by Josie Kerr
He intimidated the hell out of Bridget, and now he was questioning her directly about her encounters with Marisa Estes. Damn.
“We fought on the same circuit for a while.”
“You beat her.”
“Yeah.”
Bruce moved to perch on the edge of his chair. “I’ve seen the tape, Bridget. You dominated her, dominated an Olympic wrestler. And then you just disappeared. What the hell happened?”
Bridget’s stomach clenched, remembering that night, that awful, awful night.
“I . . . I realized that I needed to figure out where my priorities were. I made a decision. Turns out it was the wrong decision, but I made it, and I stuck to it for as long as I could. Probably too long.”
“Wow,” Colin said with a bitter laugh. “I told you. I fucking told all y’all.”
“Told them what?” Bridget sat up, jaw tensed.
“That you weren’t ready. And before you get all defensive, yes, you’re ready physically. I have no doubt that you can beat Estes again—she’s a wrestler who can’t take a hit. You’re a pressure fighter who can rain hell down on her with your fists. But you’re not ready here”—Colin tapped on his gut—“and you sure as hell aren’t ready here.” He tapped the side of his head. “That bullshit non-fucking-answer you gave proved that.”
“Do you want a fight, Bridget? I mean, really want a fight?”
Bridget met Junior’s steady blue gaze. “Yes,” she whispered.
He leaned forward. “Do you want this fight?”
“More than you can imagine.”
“Then fucking prove it. Prove you’re hungry enough for this. Be that fighter who came up to me in Buffalo and told me that if I didn’t take you on, I was going to regret it. Make the commitment up here”—he poked at her temple—“and in here.” Junior took her hand and pressed her palm over her heart.
“Okay, then.” Colin sucked on his teeth and squinted at Bridget. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m gonna call Matt at SoPro and propose a catchweight fight at one forty-five. We all know a featherweight division for women is coming—it’s just a matter of time. You know Estes would kill to not have to cut as much as she currently does, and if the brass sees that there’s a market for a featherweight women’s division—”
“Which they will, once we spread that tape of you waling on her,” Bruce interrupted to add.
“No. No tape.” Bridget shook her head so hard she thought she could feel her brain rattling inside it.
“Is there something you need to tell us about that fight, Bridg? Something we didn’t or couldn’t see on that tape?” Paddy laid his hand over hers. “Darlin’, you need to tell us.”
“No,” Bridget lied. “I just think it will be better if people find out about the other fight organically.”
Paddy looked skeptical but nodded.
“As I was saying,” Colin continued, shooting everyone in the room an irritated look. “I’m gonna call Matt and propose a catchweight fight. There’s a local card scheduled for ten weeks from Saturday. That’s a full camp if we start after the weekend. We’re going to operate on the assumption that this fight is going to happen, so camp starts Monday for you, Bridget. That means you have three days to blow out and let whatever out of your system that needs to get out. Because there’s no . . . tomfoolery allowed, if you get my drift.”
Colin waved a dismissive hand at the group, who had all begun snickering. “Whatever. Y’all know what I mean. Since you’re obviously all twelve.”
Bridget snorted. “I’ll be ready to go on Monday, C. I want this. I need this.”
Colin nodded, stood up to his full height, and stuck out his hand. “Welcome to the big time, Doherty.”
Bridget, who had stood as soon as Colin had, grinned and shook his hand. “Glad to finally be where I belong.”
Colin’s phone beeped. “I gotta get ready for Nolan’s session. Thanks for filling in for me last week.”
“It was my pleasure, C. He’s an interesting guy. I enjoyed working with him.”
They left Colin’s office and headed in opposite directions. Bridget turned around and saw C greet Nolan with a handshake. What a difference between the other night and this afternoon. Nolan was back to his harried, rumpled self, with tense shoulders and no charming grin. He looked defeated, and that didn’t sit well with Bridget at all. Hopefully, C would work all the frustration out of him.
“Uh-huh. I see you checking out Mister Tall, Blond, and Southern.” Nanda bumped Bridget’s shoulder.
“I wouldn’t consider him blond.” Dammit. Busted.
Nanda snorted. “Okay, light brown.”
“Maybe. More like sandy-haired.”
“He’s got a good ass. Hell, he’s good-looking, period. Seems really sweet.”
“Yeah.”
