Beware of Boys (6 page)

Eden smiled. “I understand. But before you crash, just give today's schedule a once-over so you can get a head start on the lineup, and mentally prep for the guys' mission to make something good out of something bad.” She reached over, pointing to the paper. “See, Grime to Shine. Get it?”

Charly glanced at the paper, then nodded. She already knew why she was there, and she would do all she could to help them with their center so she didn't see a need to talk about it. Not now, anyway. Not when she felt like she did. “Got it,” she said. “Got it. On it. And will fix it, as soon as I get up.”

“Good, glad to hear it,” Eden said, settling back in her seat. “Last thing: Do you want to stop and pick up something on the way? It's obvious you're going to need medicine that won't make you sleepy, but we've got that part covered. And the network sent over a list of your likes and needs, but you know, just in case they forgot to forward us everything that you'd want, we're not that far away from a store. I can run in and buy whatever while you nap.”

Charly looked down at the paper again as if her answer was written on it. The words began to blur, and she didn't see the need to fake the funk like she was reading it. She handed the paper back to Eden, then shook her head in the negative at Eden's question. “Thanks, but I'm good. If I need something, it won't be until later. Please just wake me when we get there.” She closed her eyes, settling in for the short ride.

 

Eden's hand was tapping her shoulder before she knew it. “Charly. Charly.” Her words were soft to Charly's ears. “Charly!” she said loudly, her tone rising and filled with what sounded like panic.

Charly's eyes shot open. “Yes? What is it, Eden? You're scaring me.”

A loud banging on the car made Charly jump and hit her head on the roof. They'd just crashed, she was sure. The driver had driven too fast and had probably wrapped the SUV around something while she slept. Now the top of her head hurt. “Ouch!” she said, then looked around, seeing that they were parked. Her eyes moved to the leather seat beneath her. She'd jumped so fast and high, her purse had toppled over and its contents spilled all over. She groaned. The knocking on the car echoed through the space again, this time coming in a hip-hop beat like someone was getting ready to freestyle.

Eden shook her head, then mouthed,
Sorry
. She shrugged. “Sudden change of plans, it seems,” was all she said before Lex's face was pressed against the window.

Charly's heart stopped for a split second. Not only had she not had time to rest, she hadn't had time to freshen up, and one of the finest guys she'd ever laid her eyes on was watching her. “Tell him something to make him go away, Eden. If only for a second,” she urged, scrambling to find her compact. Her mouth felt dry and yucky, and her face was still coated in the dampness that had always covered her when she'd flown. She didn't know if it was because of the air pressure that killed the circulation or her always feeling closed in, but whatever it was, it needed to be washed off.
Immediately
, she thought, locating the compact.

“One second, Lex,” Eden said, through the window she'd lowered a bit more than an inch.

Charly opened the compact, looked at her reflection, and groaned. Her mascara had run, and her eyes resembled a panda's. “Great,” she muttered. Here she was, meeting a boxer, and she looked like she'd been beat up by one. “I look like I have two black eyes,” she was saying when Lex opened the door, bent down and stuck his head inside the car.

“Charly St. James,” he began, then blinked slowly and deliberately, giving her a short glance at his golden-colored eyes. He stopped. “What happened to your face?” He looked at Eden, then toward the driver, then back to Eden again. “Did someone jump on her, E? I knew I should've picked her up myself.” His tone held anger. He backed out of the car, stood up, turned in a circle, then stomped his foot. He muttered curses under his breath, and Charly saw why he'd been touted as a bad boy. “That's why you never hire your people to do something for you.”

“I did my job,” Eden protested, then turned to Charly. “We're like family,” she explained.

“Yo. Yo. Yo,” Whip, the driver, said, turning around and lowering the window. “My job is to drive, and if anything happened to her it was
before
we saw her.” He put up his hands in surrender. “And not because we got in an accident. I don't crash anymore.”

