by Cindi Madsen
“You started it,” he said, a gleam in his eye that made me feel too hot all over.
Come to think of it, I was sure that was mostly the sun. There wasn’t any fog to keep things cool here, like in San Francisco, where I had a kind, considerate boyfriend.
Time to shut this down, hard. With guys of the cocky variety, I’d found it was best not to leave any wiggle room. “Well, this is me finishing it. It won’t happen again.”
He took a step closer, and awareness pricked my skin. “Okay, next time I’ll start it.”
I put a hand out, my palm flat against his annoyingly firm chest, and pushed away the memory of the way the word “satisfaction” had rolled off his tongue and awakened something in me that needed to go back to sleep. “Obviously, I wasn’t clear. I have a boyfriend. I was just making a stupid joke, and I’m sorry if you took it the wrong way. I wasn’t flirting with you, and it certainly wasn’t an invitation.”
He looked down at me, not moving out of my space. Then he pressed his lips together. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best.”
Irritation crept in. I wanted to ask what he meant by that, but he’d just take it and run us in circles, so I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction—which was apparently the keyword of the day. “Okay, then. I’m sure you’ve got some training to do, and I need to get to work myself.”
“Right. I’ll see you inside…” He raised his eyebrows, a question in the curve. “I know it’s Roth, and I’m fine by calling you that if you want, but—”
“It’s Brooklyn. Now, off you go.” I made a shooing motion and took another step back, my butt hitting my car door. It moved, giving under my weight for a second before it met the frame. Of course, in that second I’d waved my arms and no doubt made a stupid face, so add that to the awesomeness of my day. I steadied myself against the door and let out a shallow exhale. Just keep it together for a few more seconds and then you can go back to being a hot mess.
“You don’t want my name?” Fighter Dude asked.
I lifted my chin. “I’ll learn it sooner or later, but I’m not in any big hurry.”
“Cold,” he said, throwing a hand to his chest. He didn’t look hurt, just smug. “I’ll see you later then, Brooklyn.” He backpedaled a few steps, his eyes still on mine. “By the way, I think you just locked your keys in the car.”
I whipped around, and sure enough, the keys were dangling from the ignition. Both doors were locked, too. I probably did the driver’s side out of habit. Since my car was older, with no fancy fob to engage the locks all at once, I had to be vigilant at manually pressing them down—I’d forgotten a few times in high school, and the lectures from my brothers were lengthy. Now that I thought about it, I vaguely remembered feeling the one on the passenger door going down when I’d braced my hand there in an attempt to free myself from the seat. Then my stupid butt had gone and shut the door.
“Too bad you don’t know my name, because then you could ask me for help.”
“I’m perfectly capable of calling a locksmith,” I said through clenched teeth. Or I would be if I had my phone, which was locked in my car. I moved closer, as though I could dial through telekinesis, and the window was nice enough to reflect my image back at me. One crazy section of hair stuck up from its fight with the wires and my lips were still two different colors.
Did I mention I was having a bad day?
Chapter Four
Shane
I made her nervous.
I liked that I made her nervous. Not scared, and I wouldn’t cross that line. I didn’t do well with intimidation, not when people attempted to do it to me, but especially when people did it to others who were obviously weaker than they were. Not that I put Brooklyn in the weak category—I had a feeling she could take pretty good care of herself, despite locking her keys in the car.
Yesterday I’d told myself I wasn’t going to check her out ever again, but when I’d seen her in the parking lot, ass in the air, I didn’t have the strength to walk on by. Not only was I enjoying the show, but she also looked like she might need some help. Sure, maybe I took a few seconds to soak in the view before offering her a hand, but eventually I did the right thing. Then she’d surprised me by making that joke about her car, and teasing her and watching how flustered she got over it only made me want to mess with her some more. I wondered if I could pull more snarky comments out of her. If I could get her to laugh; if I could make her breath hitch. I allowed myself a moment to visualize pinning her against that bright blue Mustang and lowering my lips to hers for a quick taste.
Entertaining thoughts about her was a bad idea. While bad ideas used to be my specialty, I was on a different path now, one solely focused on my next fight, which would get me to the next one. The championship or bust, regardless of how long it took me to get there. Even if I had to fight every single guy in my weight class to get a shot at the belt.
That was what I should be visualizing, so I aimed my mental images that way. They’d call it a comeback, the way they loved to do. It sounded so much nicer than “we shut this guy out until he could make us money again.”
Money could come and go—I knew how true that was—but a title lasted forever. Being the champion might not, but no one could take away the victory of that fight, that night. The title that meant at one point you were better than everyone out there.
Movement and pale blond hair caught my eye. Brooklyn lifted her chin as she strode across the gym, purposely avoiding looking my way. Her brothers weren’t here yet, and if her dad was, he was in his office, so I didn’t bother being subtle about checking her out again. No use pretending it would be the last time, either. She’d smoothed down her hair, but she still looked flustered, and not by me.
I should leave it alone, but now I felt like an ass for leaving her out there in the parking lot with her keys locked in her car, especially since she was having such a shitty day. As someone who’d had his fair share of those, the least I could do was try to make it better. I dropped my duffel bag on a chair and walked over to the front desk. “I’m taking it upon myself to help turn your day around.”
