STONE HAD PLANNED on using the peaceful two-hour drive to Oakston to let the reality of heading into Oakston settle inside him. This wasn’t a simple gathering with old acquaintances. No, he planned to fight illegally again. Ten years ago, he wouldn’t have cared one way or the other, but now, a caution lurked where carelessness once clustered, telling him all the reasons why he should turn his truck back around.
Fight club rang in his ears and he couldn’t be sure it’d come from his mind or loud-mouthed Hawk’s. The cocky bastard and his old man hadn’t stopped gabbing since they’d hit the country road.
It had never occurred to Stone that these two men would have anything in common. While he’d been anticipating a grouchy father and random annoying quips from Hawk, they’d disrupted him with endless conversations about women, sports, and television.
As they encroached on the city, Stone picked up his pace to remain a close proximity behind the limousine through the city. Passing each hotel tempted him to turn the steering wheel and drive into their parking lot. While he felt the need to keep his distance from Bowie, he also fought the knowledge that preparation was key to winning against Walker. He couldn’t argue that Bowie had connections and money to give him his best shot.
Damn the woman for having that much control over this situation—over him.
Driving through the familiar gates to the private card-access community, Stone left his debate on the other side. From this point forward there would be no time for further contemplation about whether he’d made the right decisions or not. He was fighting. Bowie had the means and money. The end.
He goddam hated the conclusion.
“So this is where Oscar lived.” Stone couldn’t decipher whether his father’s tone sounded impressed or disgusted. Likely the latter.
He remembered the first time he’d seen this area and Oscar’s mansi
on. The lifestyle had quickly influenced Stone to step into the quick and easy, no rules world of underground fighting. When he should have had patience and strength to work his way to a championship like his father, he’d quickly slid into the underground ring hook, line, and sinker.
“These houses are sick.” Hawk rolled his window down and whistled at a woman walking her dog on the sidewalk.
Stone rolled the window back up and pressed the child-lock button, inwardly cringing at being forced to fill the father-figure shoes Hawk required.
Hawk sighed in triumph. “Damn, we’re going to be just fine here.”
“Keep your pecker in your pants. We’re not here to play nail the neighbour,” Stone growled.
“You keep that attitude in check and we’ll be fine.”
Stone’s one hand tightened around the wheel and the other around the gearstick at his right. He didn’t want to hear another damn word about him hooking up with Bowie. The second she’d walked out on him, the door for their future had closed along with his heart. There was no hooking up. There was no them. Nothing.
The limousine turned at the eight-foot wrought iron ornate gate attached to stucco columns. Mature trees and bushes lined the black fence, deliberately arranged to hide the property beyond. After the front vehicle accessed confirmation, the gates opened for them. The cobblestone winding path led them behind precisely arranged foliage, leaving only the giant statues to watch as they approached the house.
Hawk whistled when the Mediterranean-style estate came into view. The front wasn’t as nearly impressive as the back. Stone recalled many nights sitting by the pool and watching the sun set over the city with Bowie curled up beside him. His best memories were here. Memories he’d buried under every other part of him.
Parking his truck between the arched front door and outdoor water fountain, he turned to the men.
“Before we go in there, let’s clear a few things up.” He looked at Hawk first. “I’m in the mindset to fight. I’m focused on taking Walker to his knees and leaving him there to bleed. I don’t have room to even acknowledge whatever crap Dax has filled your head with. I’m not here to hook up with Bowie and I don’t want to hear another goddam word on the topic. You’re here because you’re an EMT. End of story. Understand?”
Hawk nodded. He even wiped that smart-ass look off his face for a moment. “And because of our budding bromance—”
Stone shook his head. “There’s no bromance.”
“There’s a bromance.”
“If you have to say ‘bromance’, then I’m pretty sure it’s not there.”
Hawk waggled his eyebrows before he winked at Stone. “It’s there.”
Stone rolled his eyes to his dad. “And you—”
“Don’t you and you me.”
“Dad.”
His dad met his warning tone with one of his own. “Son.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“So do I.”
“You’re going to watch.”
“You’re going to learn.”
“Dad.”
“Son.”
Stone huffed a breath of frustration and looked out the windshield. Bowie stood waiting by the door as Reed wheeled his chair up the new ramp.
He saw this conversation going nowhere. “Behave,” he simply warned them both before climbing out of the truck. These two men combined were going to be a worse distraction than Bowie.
He grabbed his bag out of the back of the truck and tossed his father’s and Hawk’s on the ground.
“Talk of bromance.” The two men chuckled among each other as they grabbed their bags.
Stone had never been a jealous person, but watching his dad let loose with Hawk definitely rubbed some unknown part of him the wrong way.
He ignored whatever brewed inside him, blaming it on being cooped up too long with Laurel and Hardy. He took a couple steps away when Hawk whispered, “If you’re not tapping that ass, how about I—”
Stone didn’t let him finish. Without a thought, he punched him straight in the stomach. He’d held back, but still the force keeled Hawk forward with a groan.
Stone leaned in. “Don’t put either of your filthy hands on her,” he gritted in his ear. “Understand?”