“His dad seems like a piece of work.”
“Yeah.” Bridget sucked air through her teeth. Her little interaction with Chet Harper had been bothering her since they met. She hadn’t been lying when she’d said she grew up listening to The Harper Family Band. She loved the music, both their interpretations of classic bluegrass songs as well as the newer, original tunes, but now, she didn’t know if she could listen to those songs without recalling the caustic personality of Chet Harper.
“You should ask him out.”
“Fuckin’ A. Gross.”
Nanda blinked and then guffawed loud enough to attract the attention of C and Nolan. Nolan raised his hand in greeting. Then he looked at his uplifted hand like he didn’t know how it got there, and dropped it back to his side, while Colin merely scowled at the two women before miming for them to get back to what they were supposed to be doing.
“I meant Nolan, you weirdo. Jesus,” Nanda spluttered. “I think you need to get laid, lady. There’s only so much porn you can deal with.”
“Man, you’re damn right about that. Especially when it’s live action through the kitchen window.” Bridget slapped her hand over her mouth. “Shit. You cannot say anything to Annie or Pierce, Nanda.”
Nanda cackled some more. “I knew it! I knew those two were freaks. They’re way too quiet to not be.” She hooted and stomped her feet, still laughing.
“Oh, man. Shit. Now I need to work some of this frustration off. I’m gonna go have a session with my favorite Jacob, and you go do your manager stuff before Colin’s head explodes.”
“Ooh, yeah—he’s doing that squinty thing. See ya, Bridget.” Nanda clicked her tongue and made finger guns at Bridget and then scampered off to the front of the gym.
Bridget headed over to the Jacob’s ladder, set the timer for twenty minutes, and started climbing. In the mirror, she could see Colin and Nolan’s workout, featuring Nolan’s broad back and costarring his high, firm butt. Damn, that was a fine-ass ass. She climbed and watched the men until the alarm sounded, and she reluctantly ended her ogling session. She needed to get cleaned up so she could head to Foley’s to see her father and his band perform.
Her father. She and her father were close, and they always had been, and while she was glad to see him during his stay in Atlanta, she wasn’t looking forward to some of the inevitable questions he was going to ask about her divorce and what she was actually hoping to achieve by moving a thousand miles away. And then there was her mother, but she was another situation entirely, one that she didn’t really want to think about right now.
Bridget sighed, and with a final glance in the mirror, was about to head into the locker room to retrieve her gym bag when she noticed that Colin and Nolan had finished their workout. Huh.
“Ask him out,” Nanda hissed as she strolled by Bridget. “Do it. You know you wanna.”
Bridget looked toward the break room and decided she had time to grab a shake, so she headed for the kitchen.
Chapter Nine
Nolan yawned so wide that his jaw cracked. He blinked and sniffed as he shook the protein shaker bottle.
“Rough night?” Colin had his own tumbler, but unlike Nola
n, he looked wide awake. Nolan didn’t know how he always managed to look so alert, and he said so.
“Well, you’ve got to feed your body. I know you’re still trying to lose some weight, but you gotta make sure you’re getting enough calories to function. You’re a big guy, Nolan. You take a lot of fuel.”
Nolan grunted and eyed Colin’s flat midriff. Spoken like someone who never had to watch what he ate.
“I know what you’re thinking, Harper. I can tell by the look on your face. There’s a reason why Junior calls me Gordo.” Colin chuckled. At Nolan’s confused look, he explained. “It means ‘big guy,’ or really, ‘fatso.’ I’ve always been big, but it’s been in the last few years that I’ve slimmed down some. When I was still fighting, I was about your size, if even a little bit bigger, and I’d been that size since I was about fifteen. I got into wrestling when I was in high school because I needed PE credits and was a big ol’ kid who couldn’t deal with football.”
“Tell me about it. Everyone took a look at me and said, ‘This boy needs to be an offensive tackle.’ My dad tried to make me do it for a few years, but I kept skipping practice to hang out in the home ec room and cook.” Nolan shook his head. “Man, he beat my ass when he figured out that I’d used my uniform fees to enter a baking contest.”
“Well, shit . . .”
Nolan shrugged. “Nah, it’s all good. All it took was me winning first prize to convince the old man it’d be a lot less of a hassle to let me make cakes, and that’s what I did for the next twenty years. Or at least, I did until the heart thing.”
