by Amity Cross
When she realized I was standing there, she waved and stopped before me.
“Hey,” she said, her voice raised so I could hear her over the music. “How was your fight? It’s been crazy busy tonight, so I missed the money shot.”
Smiling, I realized I was glad to see her. She was talking to me like a mate already, and it felt real nice.
“Wiped the floor,” I replied.
“Yeah? Was there any doubt?” She winked, and I squashed down the urge to let her casual gesture travel right to my dick.
Instead, I leaned against the bar and smiled. “I would’ve come earlier, it’s just…”
“It’s cool,” she said. “You don’t have to give me a play-by-play.”
Realizing I was justifying my actions like I would have to Josie, I reined it in and shrugged.
“When are you off next?” I asked.
“Monday,” she threw back as she pulled out a stack of clean glasses from underneath the bar. “Are you fighting then?”
I shook my head. “So…”
She laughed as she leaned over the bar toward me. We were face-to-face, and I found myself drawn to her energy. My gaze locked on hers, waiting to see what she’d say with an excitement that surprised me.
“Monday. Let’s do it,” she declared. “It’ll be interesting to see what the infamous Goblin is like outside of The Underground.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t put on an act. Not like some of these fuckers.”
“You’ll just have to prove it.”
My fingers tightened around the edge of the bar. “Is that a challenge?”
“Do you want it to be? I was just thinking about me, you, some pizza, maybe a couple of beers, and that talking thing you’re so fond of.”
“I’m not fond of talkin’,” I complained. “I’m attemptin’ to branch out.”
Her lips quirked, and I wasn’t quite sure if it was a smile or not. “Was that what your friends said when you told them about me?”
“Mate. One. Singular,” I stated. “Just so you know the deal with me, I’ve never been mates with a woman before.”
“Is that a challenge?” she said, definitely trying to hide a smile that time.
Leaning closer than was probably appropriate for friends, I narrowed my eyes. “Challenge accepted.”
Lori pushed away from the bar and began laughing her ass off. “Men. Always so quick to prove how big and powerful their balls are.”
I puffed out my chest. “I do have powerful balls.”
“TMI, BFF.” I cocked my head to the side, and she wiggled a finger at me. “You’ll learn the ways of us womenfolk, Goblin.” Glancing down the bar, she gestured to the waiting customers. “Duty calls. Text me, okay?”
“Sure.”
She waved and turned away, leaning over the bar to take a new round of orders from the waiting punters.
Wandering away, I went out back to grab my gear. I was done fighting for the night and just had to stop by the office to collect my winnings, then I was out of here. I was running on fumes after being called out to the hospital that morning. Checking my phone, there were no messages from the home or Dr. Schwartz, so I took that to be a good sign that things were at least stable with Ma.
Thinking about Lori, I had to give it to her. She’d kept my mind off my shitter of a day without even trying. Two seconds flat and it was all about her and me, and everything about that little interlude had been easy—there were no expectations about who was making the first move, if we’d fuck at her place or mine, who was taking who home, or if there was going to be a second time.
What was it she’d said? Just me, her, a pizza, and a couple of beers. Damn. She probably liked to play video games, too. Paired with tits and a vagina, she’d make any man happy.
Who the hell was this woman, and where had she been all my life?
6
Lori
I stared at my reflection in the mirror that was stuck to the back of my wardrobe door and grimaced.
Nothing felt right. The dress I had on was one of my favorites and was my usual go-to number when I had somewhere nice to go. It was plain black with a flared skirt and looked kick-ass with my usual lace-up boots. Having armfuls of tattoos, I was usually stuck with wearing plain clothes because I clashed with most things.
Turning to the right and then to the left, I wondered if it was too dressy for pizza and beer with a fighter. Probably. Who was I trying to impress? It wasn’t like this was a date or anything.
“What are you doing?”
I turned to find Bel leaning against the doorframe wearing a similar but way more stunning black dress and heels. Her lips were stained red, and her hair was ironed straight. Thankfully, she must be on her way out for another bartender binge with her friends, which was fine by me since I’d arranged for Hamish to come over.
Thinking about Hamish, I squirmed a little, my skin beginning to feel a little hypersensitive. I was walking a fine line by attempting to be friends with the guy, but things had been easy between us. The other night, the words had just poured out of me without a filter, and I didn’t find myself second-guessing everything I did afterward. There weren’t any expectations, and I was surprised how good it made me feel. I’d always had a habit of overthinking things and drawing conclusions that were totally blown out of proportion.
Hamish… Well, he was different. I didn’t know how else to explain it.
“Are you going on a date or something?” Bel asked excitedly when I blushed and looked down at my dress.
“No, nothing like that,” I replied. “I just invited Hamish over, is all.”
“Hamish?” Bel asked, her eyes narrowing. “The fighter?”
I sighed. “Yes, the fighter.”
Pushing off the doorframe, she sauntered toward me and looked my outfit up and down. “The ‘just friends’ guy?”
“That’d be the one.”
She plucked at my dress. “Then why are you getting all dressed up?”
I glared at her reflection in the mirror. “Shut up. Please tell me you’re going out.”