Lex squatted next to the open car door again, then stuck one long and muscular arm inside, moving his open palm toward Charly. “Come on, Charly. Let's get you iced up.” He looked at Eden. “Y'all know I can't fight in the street anymore, not since they registered my hands as weapons.” He looked toward the front of the SUV. “One swing and I go to jail and no more professional boxing for me, according to the boxing commission.” He turned his attention back to Eden. “But I'll tell you what, E,” he said. “Whoever blacked her eyes . . . I'm going to give them more than a hit, I'm going to knock them out,” he spat.

Charly almost laughed at his saying blacked instead of blackened, but his being convinced she had been beat up stopped her.
Great! Now I know I really look like I've been in a fight,
whirled through her mind, followed by what Eden had said about being like family to Lex. That could prove to be a good thing or just the opposite.

C
harly was grumpy, and her irritation grew by the second. Stride after stride, one of her sneaker-clad feet connected to her butt, and she wasn't too thrilled about what she felt like she was being forced to do. She hadn't even made it past the guest cottage's foyer, and Lex was urging her to hurry, despite her telling him about her allergies. He insisted her seasonal issues couldn't happen in Las Vegas because there was more sand than greenery. Making things worse, though she'd sworn she hadn't been in a fight, he was still adamant that she had been, swearing that nothing slowed down adrenaline pumping through your veins more than a long, fast, and hard run.

Her eyes hadn't been blackened by a fist, but by cheap mascara she'd purchased at the last minute that, obviously, wasn't waterproof. The rings around her eyes were proof that the drugstore makeup couldn't survive continuous yawns that had made her eyes water. Not only hadn't Lex believed her, he hadn't felt sorry for her either, that was for sure. He'd been set on her joining him for a workout, which, she'd discovered when she entered the guest cottage, he'd had planned all along. Either he or his people had draped what someone considered exercise clothes over a bench in the foyer, and she'd changed into them in a hallway bathroom. She hadn't even seen her sleeping quarters, never mind gotten to take a powernap.

Now she was positioned behind Lex on a hill that stretched higher than her eyes could see. There seemed to be no end in sight, and she wondered if he'd flown her out to kill her from overexertion. She was a reality television star, but not one who was on a weight-loss show, so she didn't see the need to work out like he did.

“C'mon, Charly baby,” Lex urged, running in front of her. His calf muscles tightened with each stride, and she wished he'd unroll his sweat pants to cover his legs. It was just too hard to concentrate on the earth beneath her with his chiseled cuts snatching her attention. “You don't have a physique like that for nothing, Charly baby. Everything about you just looks like you work out.” He continued to jog uphill, pulling a huge truck tire, which was attached to his waist by a thick chain encircling it.

Charly just shook her head. She'd had no idea that boxers ran so much, and his having what looked like a huge dog chain wrapped around his waist only made her appreciate his athleticism more. She didn't know how he did it, but he was doing it with such ease she could tell it was something he often did. “I . . . do . . . work . . . out,” she sputtered, out of breath, then stopped and bent over. She couldn't keep up any longer, and wasn't embarrassed about it. She put her hands on her knees, then dropped them on the ground. She pressed her palms against the sandy dirt on either side of her feet, stretching her body and catching her wind. She was in a full bend with the top of her head on her shoes.

“Ahh. A yogi?” Lex said, looking down at her and jogging in place.

She hadn't even heard him turn around and make his way to her, but there he was, looking upside down because her head was. “Not a full-fledged one, but I partake here and there. I was introduced to it a couple of seasons ago, and now I can't help it,” she admitted, closing her eyes. His feet in constant motion caused the dirt to stir, and it was swirling toward her eyes.

He stopped running in place. “Sorry for kicking dirt in your face. Constant motion is a habit. When you run, you run. There's no time to stand still—inside or outside of the ring. So what kind of yoga do you do? Power? Hot? Hatha?” he asked, switching the topic off of himself and back to Charly.

