Breaking Her Rules

by Jennifer Snow

  Did she like her job? She liked money, security, praise, and success. “I like the security that comes with it.” She opened a box and removed several stacks of posters the fighters would sign that evening for fans.

  “Security is important, I guess.” He shrugged.

  Of course Walker wouldn’t understand. He’d never had to worry about anything a day in his life. His parents had provided a great life for him and Kylie. They’d always had the best of everything: fashionable clothing, the newest toys, and two parents who could provide the love and security they needed. Walker had never had to work for anything. Even school came easy for him, and he was a natural athlete. Until the last few weeks, he’d been coasting through life. “It’s important when you’ve never had it,” she said, removing the elastic bands and placing the stacks on the table.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “Don’t worry about it. Can you grab that end of the table?” she asked, lifting her end and moving it slightly more into the corner, away from the booths, giving the painters access to the posters.

  “So . . . what’s it like working with your boyfriend?” he asked.

  Where was this leading? “It’s great. We’re both so busy, at least we know we’ll see each other at the office.” In staff meetings, at fight lineup planning sessions . . .

  “Ever have a quickie in his office?” Walker asked, grinning.

  She wished. “We actually have work to do at work.”

  He came around, and reaching into the box, he grabbed a stack of flyers. “Oh come on, not even a handy or a—”

  She flushed. “Do you really want to hear about Erik’s and my sex life?” she challenged, leaning a hand on the table to look at him.

  “You’re right. I really don’t.” He cleared his throat and said, “But isn’t it hard working for him, having to take his orders and stuff?”

  “Our departments are quite separate. And besides, I owe him a lot. If it wasn’t for his help, I wouldn’t even have this job.”

  Walker stopped and looked at her. “You don’t believe that, do you?”

  “Yes of course I do.” For the first time in her life, she’d had someone in her corner, making life a little easier.

  “I don’t.” He shook his head. “I think you could easily have secured this position on your own,” he said, picking up the empty box and breaking it down.

  “I lacked the necessary experience to even apply. Not everyone gets everything handed to them.” She stopped. She hadn’t meant her words to sound as harsh as they had. “Sorry, that came out wrong.”

  He cleared his throat. “No, you’re right. I had it easy.”

  She felt awful. Maybe financially, but losing his mother at fifteen and living with an absent father who was demanding and unyielding was tough. “Walker, I really didn’t mean it as it sounded.”

  “Sure you did, and it’s fine.” His tone was cool as he looked around. “Need my help with anything else?”

  She sighed. “No. Thank you. I think the painters can get started now.”

  “Great. See you, Grace.”

  She turned, and her mouth gaped as he headed back behind the bar. Since when did he call her Grace?

  ***

  Eight hours later, the crowd inside ShadowDancers was one of the best turnouts for an event they’d had all year. With two championship belts on this year’s upcoming fight card, fans were eager to meet this month’s fighters. From her post near the meet and greet table, Grace continued to scan the room, making sure everything was running smoothly.

  “There’s no way there are actual people standing in front of those posters,” Tyson said, coming to stand next to her.

  “Believe it,” Grace said with a smile powered only by adrenaline as she leaned forward to hug him. “Good to see you.”

  “You too,” he said, still squinting at the posters.

  Grace laughed, nodding toward one of the girls.

  The painted model left her post and came toward them.

  “Holy shit! That’s incredible. You really know how to throw an event, Grace.”

  “Thank you.” She glanced toward Walker, standing behind the meet and greet table, posing for fight shot pictures with a group of fans. “How’s his training going?”

  “Better . . .” He hesitated.

  “What?”

  “There’s something I can’t pinpoint. He’s strong, he’s fast, his technique is clean and effective, and he obviously wants to fight.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “He’s not hungry for it the way most guys are. I mean, I’ve seen guys with half of Walker’s ability train day and night. They want to fight, they live for it. But they have to work hard for it, and sometimes even the most dedicated guy still won’t make it inside the MFL’s cage.” He took a breath. “For Walker . . .”

