“You’re too much.” I push her lightly, throwing her off balance and she shoos me away. “Okay, okay. I’m going.”
With my back turned to her, I only remotely hear her grumbling. Shaking my head, I brush off her rambling list of things she’s finishing up, and my nervous jitters as well.
I have to walk through the locker room to get to my office. It isn’t exactly the perfect design, but it was part of the original building layout. When the money from my parents’ life insurance policy and the payout from my contract began to dwindle, I had to make some choices in what was necessary and what was a luxury. At the end of the day, an on-staff trainer, high-end equipment and the most up-to-date technology were more important than a fancy office.
I take a quick shower, washing away the grime of getting the space ready for a meet and greet. Rachel picked up my clothes from the dry cleaner earlier and hung them in the small closet. Dark charcoal slacks and a simple, crisp white button-down dress shirt make me look professional, but not too over the top dressy for the event. Not wanting to deal with the cuffs, I roll the sleeves up a few times.
By the time I make it back out to the front, Rachel is just about to open the doors. Adrian McIntyre and Troy Davidson, MMA middleweight champions and old sparring partners of mine, are the first to congratulate me.
“Thanks, guys. It really means a lot to me that you’re here to help.” The doors open and a crowd of people begin to fill the room. I look over my shoulder, pointing out the disproportionate amount of women to men who are walking in. “I think more people are excited to come meet you guys than they are for the gym.”
“No way, man. They’ll see us and then tell their men they need to come here so they can look the same. Just you wait and see. We’ll sell this place like crazy tonight.” After his words of encouragement, Troy eyes the crowd looking for an easy target. He finds one in a group of tall brunettes who are all giggling like school girls as he approaches.
Adrian claps a hand to my shoulder, shaking his head. “Some things never change, huh?” Troy is most definitely a ladies man, through and through.
“Well, when they practically claw at him, I guess I can’t say I blame him.” Adrian and I share a laugh, thinking back to our wilder days of partying with Troy.
“He’s right, though. This place will kill it. You just wait and see,” Adrian assures me.
Rachel pulls me away for some kind of water cooler emergency. She still hasn’t figured out how to work it properly, so she always thinks it’s broken. No matter how many times I show it to her, it just doesn’t stick in that pretty little head of hers.
From the far corner of the weight room, I scan the space and a huge bubble of pride fills my chest. My initial misgivings of the crowd being filled with women dying to get a chance to meet a real MMA fighter are calmed when I see that things have clearly balanced out. I even recognize a few faces from people who have been using the gym all week.
I say my hellos to those who I recognize and introduce myself to those who I don’t. Being new to the area, I extended invitations out to the local business owners, figuring it would be a great chance to network and hopefully cross-promote in the future. My plan seems to be working so far. I’ve chatted up Josie, the owner of a health food store around the block, and Ryan a boot-camp trainer who’s looking for work. Even though we’re less than halfway through the evening, I feel confident in saying that it’s been a success.
All feelings of happiness vanish as I feel a prickly sensation creep up my neck. An all-too-familiar hand grips my arm, turning me to face its owner.
“Congratulations, Conner.” Austin’s gravelly voice falls from a mouth twisted in a crooked smile.
Not wanting to make a spectacle of myself, I reign in my temper. “Austin,” I speak calmly, extending my hand more out of politeness than out of wanting to touch him. Sometimes, my manners just get the best of me.
“A handshake?” He looks down at my hand like it’s covered in insects. “After all this time...we shared a bed for a year, and all you offer me is a handshake?” Austin’s anger is thinly veiled, at best. Anyone close enough could hear the contempt in his words, but anyone looking on from a distance would just see two men engaged in a regular conversation. He plays this game well, always has.
“That’s all you’ll ever get from me.” I pull my hand back, shoving it into my pocket before he even has the chance to touch me. “What do you want?” My impatience is unmistakable, but he chooses to ignore it. “And what are you even doing here? Why aren’t you back in New Jersey?”