Her shoulders tensed and her gaze remained straight ahead. “Look, I’m not in the mood to hear about your magic penis, and how one ride would fix all my problems, so save it.”
Damn, no holding back punches. I could roll with that. “Okay, that conversation is officially tabled for later”—I shot her my most charming grin—“and I’m really looking forward to it, too, but the reason I came over was to ask if you’d managed to get into your car.”
“Not yet, but I’m taking care of it now.” She clicked the mouse over and over and then banged it on the desk. “If this ever decides to connect to the internet—I’m going to have to bring in my laptop, because I don’t have time for this shit.”
I’d hesitated to admit this outside, because I shouldn’t be volunteering skills that made me sound like a criminal, but it was also stupid to wait for a locksmith, then have to pay him for something I could do in a couple of minutes. “I can break into your car and get the keys. Maybe just warn your brothers so they don’t think I’m trying to steal it. Something tells me they’re more of the ask-questions-later sort.”
One corner of her lip trembled upward before she forced it straight. Then she turned her blue eyes on me, and a sensation I hadn’t felt in a long time went through my gut. “What do you need to get in?”
“A wire hanger. Pretty sure I can find one in the locker room.” I tapped the edge of the desk. “I’ll be right back.”
The second I stepped out of the locker room with a hanger, a hand clamped onto my arm. Without bothering with words, Brooklyn rushed us toward the door.
I thought about dragging my feet and putting up a little resistance, but she was glancing around like a paranoid lunatic, and suddenly I wondered if she was a bit on the bonkers side. I tended to attract the crazy, but I’d sworn off that type. The highs weren’t worth the lows. Still, I couldn’t help attempting to tease out the side
she’d shown earlier in the parking lot. “I’ve never had the rag doll treatment. Gotta be honest, I kinda dig it.”
She shot me a look. “It’d be easier if you helped, deadweight.”
There she was. “You know, if you just asked me my name, you wouldn’t have to come up with cute pet names for me.”
“Thanks to my stubborn nature, now I can never ask.” She opened the back door of the gym and shoved me through it.
Once we reached the car, I untwisted the hanger.
“How long will this take?” Brooklyn glanced around again, like we were either in a heist movie or about to make a drug deal.
“Just a minute or two.” I made a loop at the end of the wire so I could slide it down the gap between the window and door and catch the post that’d disengage the lock.
“Could we…?” She bit her lip, and it drew my attention to the lower one, and how it was a much brighter pink than the other. “It’s just, sometimes my dad and my brothers treat me like I’m this helpless, ditzy little girl, and I know that this doesn’t exactly prove otherwise, but I’ve lived in San Francisco for years without any issues. And for the record, I could call a locksmith, so technically this is a problem I could solve by myself if I had to.”
I extended the makeshift slim jim to her. “You wanna have at it?”
She sighed, her whole body getting in on it. “I’m not saying I don’t appreciate it. I’m simply asking if we can keep this just between us.”
“I’m happy to keep whatever you want between us,” I said, even though I should really cut back on the lines and innuendos. But the way she got all huffy about it made it way too fun, and so little entertained me these days. Not that I had time to sit around and enjoy life right now. There’d be time for that later, after my fighter ranking was in a more comfortable range.
Between that sobering thought and the fact that the stress coming off Brooklyn had calmed down considerably, it was time to pull back and hold myself in check. Get into her car, get out of this situation where I might focus too much on how entertaining she was, and get on with my life.
I fed the wire down into the door, searching for the latch. I’d worked hard to turn my life around, so I was rusty. Finally I felt it catch. I pulled straight up and heard a click—the lock popped up along with it.
“Why am I not surprised you know how to do that?” Brooklyn asked.
Of all the jabs she’d thrown, that one landed harder than I would’ve liked. “Because you, like most people, take one look at someone and judge them.”
Her face dropped.
I’d already taken time away from my training to help her, so I refused to feel bad. Obviously she’d grown up a lot differently than I had, and she thought she was better than me. Nothing would change that, and I shouldn’t even be talking to her in the first place.
If anything, it was a good reminder of where my priorities needed to be. Keeping my head down and giving training my all. I’d lived too many years trying to impress people who’d only ever look down on me. This time around, I was only surrounding myself with people who’d be with me through the ups and the downs.
I didn’t have the luxury of wasting time on some girl who took one look at me and declared me a waste of space.
Chapter Five
Brooklyn
My stomach had been in knots all day, and every time I caught a glimpse of Shane Knox—yeah, I’d done some digging and found out his name—my insides twisted tighter.
Several excuses ran through my head, ones I wanted to present him with so my guilt might ease up a bit. There was the one about how I was having a bad day. Another about how it’d just come out wrong, and I hadn’t meant it. Since that wasn’t true, I decided to toss it. The truth was, Shane was clearly a well-trained fighter, but with an edge only people who’d been street-fighters before stepping inside a gym, ring, or cage had. I’d noticed it yesterday in the way he fought, and in addition to making me sort of wary of him, yeah, it’d made me more judgmental than I should’ve been.