  “It comes easy,” she finished. Hadn’t she felt guilty for saying those exact words hours before?

  “Exactly. He doesn’t have to try as hard.” He shrugged.

  “But if he’s naturally good, does that really matter?”

  “It will. Once he’s fighting a stronger, better opponent who knows what it’s like to fight to get the victory, it will definitely matter. I don’t think your friend has ever gone up against someone like that. But he’s going to with Cruz.”

  She nodded. “Well, I appreciate everything you’re doing for him.”

  “I train them. Once they walk inside the cage, it’s all on them.” He smiled. “Though, if he’d take my advice and sleep with that holy terror over there, we might all be able to relax a little.”

  Grace followed the direction of Tyson’s gaze and saw Faith, in a form-fitting red dress that reached midthigh, wrapping her arms around Walker’s waist as they posed for a picture. Jealousy coursed through her. Obviously his choosing to spend her birthday with her the night before had meant nothing. He wasn’t choosing her over Faith. And why should he? She’d left with Erik. Or so he thought.

  “You guys don’t actually believe all that crap about Faith being a good luck charm, do you?” The idea that if a guy had sex with some reporter he’d automatically win his next fight was ridiculous. If that were true, wouldn’t every fighter in the state be banging on Faith’s . . . Hmmm, never mind.

  “Should I list the fighters that all won after . . . ?”

  “Please don’t,” she said, holding up a hand.

  He laughed. “Superstition or not, it can’t hurt, right?” He winked as he walked away to go stand with his fighters at their table.

  Can’t hurt. She guessed not. Then why was her stomach in a tight knot watching Walker and Faith flirting behind the table?

  ***

  From his post behind the meet and greet table, Walker surveyed the at-maximum-capacity crowd. When his gaze landed on Gracie, it stayed there. All evening, she’d been on her feet, making sure everything went smoothly, and she seemed to do it all with ease and a beautiful smile on her face.

  His heart warmed as he watched her now, talking to several other fighters near the bar. He didn’t doubt for a second that those guys would be all over Grace if she weren’t involved with Erik. Hell, he’d be all over her if she wasn’t already in a relationship.

  “I have never seen a turnout like this,” Tyson said at his side.

  He reluctantly pulled his gaze from Gracie. “It’s pretty amazing.”

  “Grace is amazing,” Tyson said, echoing his sentiments. He took a sip of his drink, and his gaze fell on someone else across the room. His expression hardened as he said, “I’ll never understand what she sees in that guy.”

  Sitting in a booth across from them, Erik and another executive he recognized from the MFL were chatting up two half-dressed ring girls.

  “You and me both, man.”

  “But, while he may be a douche, he has fantastic taste in women.” Tyson was now staring at Gracie with an interest Walker wanted to punch off his coach’s face.

  He moved slightly to block the view
. “I thought Faith was your type.”

  “Women are my type, man. I don’t discriminate—blonde, brunette, redhead . . . tall, short . . .” He shrugged.

  “Well, that one is off-limits, remember? Don’t tell me you haven’t learned your lesson about making a play for the matchmaker’s girl?”

  Tyson grinned. “I’d never make a play for Grace. I like and respect her too much, and I’d hate it if I couldn’t talk to her again. She’s safe.”

  Walker shook his head. “You wouldn’t even stand a chance anyway.”

  Tyson drained the contents of his glass. “Normally, I’d bet my championship belt that you’re wrong and then proceed to leave the bar with the woman in question, but in this rare case, you’re right. Grace is different than most of the women in this industry . . . She knows her shit better than anyone, but she’s also smart enough to steer clear of it all. She’s also not the kind of woman you can just fuck and then leave, you know. She’s the stay-all-night kind.” Noticing a tall blonde smiling at them near the bar, Tyson tapped his shoulder. “That one, on the other hand . . .”