He swallows back the last sip of champagne in his glass and drops it on a waiter’s tray as he walks by. “It’s good,” he says as he takes another flute off the tray. “I always thought you preferred a beer or a whiskey though. So I guess this must be Rachel’s doing, then.”
My hands are balled into tight fists in my pockets. “What. Do. You. Want?” I grind out each word, quietly with more restraint than I thought I’d ever be capable of possessing when it comes to Austin.
He notices it and a small fracture in his perfect veneer fissures across his face. By not immediately warming up to his greeting, I’ve clearly gotten to him.
“I just wanted to see how you were doing. I don’t want to fight.” His voice softens as he reaches for my arm once again.
The stress of the last week, the last year, even, overwhelms me. Pushing my hand through my hair, I let out a sigh. “I’m doing just fine.” I tone it down and add, “Thank you for showing up,” even though I don’t really mean it.
Austin moves us over to a quiet corner where there are a few tables and chairs set up. We sit across from one another. “I was wrong, Con.” Now it’s his turn to let out a sigh of frustration. Whatever he wants to say must be weighing heavily on his mind. Crossing my arms over my chest, I lean back in the chair. When our legs bump together under the table, I make a concerted effort to pull away. “Give me another chance,” he demands, no “please” or anything.
My large frame eats up the space of the small table as I lean across it. “If I recall correctly, when you left you said you had no room in your life for a washed up fighter who was no more than a vegetable.”
“I don’t know what to say.” He has the good sense at least to look ashamed. “I was an asshole. I was only thinking about me, and those first few months after you were hurt really took a toll on me.”
“On you?” I can’t contain my laughter. “Oh, that’s rich, Austin. My head injury must have been really difficult for you to deal with. It must have been really trying for you to cope with the loss of your lifelong career goal months after losing your parents in a house fire. Tell me more about how much of a struggle that time was for you.” Sarcasm hangs heavily on each and every word.
Austin reaches out his hand, tentatively placing it on top of mine. He tightens his grip on it as I try to pull away. “You’re right. I didn’t have to deal with any of that. And I was so wrong for walking away from you. Please hear me out.”
Not able to listen to his crap anymore, I shoot up from my seat, sending the flimsy folding chair skidding behind me. “No, you had your chance. That much I can remember. Now get out of here.”
He stands from his chair, scanning me from head to toe. “I’ll fight for you this time. I will,” he promises as he turns to walk away.
“There’s nothing to fight for,” I say with an unmistakable tone of finality. With any luck, Austin will be on the road heading back to New Jersey by midnight. But if I know, Austin, he’ll be the thorn in my side I thought I dislodged long ago.
I’m not sure what I’m happier about – that Austin is walking out of the gym or that Dylan is walking into it. Since I’m still kind of hidden in the corner, Dylan hasn’t seen me. I have no clue why he’s here. It’s not like we hit it off the other night. I think I annoyed him more than helped him; though, that wasn’t my intent. He’d just set me on edge and I couldn’t tell left from right when I was around him.
As he navigates his way through the crowd, I can’t help but notice how good he looks. The other night, I thought his body looked amazing in a suit, but I was wrong. His dark wash jeans pull tightly across his legs and showcase his firm ass perfectly. He’s wearing a black and grey striped polo. I laugh when I notice he’s not wearing his sling. That’s one thing I picked up on the other night. Even though I only know him casually, calling Dylan stubborn is most definitely an understatement.
When he finally finds me, I can’t tell if he’s happy or not. As he walks toward me, most of the frustration I felt with Austin melts away. A smug smile takes up residence on my face and I chuckle a little when I see the same one mirrored on Dylan’s face.
“How’s the arm?” I tip my chin at his sling-free shoulder.
He rolls it, only wincing slightly. “Better, thanks. Doctor said I just need to take it easy, nothing was re-torn or anything like that.”
Knowing he’ll be back at the gym sooner rather than later makes me happier than I’d care to admit aloud right now. So I go with a simple, “That’s good,” instead.