“Obviously,” she said, smoothing down her dress. “Do you want to come? You can bring your hottie with you.”
“No thanks,” I said, turning back to my wardrobe. “Anyway, it’s Monday. Where are you going that’s even open?”
“Mondays are quieter,” she replied with a smile. “More pickings without the competition.”
I laughed. “Typical.”
Bel tapped her temple. “Smart.” Twirling on the spot, she said, “The dress is too much. Go casual.” Then she glided from the room, looking like a bloody gazelle in her six-inch heels.
Stripping out of the dress, I pulled on a pair of washed-out black jeans and a turquoise V-neck T-shirt that matched the color in my hair. Bel was right. Hamish and I were just friends, so the dress was too much. Casual it was.
At seven p.m. sharp, there was a knock at the door, and my heart leapt like a loony fifteen-year-old. Hurrying down the hall, my fingers closed around the deadlock, and I took a deep breath before opening it.
Hamish stood on the porch and smiled when our gazes met. He was wearing a pair of scuffed-up blue jeans and a black T-shirt that clung to his broad chest like a second skin, and despite myself, I found my gaze dropping to his tattooed arms. A handsome man with toned arms got me every time, and paired with the grayscale ink that crawled across his skin, I was a goner. Reining in my feminine hormones, I smiled. Going casual had been a good decision.
“Hey,” I said. “You found it okay?”
“Yeah,” he replied with a smirk. He knew exactly what I’d been doing. “It was easy, but parkin’ around here is terrible.”
“Oh, I’ve got a permit if you want to park out front?”
“No, it’s cool. I’ve got a spot.” He nodded, gesturing over my shoulder, and I blinked hard.
Stepping back, I let him come inside. He had a six-pack of fancy beer under one muscled and tattooed arm, and I tilted m
y head so I could read the label.
“Fancy,” I said, tapping the box.
He closed the front door behind him. “It’s good. You’ll like it.”
“So sure of yourself,” I teased as I led him down the hall into the living room.
“It’s a result of too many hits to the head.”
“Lori!” Bel called out from the kitchen, and a moment later, she appeared in the doorway. When her gaze landed on Hamish, her mouth fell open. Seriously, she needed a bib to wipe the drool from her chin.
“This is my housemate Bel,” I said, gesturing to her. “This is Hamish.”
“Hey,” she said, letting her gaze wander up and down, not even trying to be polite about it.
Hamish glanced at me, and I shrugged. “She’s a connoisseur.”
“Damn right I am,” she declared. “Lori says you’re a fighter.”
“That I am,” he replied.
“Oh shit, Lori!” she said to me like he wasn’t standing there. “You didn’t say he was Irish.”
“Run while you still have the chance,” I said to Hamish, throwing in a wink to punctuate the joke.
“Shut up,” Bel said, sticking her tongue out. When she ducked back into the kitchen to grab her purse, Hamish took the opportunity to edge across the lounge room.
Stifling a laugh, I whispered, “She’s harmless but competitive.”
Bel appeared again, and now that she had the back view, she proceeded to look him up and down appreciatively. I glared at her over his shoulder, beginning to get a little tired of her ogling. His gaze met mine, and he frowned, realizing that I was focused on my housemate behind him. When he turned, Bel smiled widely.
“I’ve got to go, or I’ll be late,” she cooed. “You kids have fun.”
Her heels clattered on the polished floorboards as she hightailed it up the hall, and when the front door banged closed, I heaved a sigh of relief.
“She’s…colorful,” Hamish said, placing the beer on the coffee table.
“She’s okay under all of that extroversion. She’s out a lot, which is fine by me,” I said. “And she never brings her conquests home, which is extremely fine by me.”
“Noise pollution, huh?”
“This place is like a hundred years old,” I declared. “The walls are thin.”
“It’s a nice place,” he said, sitting on the couch. “Nice area.”
“It’s got its quirks, but it’s as good a place as any.”
“So…” he said slowly as I sat beside him.
“So?”
“This talkin’ thing,” he began uncertainly. “It’s not somethin’ I’ve done before.”
“It’s not just talking,” I replied. “It’s hanging out. There’s a difference.”
His brow furrowed. “Like what?”
“It’s not a therapy session,” I replied, rolling my eyes. “I’m not going to psychoanalyze you. Anyway, I wouldn’t know how.”
He didn’t reply, he just leaned forward and pulled out a beer and handed it to me. The cap screwed off, so I opened it and took a sip, letting the taste settle on my tongue.
“This is pretty nice,” I said, tilting the bottle so I could read the label again.
“A chick who drinks beer,” he said. “That’s a new one.”
“For starters, don’t call me a chick,” I shot back. “And I don’t know who the hell you’ve been hanging around, but I know plenty of women who like beer.”
“Different scenes,” he said, his gaze dropping to my tattooed arms.
“Most likely.”
“You’re a bit of a punk?”
I nodded. “I used to spend a lot of time in the scene. Going to parties and gigs, dressing the part and all of that. After a while, I kinda grew up I think. All it was ever about was getting drunk and smashing into other people in a mosh pit. Punk used to be a political statement, you know? The music said something about the injustices of the world…then it was about cheap beer and who had the best DIY leather jacket.”