Charly unfolded her body, then stretched her arms behind her head, smiling. Someone in Lex's position—world-renowned public persona—would usually be so full of ego that they only wanted to talk about themselves.
Humble and cute
, she thought, her grin widening. Even though he was off by a mark, his being versed in yoga also impressed her, especially because of his reported bad-boy-from-the-hood reputation, which was hard for her to see. He didn't seem like a bad anything. She brought her hands together above her head, then folded again. “Familiar with yoga, I see,” she said.

Lex followed suit, bending over, the long chain still secured around his waist. Surprisingly, even with a tire attached to him, he could touch his head to his knees. “I'm a real athlete. I'm familiar with all kinds of cross training, especially sports that help me relax and stretch out my muscles. I can't afford to get a cramp in the ring.”

Charly nodded. He had a point. “I do Ashtanga. But I think they're all considered Hatha. At least the ones you mentioned, but I could be wrong, so don't take it as gospel,” she said, her eyes on her ankles. She exhaled loudly, then stood.

Mimicking her again, Lex laughed. He rubbed the side of his face, then bit his bottom lip. “I guess your Darth Vader breathing should've given you away.”

She joined him in laughter, now more impressed than before. He had to have been in an Ashtanga class or known someone who practiced it, because that's exactly what she'd thought they all sounded like too when she first heard the Ashtanga yogis.

“Good one, and so true. Unfortunately, I can't give full credit to Ashtanga breathing. Today, I have to blame my stuffy nose—that's the reason I sound so loud. Allergies. So how many more blocks do we have to run before we call it a wrap?” She reached her arms above her head, put her palms together, and stood tall, making sure to keep her shoulders relaxed.

“Sun Salute asanas,” Lex stated, naming the yoga postures. Then he switched gears again. “Don't tell anyone I know all of this yoga stuff. They may think I'm soft.” He winked. “You mean how many more miles do we have to run?” he asked, then motioned his hand toward their surroundings. The rugged path was just that, and it was bordered by desert and occasional greenery. “No blocks here, Charly baby. In my old spot on the other side of the city, I ran on some back roads, but here, it's just me and these hills. That's what I love about this new place—no interruptions and complete privacy. It's no finding this camp if you don't know where you're going. We're kinda off the radar.” He looked appreciative. “But I do hit the streets when I'm back on the Eastside of L.A., though. I grew up around there, in South Central. My pops doesn't believe in giving up the hood, he says it keeps us grounded and tough. Oh, and you don't have allergies. You have a cold.”

“I have allergies, not a cold. How could you know that?” Charly began moving in place. She'd warmed her muscles with the Sun Salute, but now she needed to get her adrenaline pumping again so she could push through to the end of her and Lex's run.

“I bet you you do have a cold, and I'll also up the bet. I bet you dinner that I can cure it. You in?” Lex said.

Charly smiled. “Okay. Whatever. Now back to what I was saying before you became a doctor. You should try it sometime—running on the street here. It's cleaner,” she said, then took off at a slow pace, as fast as her burning thighs would allow.

A loud, shrill sound cut through the air, stopping her in her tracks. Charly turned, then shook her head. Lex stood feet behind her with interest dancing in his eyes and his index and pinky fingers stuck in the corners of his mouth. He was whistling louder than she'd ever heard anyone whistle. “Not up, but this way, Charly. We're going back down the hill.”

“Really?” she asked, ready to take it all the way to the top. Yes, she was tired and sore and ready to quit, but she couldn't. Despite her allergies—and it was allergies, despite Lex believing otherwise—kicking her butt, she was never one to give in. She didn't plan on stopping now. “But I thought we were just getting started,” she said, teasing and flirting.

Lex just laughed, adjusting the chain around his waist. “I completed my morning workout at five a.m. I was just doing this to see how committed you are,” he admitted, confirming what her gut had told her when she'd first laid eyes on the exercise clothes. She threw him a dirty look; then he stilled himself, positioning his body like he was waiting to take a hit. Charly obliged him, quickly bounding toward him and punching him in an arm that felt like steel.