“So how’d you manage to get Adrian McIntyre and Troy Davidson to make an appearance? Those guys are pretty big names.” I ignore the insinuation that this event is too lame to draw championship level fighters.
“They’re good friends of mine, actually. We all used to fight together.” I watch as the realization dawns on him. I’m not conceited enough to think he would have known who I was when we first met, but it’s nice to see that he remembers my name.
“Wait. You mean… are you the Conner Michelson?”
Hiding my face with my hand, I shake my head back and forth more out of embarrassment than out of denial. “Yeah, that’s me,” I finally admit.
“No shit!” It’s odd to see Dylan excited, especially when all I’ve seen of him is moody and injured. Then his face changes as another piece of the puzzle falls into place. “You said you used to fight. What happened?”
Just because something has come to be the defining moment in my life doesn’t mean that everyone I meet remembers it like I do. Not wanting to get into that gem of a story right now, I opt for deflection. “I had to stop.” There’s no misreading the icy chill to my words.
Just as a stagnant silence begins to surround us, Dylan breaks it. “So how’s the night going?”
“Really well, actually.” The iciness is replaced with pride. It’s finally setting in that this is real and that I might actually make something of myself.
“That’s great,” he responds awkwardly. “I’ll let you get back to everything. I don’t want to take up too much of your time.” Before he takes more than one step away from me, I grab for his arm to pull him back to our conversation.
“Why did you come?” I’d wanted to ask it since he walked up to me.
Dylan shoves his hands in his pockets, staring down at his feet as if an answer will just magically appear. It takes him more than a few seconds to spit out an answer. “I wanted to say thank you for helping me the other night.”
“I only did−”
“No,” he cuts me off. “Let me finish, please.” I nod and he continues. “You weren’t supposed to be gay.”
I laugh. “They say it’s not a choice, you know.” Sure, I make a joke out of it, but to be honest, his confession confuses me a bit. “Care to clarify.” Extending my arm to the side, I move so that we can sit at the table Austin and I just vacated.
We sit and this time, and when my knee bumps with Dylan’s, I do not pull it away.
Neither does he.
“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” he confesses, leaning back in his chair, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs a few times.
I hold my finger and thumb apart in front of my face. “Maybe a little.”
He laughs, leaning forward across the table. “You weren’t supposed to be gay. I was going to sign up for the gym and just look. Reid and I were going to come here a few nights a week after work and I’d get my fill of staring at you and then I’d go home.”
“I think that’s the most honest thing anyone has ever said to me.” Dylan’s bluntness knocks me off kilter. My almost-career was filled with people trying to talk me into this-thing or that-thing, to sign this-contract or that-one. Even my agent had an agenda of his own. I became so jaded, I never knew who to believe.
“I’m not big on being lied to” he admits, and I file that away in the back of my brain. “Anyway, that’s why I was…”
“A jerk.” Without really thinking, or applying any kind of filter, I fill in the blank for him.
“I was going to go with asshole, but your version is much nicer.” We share a laugh.
“So, can I ask you something I’m still kind of confused about?” Dylan nods, a smug grin on his face. “If you liked what you saw, why did my being gay complicate things and turn you into, oh, let’s go with your word this time, an asshole?”
“Probably for the same reason me not being with Reid turned you into the same thing.” He’s quick with the comeback, which is accompanied by an arched eyebrow. “Care to explain that one.”
Shoving my sleeves up an inch or two gives me enough pause to come up with some kind of response that doesn’t totally sell me out, but at least allows me the opportunity to be honest. “You weren’t supposed to be single.”
“Oh.” His single word response puts us both on the same page.
“Yeah, ‘oh’.” I shoot him a look as another server passing champagne interrupts us.
When she turns away, I play on the “he likes honesty” card. “Now that we both know I’m gay and you’re single, what should we do about that?”
It’s impossible to deny the attraction between us. From the moment I met him, even in passing a week ago, I haven’t been able to shake him. I haven’t wanted to shake him.
“Nothing.” His response is immediate.
