The Fighter Duet: Two Full-Length, Red-Hot New Adult Fighter Romances (11 page)

M
ariska was bouncing
with excitement when I finished with my last client. As soon as I’d said goodbye, she almost jumped over the bar. “You are so bad. Tell me everything, you naughty girl!”

I ducked under the counter, going behind the bar. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Liar. You know exactly what I’m talking about. And it starts with an
S
and ends with a
T
.”

“Wait… what? I thought you were going to say—”

“Slayde Bennett.” Her grin was smug, and I felt my cheeks get hot.

“What do you know? Or think you know.”

“I know what I heard Rook telling Tammy on the phone. Somebody was steaming up the men’s locker room this morning, and it wasn’t in the showers!”

Pulling her close, I pinched her arm. “Keep your voice down.”

“Ow!” She screamed. “You’re so damn violent. No wonder you’re into him. Anyway, I think it’s awesome. About time Rook got a dose of his own medicine.”

“It wasn’t like that.” Lifting the key lanyard over my head, I shoved it into my cubby. “Slayde was showing me some pointers, and it just sort of… escalated.”

“I’ll say! Are you meeting him tonight?”

Chewing my bottom lip, I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to share. It was all so new and tentative, and I wasn’t certain how he felt. Exactly.

“Oh my god, you are!” she shrieked.

“Shh!” I pinched her arm again, and again she squealed. “We’re meeting at the pier, and I don’t know. It’s possible something might happen.”

“Why are you lying to me?” She leaned back and crossed her arms, trying to act pouty even though she was bubbling over with excitement. “Your aura is burning red.”

“Would you be cool? Please?”

She swept her long, curly brown hair behind her shoulder, causing her bronze crescent-shaped necklace to shimmer. “I am
always
cool. Just because you can’t appreciate my gift of perception doesn’t mean I’m uncool.”

Crossing the small space, I wrapped my arms around her waist and rested my cheek on her thin shoulder. “I’m sorry. You’re fantastic, and I love you. But Slayde is… delicate.”

“He is so far from delicate it’s hard to even quantify—”

“Okay, delicate is the wrong word.” Closing my eyes, I tried to picture what I meant. “He’s very… guarded.”

“Yes. That is the truth.” She nodded, holding my arm with her many-ringed fingers. “It took a week before he would even answer when I spoke to him.”

“So you understand, then.” I lifted my head and caught her pretty hazel eyes. “I’m trying to take it slow and not let him think too much about it. I don’t want him to run away.”

Her lips broke into a broad, white smile. I couldn’t help smiling back. Mariska was so pretty. “Are you saying you don’t see how crazy he is about you?”

Blinking down, I hated how my stupid cheeks blushed at the drop of a hat. “It’s not always like that when we’re together. He was very reluctant to get close.”

“Umm, not,” she laughed. “He told you no, what? One afternoon? And then less than twelve hours later, he was right here, exactly where you said you’d be.”

“It was a little more than twelve hours.” I stepped over to the blender. Her recipe book lay open, and I slid my fingers over her curly handwriting.

“Thirteen hours? That’s very lucky.”

It was impossible not to grin. “My point is, don’t be too vocal about it all yet. Give him a little space.”

Crossing her arms over the white tank she wore, her eyes narrowed. “You’re majorly serious about this guy.”

I couldn’t look up because I couldn’t argue. She’d see straight through my lie. Still, it all felt so fast. Then I remembered what Patrick had said about being open.

“More like I’m curious. He makes me feel things…” I didn’t want to finish that sentence. “I want to see what happens.”

She dropped her arms and stepped forward, catching my hands in hers. “I have an incredibly great feeling about this, and I’ll be as indifferent and apathetic as you need me to be.”

My brow relaxed, and I hopped forward to kiss her cheek. “Love you, girl.”

“I want so much good for you, hon. You deserve it.”