Which led me to my next excuse: I’ve known a lot of fighters in my day, and in my experience, the cocky young ones are the most dangerous of the species. Smooth lines that mess with your head and manipulate your emotions, devil-may-care attitude, and intensely driven. That fire often transferred to other areas, and if you were the one standing near the flames, watch out. I’d been burned by one in particular, and I felt so stupid, because I’d seen my mom go through the same thing with my dad. I’d judged her, too, telling myself I’d never stand for being treated the way she was, and it came back to bite me in the ass.
At least I didn’t take years to leave. Not that it really made a difference to my heart.
The good news was, Mom had learned from her past, the way I’d learned from mine. After the divorce, she moved to Arizona to be near her sister, where she eventually met a shy software engineer—a guy pretty much the opposite of Dad in every single way—who made her happy. They’d gotten married a couple of years ago, and we kept in touch through texts and calls.
Using the ancient keyboard that had definitely had some kind of sticky substance spilled on it, I entered the last few numbers for the expenses spreadsheet. The one for three months ago that should’ve been done then. I rolled my neck and then rubbed at my tired eyes. My gaze skimmed over the remaining piles of envelopes I still had to sort, and I knew it would get messier before it got better.
Seriously, how could they not notice the piles? Or check on the books at least once in the past five months? When I’d asked that question, the three men in my life gave shrugs while mumbling about being super busy.
I’d turned to Dad. “You used to go above and beyond checking the books. I remember you yelling at me about the figures and having to then explain I hadn’t had a chance to balance everything yet. What happened?”
“Someone told me I needed to let some of it go.”
“That was when I was here.”
He threw up his hands. “Yeah, and then you left and look what happened.”
I didn’t even know what to say to that. I wanted to explode in anger, but Finn had put his hand on my shoulder and turned me to face him. “After his surgery to remove the tumor, we all got behind, and things fell through the cracks. He’s glad that you’re here now to help, though, aren’t you, Dad?”
“Of course I am,” Dad said. He was super good at expressing his emotions when someone else fed them to him.
“So I know the books and bills are a mess and that we’ve put you in a tight spot, and we’re all sorry about that. But you can fix it and get us back on track, right?” Finn asked it with such hope and belief in me, and Dad was staring while Liam remained on the far side of the couch doing his stoic thing.
I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. “It’s going to take me several weeks to sort through the mess and see what exactly needs fixing…”
Eyebrows arched higher and everyone leaned closer—or maybe it just felt like that when I’d been on the spot. “I’ll do my best to make sure everything’s balanced and up and running before I head back to San Francisco.”
There hadn’t been cheers, but I’d gotten a huge grin from Finn, a relieved expression from Liam, and another cough-inducing pat on the back from Dad.
Silly me, I’d thought that I would at least be able to sneak in a few hours of painting near the beach while I was here for the summer. But as usual, my “hobby” took last place. Sometimes I wished I didn’t have mad math and organization skills.
A blessing and a curse, I tell you.
The figures onscreen swam together for several seconds before I forced my eyes to refocus, and I decided it was time to call it a day.
I shut down the computer, and as it whirred and complained about it, I said, “Just so you know, I’m never going to use you again, you POS.”
I stretched, retrieved my purse and keys, and headed out the back door. I locked it, double-checking I’d done it right before heading for my car.
; The dark figure that stepped out of the shadows made me jump, and I quickly arranged my keys between my fingers, all my self-defense training flashing through my head.
“It’s just me.” Shane held up his hands and stepped into the light. “Or maybe that doesn’t give you very much comfort, considering you think I’m a thug who regularly commits grand theft auto.”
“I don’t think that.” I slowly lowered my hand, although I didn’t completely relax my stance. Taking on a random Joe on the street was one thing, but I didn’t delude myself into thinking I could take on a professional fighter, no problem. Didn’t mean I wouldn’t fight with everything I had in me if it came down to it, and my adrenaline was spiking, just in case.
He zipped up his black leather jacket, and of course it was the well-worn, zippered kind that transformed its wearer from hot to sexy badass. “After today’s training session, I met a buddy for dinner a few blocks down, so I just came back for my bike.”
That must be his motorcycle nestled back in the corner, not easily spotted from the road, I assumed to prevent it from being stolen. “Motorcycle, leather jacket—you’re only one tattoo or piercing away from the bad boy starter kit.”
He didn’t smile, so clearly my attempt at lightening the vibe between us with a joke went over like an anvil to the head. “I already have one of those two things,” he said. “I’ll leave you to wonder which one and where. I’m sure your stubborn nature will prevent you from asking.”
I swallowed. “Probably. I…” I scuffed my shoe against the tarmac. I’d always sucked at apologizing. I’d taken one of those personality tests, and it claimed that since I used logic to reach conclusions, as opposed to other people who used emotions, one of my biggest flaws was never admitting when I was wrong. I liked to think it was because I never was wrong, but I knew that wasn’t fair, and…well, possibly I’d jumped to the wrong conclusion once or twice in my life. “Look, I shouldn’t have said what I did, and I’m sorry.”