Hawk gave him a ‘thumbs up.’ “In spades.”
“Good.”
When Stone straightened, he saw Bowie watching them, curiosity etched across her face. A face so soft and so beautiful he knew she’d be his biggest distraction.
“YOU REMEMBER SUSAN?” Bowie walked to the other side of the kitchen counter where the woman who’d run the Blake household as long as she remembered was preparing a platter of food.
She was intentionally putting distance between her and Stone. Space was her goal while he stayed in her house. Space and more space until they were shouting at each other from across the room.
Considering the spacious width of the hallways and ample space in the rooms, she would think that would leave plenty of space between them. But when she’d accompanied him to his room, the room felt like it had shrunk around them. His body heat swirled around her like a warm breeze with smell of the soap he’d showered with that morning. And if the space didn’t drum up enough complications, her attention would shift to imagining him taking his morning shower, the water trickling over every muscle, and slipping into each groove before continuing its journey down his naked body.
Which brought her back to the idea of maintaining space.
Space.
Bowie stopped beside the woman who’d been the only woman figure in her life. Susan had been like a mother, grandmother, friend and teacher—the only adult figure besides her dad that she’d ever considered listening to.
The older woman’s brown eyes lit up at the sight of Stone. Bowie bit the inside of her mouth to keep from rolling her eyes at the back-and-forth banter these two used to play.
“Stone Patino, you handsome devil.” She left Bowie to fend for herself. Bowie grabbed a mug from the tray to keep from fidgeting and flipped it over. She feigned concentration at choosing a tea from the assortment laid out even though her final choice would be green tea. Always green tea.
Swinging the tea bags between her fingers, she casually glanced up to see Stone wrap his arms firmly around Susan’s fragile body. The older woman’s tiny body almost disappeared in Stone’s large arms.
“You look amazing, Susan. Hot damn, I recalled you being a looker back in the day, but never expected you to not age.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and leaned back to thoroughly inspect her. “You do have more grey hair than I remember.” His tone teased, but the lines forming on the edges of his eyes suggested he sensed something different. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “But according to the new receptionist at the shop, grey hair is all the rage now.”
Bowie’s heart sunk. It hadn’t been that long ago that Susan had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Susan touched her grey hair, hair that would soon fall out after the chemotherapy began.
“What do you expect taking care of these two?” She laughed and then sent Bowie a loving smile.
Stone chuckled too and the hopeful sound filled the air with what had become a stale, walk-on-eggshells atmosphere. The constant worry about Susan’s cancer and her brother giving up on his life had brought a poignant gloom over the house. Even in the midst of her father’s death there had been smiles and laughter, but lately everyone forced smiles and laughter was scarce.
The casual smile on Stone’s face fell downwards when his eyes landed on Bowie. She knew by the scrutinizing way he studied her that he was trying to determine what they weren’t telling him. Bowie carried her half-smile hoping to silently remind him what happens under this roof doesn’t concern him. Plus, he didn’t need additional stress or distractions in preparation for the match of his lifetime.
Bowie looped her arm in Susan’s and patted the older woman’s hand. “Susan doesn’t understand the concept of vacation, which is what she’s on.” Bowie gl
ared at the tea tray and the glass tray of sliced fruit and vegetables. “Stop cooking for us,” she scolded in a light tone for the guests, but knew Susan would understand her underlying message.
She brushed Bowie off—as she always did. “Oh, come now. I have to eat and why not prepare a bit extra for everyone else.”
“Because I hired a temporary cook.”
Susan waved at her. “He took the afternoon off.”
Bowie tilted her head at her. “Did he? Did he really take the afternoon off or did you tell him to take it off?”
“Details.” Susan picked up the food tray and carried it to the buffet where napkins and plates awaited. “Help yourselves, boys. You must be famished after your drive here.”
“Boys?” Slate huffed as he made his way to the food. Hawk followed too, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. Stone remained unmoved. His watchful eyes and acute sense of observation made him an incredible and undefeated champion, but when he brought the elements into his everyday life, they proved to be rather irritating.
Bowie ignored him, purposely keeping her eyes on Susan and everyone else—anything else—to avoid hinting at the information he quietly dug for.
“Do I look like a boy?” His father bit into an orange slice and the juice squirted across his cheek.
Susan passed him a napkin. “If you’d rather I call you an old bastard...”
Hawk laughed and Bowie even heard a chuckle from Stone. Slate looked less impressed at the older lady’s bluntness. Get used to it. This woman tells it like she sees it.
“Slate is fine.” He wiped his hand on the napkin before offering her a handshake. She warily took his hand. Bowie would guess they were around the same age, but Susan looked at least ten years younger than Slate.
“If you think this face looks familiar it’s because I’m a three-time champion retired MMA fighter.” Even when Slate smiled, he still looked older, but charming. Bowie would give him points for an appealing smile she recognized as just like his son’s.
“I know who you are.” She grabbed another napkin and wiped her hand. “I wasn’t sure how sticky your hand would be after eating that juicy orange.” She made a face, and continued wiping her hand. “Still a little sticky.”