“Oww.” He feigned hurt, then rubbed his solid bicep where she'd connected her dainty fist. “I guess I better be careful. I saw the video of you beating up M
kel online, so I know you're not to be played with. Why you have to be so hard on my boy? You know he's a pretty boy. He's the lover, I'm the fighter,” he teased.

Charly rolled her eyes, dismissing the video. “So you had me run because you just wanted to see me sweat, and admire me in these . . . these clothes, if you can even call them that?” she asked, deadpan. The T-shirt and shorts she wore were purposely faded and looked toddler sized. She pulled on the bottoms, making them snap back against her skin, then adjusted the shirt that read
TEAM “GOLDEN BOY” LEX
across her chest in stylish, funky blue letters. Her eyes moved down to her feet. “I see someone likes to see his name in print. But I gotta admit I like the sneakers. I'll definitely rock these again. Can't say the same for these baby clothes though.” She shook her head. “You should stick to boxing; fashion is not your forte.”

Lex painted his face with hurt. He held his hand over his heart, dropped his head, then gazed up at her with golden eyes—the same liquid golds that had earned him his nickname. “Whaddya mean? You don't want to be on my team, Charly?” His question was laced with flirtation, but the real interest behind his words was obvious.

Charly sauntered past him, allowing the slope of the hill to move her faster. “I don't do teams, Lex. I'm a one-woman show. I thought you knew,” she spat sassily, meaning every word.

“Oh, I know. That's why I said it and made the bet,” he mumbled under his breath, apparently thinking Charly hadn't heard him. “A one-woman show? Is that right?” he asked in a louder tone, catching up.

“No, Lex. Not just right, one-hundred,” she said, making it clear that she was one-hundred percent on the up-and-up with him. She tried to keep her hips from swaying so hard, but the steep hill was making it difficult not to do so. She stopped, then turned. “Let's get something clear, Golden Boy. I may be in the company of one of the greatest fighters of all time, but you, you're finally in the company of equality. I'm afraid we weren't properly introduced,” she said, extending her hand. “Let's start over.”

Lex's golden eyes danced and he nodded. He took her proffered hand, dwarfing it in his huge one. “I'm Lex, better known as Golden Boy,” he said with more than a little ego puffing his demeanor. “But you, pretty, pretty Charly, the one-woman show, can call me Lex.” He bit his bottom lip and raked his eyes up and down her frame.

Charly stood on tiptoe to reach his chin, then pushed it up until his eyes were focused on her face instead of below her neckline. She shook his hand. “And you can call me Charly, better known as Your Match, and not your match like I'm the perfect fit for you as in mate or girlfriend or whatever. I'm your match as in your worthy opponent.” She winked, nodding her head, then smiled because she'd used mate, the word Liam used to refer to friend. Here she was all the way in Las Vegas with an incredible guy like Lex, and Liam had still found a way to slip into her thoughts.

Lex bit his bottom lip again, and Charly thought she was going to pass out. She questioned how she was going to make it through the day keeping her professionalism. He was just too fine, too chiseled, too tempting. “I accept the invitation, Charly baby.” He winked, almost making her melt from his flirting. “I don't care if it's on the phone, across the dinner table, working out, any way is good with me, just as long as I can call you. And you did just say I can call you, Charly.” He paused, as if knowing the silence would make his statement marinate in her head. He nodded. “Remember, you invited me to. I'll see you at the bottom of the hill.” He turned, then took off running with a cloud of dirty-looking smoke in his wake as he dragged the tire behind him.

Charly was about to chase or call after him, but changed her mind. She had nothing to prove; her work on the show had spoken for her. Otherwise, why would he and the other guys have requested her help on their project? With what they were worth individually, not to mention the connections that came with their star status, they could afford anyone's help with the girls' retreat. But they'd chosen her, so that confirmed her ability and credibility. “You're cute, but not that cute. Okay, maybe you are, but so am I,” she said under her breath, then stopped. Another cloud of dirt floated in the air, coming her way. She covered her eyes with one hand, squinting to get a good look at the cause. “What in the . . . ?”