Mariah wasn’t short on confidence herself, but more often than not, she wasn’t keen on being forced to contend with the potential catcalls or hoots. The last thing she needed was to jeopardize her career because she’d punched some pervert in the face for making a lewd comment.
In the spacious shower stall of her private bathroom, she let out a contented sigh as the warmth of the water ran along her tired muscles. Her body might have been tired, but her mind hadn’t slowed down since the bell rang to signal the end of the match.
Mike had advised against any intensive partying, but Mariah’s instinctive reaction was screw that.
She was twenty-six, in her physical prime, and she’d just overcome a major hurdle in the advancement of her MMA career. Though she didn’t drink more than any other woman her age, she’d long ago mastered the art of the hangover remedy. After all, she hadn’t always worked a job she loved.
From the time she was eighteen to twenty-three, Mariah had worked in a customer service call center. For the first three years of her employment, she’d used a fake ID to go to the bar with her older coworkers after they finished an eight-hour shift in the dismal office building.
The work was just short of soul-sucking, and in those five years, she was confident she could have drunk a frat boy under the table.
She had earned an undergraduate degree in literature by taking the majority of her courses online. Once she wrapped up the four-year degree, she’d realized there were few career opportunities for a person with a bachelor’s degree in literature.
Then, one night, she’d been dragged along to an MMA match in Los Angeles by her friend, Hazel Florez. She and Hazel had been in the same training class for their miserable call center job, and they’d formed a fast friendship in the first few months of their employment.
Like Mariah, Hazel was a lifelong admirer of martial arts, including karate and tae kwon do. Unlike her friend, Mariah hadn’t delved much into mixed martial arts, but after the electrifying match at a sold-out arena in Los Angeles, she was hooked. The rest, as they said, was history.
Hazel was by far the most sympathetic of Mariah’s friends when it came to her hectic schedule, but Hazel was a busy woman, too. She’d finished her master’s in business administration not long after Mariah first stepped into the cage in front of a live audience. From there, Hazel obtained a job at a tech firm in San Bravado. Though she raked in money hand over fist, the position was demanding, and her free time was usually spent elsewhere in the country as she traveled for business.
So, even though Hazel was the most understanding, she was just as busy as Mariah. Someday, their schedules would slow down, and they would reengage in their old antics at karaoke and putt-putt golf.
The recollection made Mariah happy as she rinsed the last of the conditioner from her long hair.
After she turned off the water, she went about drying her skin with the plush towels that had been provided for her. Humming quietly to herself, she slipped into a pair of gray shorts that ended several inches above the middle of her thighs. The flowy, blue and white patterned tank-top she put on next was low-cut to show off the modest cleavage that—to her relief—three and a half years of intense MMA training hadn’t touched.
Any time Mariah tried to blow-dry her wavy hair, she wound up with a puffy mess that she likened to the aesthetic of a cotton ball. Usually, that meant she was forced to make use of a straightener, but she’d recently discovered a trick. She used the blow-dryer, but only until the strands were damp rather than completely dry. From there, she could look forward to the natural waves that came with her thick hair rather than the indistinguishable blob that was inevitable otherwise.
Eyeliner and mascara were the only two makeup items Mariah had ever bothered to use. But she made up for her lack of variety with the sheer amount of different eyeliners she had collected over the years. In addition to every color of the rainbow, she had liquid eyeliner, pencil eyeliner, gel eyeliner, a handful of different brushes to apply the eyeliner, and a basic palette of eyeshadow.
Hazel was a wizard with eyeshadow, but Mariah had yet to catch onto her friend’s tricks of the trade. Someday, she told herself, she’d sit down and watch however many hours’ worth of online videos until she figured out at least a basic technique for eyeshadow that didn’t make her look like a clown or a raccoon.
Mariah’s hopes were high as she reached for her phone to check for responses to her slew of text messages. Though she hadn’t kept up with her friends as well as she would have liked over the last six months, she was sure they would appreciate the significance of her win tonight.
But when she tapped on the first message, she blew out a long sigh.
“Sorry, hon. I promised my sister I’d take her to see a movie tonight. Congrats, though! That’s amazing!” Corrine Thompson’s text ended with a couple of heart emojis.
As Mariah scrolled through the next few responses, her heart sank lower and lower.
It truly seemed like none of her friends were interested in celebrating with her. Then again, could she blame them?
For half a year, she had hardly seen Corrine or Julia. It seemed counterintuitive, but the only friend she’d spent time with on any sort of regular basis was Hazel.
Mariah had always considered herself a low-maintenance friend, but there was a fine line between “low-maintenance” and “neglectful.”
Slumping down where she sat on the bench, she plucked at her top and sighed. Despite her insistence to the contrary, she was about to fulfill Mike’s request that she have an early night.
She glanced in the mirror and rolled her eyes. “All dressed up with nowhere to go. Story of my life.”
When the rap of knuckles against the dressing room door sounded out, Mariah all but leaped from her seat. For the second time that day, her heart was in her throat.