* * *

S
having
my legs for the third time, I sat on the edge of the tub and thought about my clothing options for the night. It was such a cliché, but I always felt more confident in my stilettos. I bought the cutest pair of brown leather ones with red patent-leather Mary Jane straps across the ankles last year.

My red chiffon dress had been begging to be worn since the day I bought it on sale at American Eagle with Mariska. She, by contrast, had picked out a circle-skirt in an amazing southwest-Indian print and worn it a dozen times already. Mine had been hanging in my closet untouched. It was short, flirty, and perfect.

Glancing at the clock, it was two hours until seven. Why hadn’t we set a time? I didn’t know what to do, so I decided to play with my hair. Sectioning it off into quarters, I took the top portion and teased it into an Amy Winehouse-style beehive. Okay, it wasn’t
that
big—more like one of those lumps Patrick would say were in Lane’s oatmeal. Still I felt a little of my edge restored with my bombshell hair, a small dose of confidence.

With a sigh, I saw it was still an hour until seven. Pulling out the curling iron, I sat on the sink and made loops in the length hanging down my back. After I had a nice cascade of curls, I put it aside and pulled out my black eyeliner. My knees were practically at my ears as I leaned forward and drew a dramatic line over my eyes. A little tweak at the corners, and I sat back. My blue eyes shone like crazy with all the drama, but it was too much. I reached down and pulled out my brush. A few swipes and the bulk of my mini-beehive was gone. My eyes were still drama, but I looked less like a hooker and more like a vixen.

It was seven. I didn’t know if that was the right time or not, but clearly I couldn’t stay in this apartment anymore. No telling what I’d look like when I met him.

Swinging my feet out of the sink and into my shoes, I leaned down and buckled the straps then I headed for the door. I hadn’t thought to slurp down a glass of wine in all my preparations—why hadn’t I done that? Now I was all nerves.

I was heading out into the night, moments away from facing the most gorgeous guy I’d ever seen possibly ever… okay, Patrick was pretty damn hot, but that was doomed from the start. This situation, on the other hand…

My insides were quaking when I pulled up to the pier. I couldn’t get out like this. I put the car in drive and headed to the nearest gas station. It was too well-lit, and a few tweens were hanging out on the curb holding skateboards and acting like punks. God, that used to be me.

Charging inside, I went straight to the refrigerated area and pulled out a four-pack of Woodbridge. It was fast and dirty, and I paid the cashier and charged back to my car. Not having a set meeting time, I felt slightly better about parking near the pier and twisting the top off a little bottle.

Trembling, I lifted it and slugged the whole thing at once. It was enough—I didn’t want to be juiced when I met up with him. I didn’t feel it just yet, but I hopped out, hit the automatic lock and threw my keys in my bag.

With every step, my limbs felt a little warmer, a little looser. He wasn’t at the pier, but at least I wasn’t shaking now. The pier posts extended above the wooden planks, and I leaned my cheek against one thinking about what had brought me here. All the events leading up to this moment, from my drive to Wilmington to my disastrous night with Mariska to meeting Slayde in the gym to last night to this morning…

“Hey.” His low voice snapped me out of my reflections. I turned and stood straight to face him, energy surging through my stomach.

He exhaled a low, “Wow.”

Suddenly self-conscious, I looked down, taking in the filmy red dress, my tall shoes. I was pretty fancy compared to him in the same faded jeans and a white tee.

“I’ve been waiting for a reason to wear this,” I said, apologetically. “It’s been hanging in my closet forever.”

He was barefoot in the sand, but he stepped up onto the pier and quickly took both my hands. His eyes shone, and I could hardly look at them.

“Why do you do that?” He caught my chin and turned my face back to his. I could’ve gazed all night at his dark hair moving in the constant breeze, his square jaw shaded by the faint scruff of a beard, and that sexy line down his chin—if it hadn’t been for those ice-blue eyes.

My voice was quiet. “People always say I have beautiful eyes.”

“You do.” His answer was quick.

“But so do you. I look in them, and I feel like I can’t breathe.”