  Walker watched his coach head toward the woman, thinking about what he’d said. Gracie was the stay-all-night kind . . . His eyes met hers and he shook his head. Tyson was wrong. Gracie was the stay-forever kind.

  ***

  “Whoa, watch yourself,” he said, catching Faith as she stumbled on the asphalt parking lot hours later.

  The woman had consumed half the champagne served that evening, and she’d insisted on staying until the place closed to wait for him.

  Walker sighed. The last thing he needed right now was to deal with a drunk woman. He was exhausted and he needed a good night’s sleep before he had to train in the morning. The meet and greet had been exhilarating. He’d never expected so many MMA fans to be excited about meeting him—a nobody fill-in—but the lineup in front of him at the table had been full all evening.

  “Walker, I have an idea,” Faith said as he stopped next to the passenger side of his Jeep.

  “I’m sure it will be an even better one in the morning, once you’ve had time to sleep this off.” She was sure to have one hell of a hangover the next day.

  He opened the door and lifted her in, closing the door after her.

  He climbed into the driver’s seat and started the Jeep, but before he could put it into reverse, she’d climbed over the gearshift and was sitting on his lap, her chest against his, her ass setting off the horn. “Faith.” He lifted her away from the wheel to silence the noise and tried to move her back into the passenger seat, but her thighs had a death grip around him.

  She lowered her face to his neck, and her breath was warm and smelled faintly of champagne as she whispered, “I want you.”

  No shit. “Faith, you’re drunk. Let’s get you back to your place,” he said, firmly gripping her waist and setting her back in her seat.

  She pouted. “Are you coming in?”

  “Not tonight.” He put the car in reverse and backed out, noticing Gracie’s car still in the parking lot. She’d said she had to stay and supervise the teardown, pay the vendors, etc. He hoped he could get Faith home and get back to the bar before she left. He didn’t like the idea of her being out there alone after two a.m. He’d noticed Erik leave a few hours ago.

  “Not tonight . . . Not tonight . . .” Faith mimicked. “What’s with you anyway? Most guys are dying to get up in here,” she said, her words slurring as she ran her hands down the length of her body.

  Yes, that was part of the problem. Call him old fashioned, but he preferred his sexual partners not to have numbers nearing a hundred, most of whom were guys he was training with or would be fighting in the cage. It was . . . weird. “Look, Faith, I’m trying to focus on training now. It’s not you,” he said, pulling out into traffic.

  “Don’t you want good luck for your fight?” she mumbled.

  He shot a glance toward her. “You know that’s what the guys think?”

  She nodded, staring out the window. “For all I know, it’s true. At least I serve a greater purpose, right?”

  He touched her hand, against his better judgment. “There’s so much more to you than that.”

  She brought his hand to her mouth and slid his forefinger through her lips, sucking gently. “There’s much more . . .”

  He tore his hand away and sighed. “What’s your address?”

  “I’m not telling you until you agree to come in.” She folded her arms.

  “I’ll come in to make sure you get to bed, but I’m not staying, Faith.”

  She rummaged in her purse. “Crap. I can’t find my keys. I think I left them at the bar.” She rested her head against her hand.

  “No problem,” he said through gritted teeth. “We’ll just go back to get them.”

  “I feel sick.”

  Great. He did not want her puking in his Jeep. Grace’s apartment was less than two blocks away. He could drop her off there and let her rest while he went back for the keys. “Okay, I’m going to take you to Grace’s.”

  She nodded, her eyes closed, her head against the window.

  Ten minutes later, he dropped her onto Grace’s couch.

  “This is where you sleep?” She rolled onto her stomach and buried her face into his pillow.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh come on. You’ve never snuck into Grace’s room?”

  He tensed. It wasn’t as though he’d never thought of it. Every night was a struggle to stay on the couch, knowing she was a few feet away. “Stay here and rest,” he said, taking the pillow and putting it behind her head. Removing her heels, he lifted her feet onto the couch.

  “I mean, if you’re not screwing me . . .”

  “Faith. I’ll be back in ten minutes. If you need to puke, the bathroom is down the hall.”