“Oh, my God,” she muttered to herself as she patted the exposed skin of her chest. She could only guess that her jumpiness was the leftover heightened awareness from the match with Kady Erickson. Either that or she was losing her damn mind.
With one more deep breath to steady her racing heart, she padded across the room.
She expected the visitor to be Mike or a member of the building’s staff, but as she pulled open the door a crack, she blinked a few times as if the motion would change the image of the man in front of her. Bracing herself against the wooden frame with one hand, she pulled the door open wider to get a better look at the stranger.
The ends of his dark, fashionably styled hair reached the tops of his ears, though a couple strands had come loose to brush along one eyebrow. He was well-dressed, but not so much as to seem out of place amid the other MMA fans that had been seated throughout the arena. He had rolled the sleeves of his white dress shirt up to the elbow to expose the taut muscles of his forearms. Mariah didn’t keep up with men’s fashion, but she was sure his dark jeans were designer.
The corners of his gray eyes creased as he smiled, and Mariah was suddenly glad for her grip on the door frame.
“Mariah Penn, right?” The fabric of his shirt stretched along the well-defined muscles of his upper arm as he extended a hand to her.
Returning his smile as best as she could, Mariah accepted the handshake and nodded. “I am. I don’t believe we’ve met, though.”
His chuckle was low, the bass in his voice a pleasant rumble.
“No,” he answered. “We haven’t. I’ve been watching you, though.”
She wrinkled her nose as she returned her hand to her side. “Watching me?” she echoed.
“Oh.” He paused to shake his head. “No, not like that. I meant watching you as in following your fights. Sorry, that sounded a lot less creepy in my head.”
She grinned. “It’s all right.”
Despite the slip-up, he only seemed amused at his mistake, not nervous.
Well, that was peculiar, wasn’t it? A man had approached her on her home turf, made an unintentionally odd comment, and apologized, al
l without a visible pang of anxiety. He was confident, and the moment of humor told her that he didn’t take himself too seriously.
If her assessment was accurate, if he had the ability to laugh at himself, she thought there was a real possibility that she would be smitten right then and there. Every aspect of his appearance was flawless, even the displaced pieces of hair and the slightly crooked smile that had revealed straight white teeth.
As much as she wanted to turn into a drooling mess, she took the split second of silence to pull herself together.
He was probably married. Or he probably had a girlfriend. Or a fiancée. Or all the above. A man who looked like that wouldn’t be single unless he wanted to be single. Maybe he was a womanizing prick, but maybe, just maybe he was single because he was happy by himself.
“Wow, I’m sorry,” he said. “I shook your hand, but I didn’t tell you my name. I’m Logan Harfield. It’s nice to meet you. Like I said, I’ve been following your matches, and I’m a big fan. You’re a hell of a fighter. I wanted to swing by and congratulate you on your win tonight. A win against Kady Erickson, that’s seriously impressive.”
The warmth of a flush crept to her cheeks. “Thank you. It’s nice to meet you, Logan.” The word nice felt like a grave understatement. If she could sit and stare at him for a solid hour, she wouldn’t turn down the opportunity.
His disarming grin was back but with a more serious look. “But, I’ll admit, that’s not the only reason I wanted to stop by.”
“It’s not?” she asked.
“No,” he chuckled. “I was wondering if you’d be interested in celebrating that win. A few drinks, maybe some food, that sort of thing.”
Holy cow.
Was this real? Had Kady actually knocked her out in the ring, and this was just a vivid dream?
Since she had ramped up her focus on MMA training, she couldn’t remember the last time she had gone out with a man just for fun—with no strings attached. Her schedule was hectic and unpredictable, and she didn’t feel comfortable enough in her career quite yet to strut around downtown to pick up men.
But tonight, she’d lucked out.
With a light laugh she hoped didn’t sound nervous, Mariah nodded. “That sounds great. Let me just throw on some shoes, and we can head out of here.”
The sting of her friends’ rejections felt lighter as she retrieved a pair of gladiator sandals and her handbag.
Though she knew the relief wouldn’t be permanent, she would take the reprieve while she could, even if that was only for a single night.
Chapter 3
Logan
In the three years since his wife’s death, Logan had lost count of the number of nights he’d had that were almost identical to tonight.
No matter the encouragement he received from his friends or family, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to pursue a lasting romantic relationship since he’d lost the love of his life. His existence was punctuated by one-night stands and meaningless flings. To be sure, he was always upfront about what he wanted from the women he slept with, and he made sure none of them expected any semblance of a lasting commitment from him.
He’d experienced countless nights like this, but at the same time, he’d never experienced a night like this.
By now, he should have given Mariah the disclaimer he normally offered to the women with whom he kept company. He should have already told her that he was ill-suited to anything longer than a one-night stand or a fling that spanned a few days. At this point, he didn’t even think he was capable of maintaining a friendship with the benefit of sex.
But he couldn’t tell her.
No matter how hard he tried, no matter how many times he made an effort to steer the conversation in a direction conducive to the obligatory warning, he couldn’t say those words he’d uttered countless times to so many women.
Maybe it was the way her amber and green eyes sparkled when she looked at him, or the way her laugh made his breath catch in his throat. Because right now, that was all he wanted from her.