He stepped forward and cupped my cheek in one hand before closing his lips against mine. It was a gentle kiss. No tongue, but full of warmth. I felt his breath whisper across my cheek when he leaned back and looked straight into my soul.

“I’m so glad this dress was hanging in your closet forever. You’re beautiful.”

“You keep saying that,” I laughed, turning my face to the side. “You’re the beautiful one.”

“Come with me.” He pulled, and I stumbled after him. At the edge of the pier he stopped. “Sit.”

I followed orders, and his large, warm hands circled my ankles. “I love these shoes.” He turned my foot side to side. “God, I hate to do this.” In one quick motion, he slid the ankle strap down, and it was off. Then he did the same with the other. “Walk on the beach with me, but hang onto those. We might put them back on later.”

A little charge raced through my core at the prospect of how that might go. I didn’t have time to dwell on it because he pulled me to his side, and his muscled arm wrapped around me, holding me close as we walked north along the shoreline.

He looked forward into the breeze. “How is it possible I came here thinking I’d fade away, and I found you?”

Entranced by the sight of him holding me so close, I was sure he felt my heartbeat, and I found myself being utterly truthful. “I was so messed up. Everything about me was wrong until you appeared.”

“I don’t believe it.” A laugh was in his breath. He was so amazing, confident, determined, impenetrable, and yet vulnerable at the most unexpected times.

He stopped walking, and for the space of two heartbeats, I stood there, wrapped in his arms, his fingers laced with mine at my back, our mouths a breath apart. Then the breath was gone. He kissed me with so much emotion, my legs grew weak. Lips parted, tongues curled together, I struggled to get my hands out of his.

At first he wouldn’t release them, and feeling his strength, the sense of being trapped by him was intensely erotic. His grip loosened, and I pushed my arms around his neck. I loved the way he lifted me, holding my waist, our mouths never parting, only moving in time—open, closed, tasting—until he pulled back with a start.

“Shit! We’ve got to get back!” He lowered me quickly to the sand.

It was so unexpected I had to laugh. “What?”

“Come on.” He held my hand and took off fast in the direction we’d come.

“Slayde!” I couldn’t breathe as he picked up the pace. His legs were a bit longer than mine, and I was gasping before we were even halfway there.

He stopped abruptly, and I ran into him. “Oh!” I cried.

Catching my face, he kissed me fast on the mouth. “Hop on my back.”

He turned so his back was to me. Lifting my hand, I placed it on his corded shoulder. “I can honestly say I never expected this to happen.”

“Hurry, our dinner is on the line.”

With a little hop, I was on his back, shoes in one hand, both gripping him hard across the chest. He reached around and held me as he jogged up the shoreline in the direction we’d come.

My voice was bouncy and breathless, as I strained to hold on. “You’re so fit. We should make this part of our training regimen.”

Once we were within sight of his apartment, he lowered me and grabbed my hand again. We dashed over the boardwalk, across the parking lot to a dingy white door labeled 24-A. It wasn’t even locked.

“Welcome to my place.” He didn’t look back, running across an unbelievably small room with a curtain hanging around one corner, out a small back door.

While I waited, I looked around the space. The finish on the ancient wood floors was dull. An efficiency kitchen was in the corner opposite the curtain, and a two-seater table with two chairs was in front of it. On the table was a short, glass vase holding two red daisies and three big white lilies.
Interesting
.

Down from the kitchen was a door that led to what I assumed was the bathroom, since I didn’t see one anywhere else. The space where I stood must’ve been the living room—wait. Correction—he’d said the beach was his living room. I could see why.

Curious about the curtain, I stepped toward it and had only pulled it back a fraction when he was back inside.

“Checking out my crib?” I dropped my hand, and he laughed. “It’s not much, but at least it’s clean.”

I smiled and went to where he stood by the door. “It’s everything you need in one compact space.”

“I read in New York some micro-apartments are two hundred square feet. Total.”