Hamish’s lips curled into a smile, and I began to feel self-conscious.
“What?” I asked, taking another sip of beer to hide my grimace.
“Nothin’,” he replied. “I just find you interestin’.”
“Interesting? Me?”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” he drawled. “The fighter has a brain.”
“Of course, you have a brain. There has to be some magic happening up there for you to win as much as you do,” I said, sounding snippier than I’d intended. He laughed, and I was drawn to the sound like a moth to an open flame.
“I guess we’ve both got things to say.”
“How old are you?” I asked, wondering if he was older or younger than I was. I guessed older, mainly because he seemed wise in a way. He had a lot of depth in his eyes that led me to believe he’d seen a great deal of the world and the shit in it.
“Thirty-two,” he said without missing a beat.
I smiled, liking the way his accent made the words roll off his tongue. Tirtee-too.
“I’m not goin’ to ask you,” he went on, “because women always crack the shits when you ask them their age.”
I laughed. “Only women who are obsessed with their looks and biological clock.”
Hamish frowned. “Biological clock? Like babies and shit?”
“You don’t like babies?”
He shrugged. “Never really thought about it.”
“I never really wanted any kids,” I said. “My sister lives up in Queensland, and she’s got a two-year-old. I just have to listen to her stories to know I’d rather sew myself shut than have one of my own. Besides, you kind of need a man for that.” Hamish was listening intently, an eyebrow raised. “What?”
“That’s why they invented condoms,” he said. “All the fun without the actual procreation.”
I instantly flushed red, and he began to laugh.
“Shut up,” I hissed. “I’ll make you pay for the pizza.”
“I was goin’ to pay anyway,” he retorted.
Grabbing the menu off the coffee table, I slapped it against his chest. “Fine. I’ll have the gourmet meatlovers. Make it a large.”
“Gourmet meatlovers?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “Damn. The woman likes to eat.”
“A large lasts a couple of meals,” I said with a pout. “It tastes amazing warmed up for breakfast.”
Flipping the menu over in his hand, he read through the choices. “Seriously, Lori,” he said, my name sounding exotic on his tongue. “Where have you been all this time? Three years workin’ behind that bar and I just see you now?”
I sank away from him a little, but he was staring at the pizza menu and didn’t notice. “It gets busy. I don’t see many fights.”
He glanced at me, his green eyes sparkling. “Well, I’m kind of glad I got dumped.”
“You’re glad you got dumped?” I asked, tilting my head to the side.
“I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life,” he said, taking out his phone. “I had my heart set on Josie even when I knew deep down that it would never work out. If she hadn’t dumped me at that weddin’, I wouldn’t have gone to the bar and met you.”
Josie must be the name of his ex-girlfriend. That blonde catwalk model I’d seen hanging off his arm at The Underground from time to time. There was no competition if that was the kind of woman he went for, so this friends thing was probably the best I’d get from the guy anyway. Lucky my expectations had been low from the get-go.
“She dumped you at a wedding?” I asked, my mouth dropping open.
He shrugged. “Yeah… It was the spectacle of the century.”
“Bitch,” I spat and instantly slapped a hand over my mouth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”
Hamish fell back onto the couch and started laughing his ass off. “Oh shit,” he cried, his hand splayed over his stomach. “Damn.”
“I didn’t mean…” I began, feeling my cheeks heat with embarrassment.
; His laughter subsided, and he said, “I needed that. Seriously, things have been shit lately…” He hesitated, and I didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to realize he’d had some heavy issues to deal with lately. As if dealing with a break up wasn’t bad enough…
“There’s more going on?” I asked.
“Too much,” he replied, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. “I don’t want to think about it tonight.”
“You need a time out?”
“Yeah…”
“It’ll work out,” I said quietly, knowing I shouldn’t push the envelope. “Eventually.”
His eyebrow rose, and he unlocked his phone. “So they say.”
I downed more beer as he called in the order, and once he’d hung up, the air seemed clear again. No more talk about being dumped and definitely no more talk of romance. Romance was for losers.
As the night wore on, pizza arrived and disappeared, and all we did was talk. We gossiped about The Underground, about me working the bar and the crazy shit I heard, about the music we liked, and video games—seriously, who would’ve thought a cage fighting champ liked to play Xbox?—and it was after one a.m. before either of us realized.
“You’re welcome to crash on the couch,” I said, stretching my arms over my head. He’d had four of the six beers, and the cops liked to sit on Hoddle Street bagging and tagging drunk drivers. “Just be careful when Bel comes home. She might molest you in the dark.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“Just in case, mentally prepare yourself.” Grabbing an extra blanket from the hall closet, I set it onto the arm of the couch. “Bathroom’s through there, just past the kitchen. Help yourself to coffee or tea or whatever’s in the fridge. My room’s the first door up the hall if you need anything.”
“Aren’t you the attentive host,” he said, giving me a wink.
“I have a lock on my door,” I said dryly. Hamish smirked. My exterior cracked, and I laughed.