Sure, he would have gladly taken the opportunity to have some wild and crazy sex, but only if she would enjoy it as much as he did. Only if she felt the same inexorable attraction that he did.
But as she dropped down to sit across from him in their booth, he just wanted to see her smile. To hear her laugh at one of his stupid jokes.
Gold light from a dim, overhead fixture caught the silver beads of her bracelet as she raised a hand to stifle a belch.
“Bless you,” he offered.
“Excuse me,” she managed as she fanned herself. “Wait, did you say ‘bless you’?”
He flashed her a grin. “I did. I taught my kid to do it, too. Now, whenever someone burps, she says bless you, too.”
Damn.
He hadn’t meant to bring up Emily. The mention of any potential baggage was a good method to scare away a date—even a casual date. And there wasn’t any baggage heavier than a child.
Though he half-expected Mariah to cringe or chuckle nervously, her eyes were half-closed as she burst into laughter. “Your kid? Oh my God. How old is she? I have to know now, just so I can adjust the picture in my head.”
Now, it was his turn to join in the mirth. “She’s three, almost three and a half.”
Mariah’s next chortle was muffled as she brought a glass of gin and tonic to her lips for a long drink. “That’s even better,” she said with an approving nod. “Okay, so, other than teaching your kid goofy sayings, what do you do for fun? I know you mentioned earlier that you like to read. What do you read?”
There was a glint in her hazel eyes as she waited for his response, a glint he didn’t think he’d seen with any of his so-called dates over the last few years. Did she feel the same draw that he did?
Jesus, he needed to tell her. He needed to warn her.
But still, he couldn’t.
“I read,” he replied after a long pull from his drink, an Old Fashioned. “Horror, mostly. Post-apocalypse and fantasy stuff, too. Pretty much anything that’s as far away from reality as you can get.”
“I love horror anything,” Mariah said. “When I was in eighth grade, I wrote a book report on ‘The Call of Cthulhu.’ My teacher actually called my mom and asked her why I was reading H. P. Lovecraft when I was thirteen. Mom just laughed and told her I’d been reading Lovecraft for longer than that.”
“Oh my God.” Logan laughed. “Wow, your mom really had your back, didn’t she?”
With another sip from the clear, carbonated beverage, Mariah nodded. “Always. I know everyone says it, but seriously, my mom is the best. She raised my brother and me all by herself when my dad took off and, you know, I’m not even sure what he was doing while my brother and I were growing up.”
Logan didn’t even pause to think through his next remark before he blurted it out. Rare were the occasions when his mouth got ahead of him, and at this point in the night, he wasn’t even sure he could blame the whiskey.
“My mom did, too,” he said. “It was just me, but she did it all by herself while she put herself through college. Not that I’m trying to start a whole ‘my mom can beat up your mom’ competition, but my mom’s pretty great, too.”
Mariah’s cheeks flushed as she fought against spitting her drink all over the table. “‘My mom can beat up your mom’?” she echoed. “Not to brag or anything, but my mom did raise an MMA fighter. Just so you know. My money would still be on her.”
So, she was smart, stunning, and she had a sense of humor.
He drained the rest of the Old Fashioned in hopes that the burn of the liquor in his throat would chase away the din of his doubts—doubts about himself, about the connection he felt to the beautiful woman across the table, about anything.
This was his chance, and like he so often did in his career, he had one shot. One chance to win over Mariah Penn’s affections, to get to the only end goal he knew these days—the sensation of sheer bliss between her legs.
But he was
kidding himself if he thought that was the extent of his sudden infatuation with her. He’d slept with plenty of smart, interesting women over the years, but there was more to his connection with Mariah. More than he could sort through as he sat in her presence.
He’d deal with whatever in the hell this was later. Right now, he wanted to be present.
“Okay, so…” Mariah’s upbeat tone pulled him from the moment of reverie. “Other than reading, what else do you do for fun?”
There was that sparkle in her eyes again. Those perfect, amber orbs ringed with olive green. And with that look, with that slight curve of her lips, he threw the remainder of his trepidation to the wayside.
He was going for it.
He didn’t know what was happening in his head, and now he didn’t care.
The comedown from his night with Mariah would be catastrophic, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it. Just for tonight, he would let himself get lost in the inexplicable high he felt in Mariah’s presence. Tomorrow, sometime between noon and two, he would face the inevitable plummet back to reality.
“Honestly?” He paused to look thoughtful. “Not much. I work, spend time with my kid, and read and watch TV when I can.”
“Then what do you actually do for work?” she asked with a little smile. “Obviously, you know what I do.”
Usually by now, he’d already played up his line of work to woo his partner for the evening. But with someone like Mariah—someone with whom he shared so much common ground—he was surprised at his reluctance.
His work was lucrative, and his net worth was close to a billion dollars. Considering the sheer amount of wealth to which he had access, he lived modestly, dressed modestly, and even drove a modest vehicle. Not many people would consider a brand new, high-end German car modest, but compared to the other investors he knew, his tastes bordered closer to peasant than modest.
The Single Daddy Situation Page 2