The Love Series Complete Box Set (180 page)

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.

Chapter Eighteen

May 25, 2015

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.”

Braden shakes his head, saying “no, no, no, no” to the scary reference. “No, not like a monster, little buddy. Just new, I guess. It makes me more worried than scared.”

“S’okay.” The little bugger smiles at me and plants a big, wet sloppy kiss on my lips—cheese doodle crumbs and everything.