  Her eyes flitted closed as she nodded.

  “Okay,” he said, but as he turned, she pulled on his hand, the surprise making him lose his balance and fall onto her. “Faith—”

  She gripped his arms and crushed his mouth with hers, her tongue hungrily separating his lips as he scrambled to push her away and sit up.

  The apartment door opened and he heard the sound of Gracie tossing her purse onto the counter.

  Shit. He placed a hand on Faith’s forehead and pushed her lips and face away, scrambling to his feet. “Grace . . . I . . .”

  “Simmer down,” she told him, but the annoyance on her face spoke volumes.

  Damn. If he was going to get busted breaking one of her rules, he should have at least been actually breaking it.

  “I believe these keys are yours,” she said, tossing Faith her keys. The large, loopy key ring that read Faith was the obvious giveaway.

  “Great, thank you. I’m going to take her home.” He lifted her from the couch, and Grace looked away. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  She waved a hand, heading toward her bedroom. “It’s not like I’ll be waiting up.”

  He knew she wouldn’t be. Whatever feelings she’d had for him years before were obviously a thing of the past . . . or at least she was hell-bent on convincing herself of that and desperate to keep them there.

  ***

  Unable to stay in the apartment with Walker when her emotions were a whirlwind and knowing Erik had to go to Reno for a few days to sign another new fighter, Grace spent the next evening at Erik’s house. Being alone had been what she’d needed to start putting things in perspective and finally let go of her annoyance with Erik over her birthday. From now on, she would insist on glossing over the day—no mention of it, no presents, no celebration, and therefore no disappointments. She would forgive and forget. That was all there was to it.

  After a long, stressful workweek, it was finally Friday, and she’d taken the day off to go shopping for a dress to wear to the anniversary party the following day in Lovelock. She’d finally caved and agreed to go after her mother and Kylie had tag teamed her on a three-way call.

  And despite the anxie
ty she felt about returning to her hometown, she was looking forward to seeing Kylie again. She missed her best friend. From the first day of kindergarten, they’d been inseparable, both winding up in the principal’s office less than four hours into their academic career. Her for a peanut allergy reaction requiring the use of her EpiPen they kept locked in the office, and Kylie for pushing a little boy on the playground who’d called Grace a pumpkin face when her skin had started to swell from the reaction.

  “Thanks for sticking up for me,” she’d said as they’d both waited the required amount of time for her meds to kick in.

  “That’s what friends do. You owe me one,” Kylie had said. And the great thing about her best friend was she’d never cashed in on that favor. Until two weeks ago when she’d asked her to let Walker stay with her.

  “Can I help you find something?” the salesclerk asked.

  “I’m looking for a dress to wear to a fiftieth wedding anniversary party. Nothing too short or tight.” Getting a dress that wasn’t too short or tight given her five-foot-nine frame was a tough order to fill.

  The salesclerk didn’t look confident as she scanned the store’s choices. “This is Las Vegas,” she said with a shrug, defending the store’s inventory of less-than-conservative dresses. “There might be something in the leftover spring collection in the far back end of the store near the fitting rooms.”

  “Okay, thanks, I’ll have a look,” Grace said, as her cell rang in her purse. If it was the office again, she was going to lose it. Her assistant had transferred through four calls from the production department already that morning. So much for a day off.

  She smiled in relief when she saw Kylie’s home number in Lovelock on the screen. “You’re home!”

  “I already need a drink.”

  “I would have started on the plane.”

  “Hurry up and get your skinny little ass out here. Grams is driving me crazy with the usual questions. Why am I not married yet? Why haven’t I given her a grandchild yet? She is going to die soon, you know—aghh!”

  Grace laughed. That sounded like Gram Adams. “I’ll be leaving here first thing tomorrow morning. Should be there by noon.” She flicked through several sundresses on the spring sale rack. Size 2, size 0, size 4—who the hell fit into these? No one—that’s why they were here on the sale rack.