After huffing a laugh across the table at him, I pitch my voice a touch lower. “Nothing, my ass, Dylan. I don’t know what your deal is, just as much as you don’t know mine, but we’re going to figure it out. You came here tonight…”
“I came here to apologize. That’s all,” he defends.
Calling his bluff, I say, “No, you didn’t. And I’m glad you’re here.” He looks surprised. “How’s that for honesty?” A stilted silence threatens, and I notice Rachel approaching with someone wearing a press badge. “Have dinner with me. This week sometime.” I stand from my chair, and bend so that my lips are close enough to his ear for me to lick it, if I wanted to. “That wasn’t a question, so don’t even think about saying no.” Dylan nods and I feel like pumping my fist in the air like I’ve just won a fight. Of course, I don’t have time for that, because Rachel is at my side the second I move away from Dylan’s ear.
“Conner, this is Kirsty Flemming, from the Elmira Daily News.” Rachel is bouncing with excitement. “She’d like to do an article about you and the gym. Do you have a few minutes to sit for an interview?”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Michelson.” Kirsty weakly shakes my hand and offers up a sexy smile. I restrain myself from rolling my eyes as she arches her back slightly, pushing her breasts forward, offering them up like some kind of sexual sacrifice. Rachel notices it, too and shoots me the “deal with it” face she’s perfected over the years.
“I’d love to talk, Ms. Flemming. Let me just say goodbye…” But when I turn my attention back to the table where Dylan is supposed to be, he’s gone.
I look down at the phone vibrating in my hand, laughing at what I know is yet another text message from Reid. My suspicions are confirmed when I tap on the notification.
Don’t even think of not showing up.
Since I’m only a few minutes away, I don’t even bother responding. Walking into the Memorial Day barbeque less than five minutes late will be enough to shut him up. Since Lucy, Maddy’s adoptive Mom, just had Maddy’s graduation party at her house, Reid reserved a lakeside picnic area for today so that we
could all get together.
After grabbing the groceries from my car, I walk over to the site. Music is playing; food is cooking; Braden is digging in the sand.
“You made it.” Reid sounds shocked.
“Will you chill the fuck out? Just because I’m running late doesn’t always mean I’m not going to show. Okay?” Playfully, but also to emphasize my point, I shove the six-pack of beer into his hands before squatting down next to Braden.
Before long, Reid and Bryan have a volleyball net set up. With my shoulder still not being completely healed, I choose to sit this one out. Braden is sitting in his booster seat on the picnic bench next to me, making a complete mess of himself with some cheese doodles.
“You look like an orange monster, buddy.”
“Raa-raa!” Braden mimics what a typical monster response would be. Hands up, fingers curled, in the standard “I’m gonna get you” pose and everything.
“Dude, you’re too much.” I laugh as he crams another fistful of doodles into his already packed mouth.
“Uh huh,” he mumbles, but that’s his standard almost-two-year-old response to everything. If you ask him if he wants to go to the park, you get an extra enthusiastic “uh huh,” but even if you ask him about eating a mud-pie, he’ll say the same thing.
“So what’s new with you? Got a girlfriend, yet?” I nudge him on the arm conspiratorially.
“Mommy.” He smiles up at me, orange-dusted face and all. Reid must have trained him on that one.
“Me?” I pretend he’s asked me something as he nudges me back. “Nah, no one.” For the first time since Shane, I almost add, yet. That thought catches me off guard.
Braden bops in his seat to the beat of the music. I sing along with him, clapping my hands when he does the same.
When the song ends, I grab the container of baby wipes at the edge of the table and attempt to clean the kid up, at least a little bit. “So your daddy’s been on me to call this doctor.” Braden tries to lick his fingers clean of the cheese doodle left overs and I let him – there aren’t many simpler pleasures in life than licking cheese doodle dust off your fingers. He grabs my face, squishing my cheeks together, a serious look playing across his pudgy face, as if he’s really taking this all in. He nods and I continue, “I called her last week and I have an appointment tomorrow. It’s kind of scary.”
Let Love Live Page 17