“You miss it?”
“Don’t miss the stress, and I still cook for myself, but not many sour cream chocolate cakes these days.” Nolan pulled out his phone and scrolled through an electronic organizer app. “This is what I’ve been doing lately.”
He showed Colin his recipe collections and food plans, and the big fighter looked over them with great interest.
“Man, you have grocery lists and everything, don’t you?” The big former champion scrolled through the lists and charts. “You ever think about packaging this?”
Nolan was confused. “What?”
“This is great—totally organized, grocery lists, a nice meal plan for a week. I can’t tell you how many people want exactly this type of thing, Nolan.” He scrolled some more and then handed Nolan back his phone. “I want to buy it.”
“What?”
“Seriously—package that shit up and sell it to me. People will love having the hard work done for them, I won’t have to harass the dietitian for recipes, and you can make some extra cash. It’s a no-brainer.”
Nolan huffed a laugh. “Uh, sure? I mean, why not? It’s already done. I don’t think I can charge you for it, though . . .”
“Bullshit. It’s your work—let other people pay for the convenience. Seriously.”
“I don’t know, C. Um . . .”
Colin rolled his eyes. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll put a poll up. That’ll tell you exactly how much people are willing to pay for this, okay? When they say they want it, you’ll sell it to me. Deal?”
“Uh, sure. I think you’re kind of nuts, though.”
Colin grinned. “We’ll see.” He drained the rest of his shake and made quick work of washing up and putting the tumbler in the dishwasher. “And by the way, the whole time I was fighting professionally, I was bigger than you are right now and had to cut down to two sixty-five to make weight. I know all about it. It’s hard work, and you’ve done a great job. Don’t sell yourself short.”
Nolan fidgeted with his tumbler, uncomfortable with the compliments. Colin cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable as well, before blowing out a breath and clapping his hands. “Welp, I’m outta here. I wanna get home to my girls.”
“Oh, congratulations, man. I didn’t tell you earlier. Yeah, good job.” Sweet Jesus, shut up, Nolan.
Colin grinned and nodded once before leaving the break room.
Nolan exhaled loudly and then finished his shake as he ruminated about selling his meal plan to Colin. When he was regrouping after his heart attack, he’d thought briefly about some sort of concierge chef services, but he had ultimately come to the conclusion that it would be even more stressful than working in the kitchen. But C seemed to think he could do it. It was definitely tempting because Nolan didn’t know how long he could continue working in that office.
“Hey, guy.”
“Whoa, hey, Bridget. I, uh, didn’t even hear you come in.”
And he didn’t. He’d been so distracted by the idea of sharing his food again that he’d not noticed the dark-haired woman enter the break room. Bridget grinned at him as she prepared her own drink. One arm flexed as she shook the tumbler, and the other rested on her hip, highlighting the curve of her trim waist.
“You looked good today, Nolan. You’re getting more efficient and faster.”
He flushed, suddenly embarrassed. She’d been watching him huff and puff through his workout today. Colin was pushing him, and he needed it, but man, what he’d do to be able to make it through a session without looking like he was having a massive coronary—which was ironic because when he did have his cardiac event, he didn’t get red in the face or anything. He’d just felt like he’d been kicked in the chest, and then he’d gone down.
“Um, yeah. I think it was a good workout today.”
They stood in awkward silence until Bridget said, “Well, I gotta jet. It was good seeing you out, Nolan.”
He nodded. “It was. Sorry about the drama with—”
“Don’t even think about apologizing, Nolan. Families are families—you can’t choose them. I get that.” She opened her mouth to say something else but then seemed to think better of it, so she snapped her mouth shut with a clack. “So. Okay. Um, bye, Nolan. See you around.”
“Sure. See ya, Bridget.”
He watched her figure as she walked to the women’s locker room. She surprised him by turning when she was halfway down the hall and giving him another little wave before continuing on her way.
He blinked. What did that mean? Huh. Since he technically wasn’t a client, there wouldn’t be any problem with asking her out, right? Other than the assured rejection. That was definitely a problem. He tried to put Bridget out of his head so he could mentally prepare for dinner with his brother because he knew he was going to need all his reserves after his father’s little visit to Foley’s the other night. His family exhausted him, but Bridget was right; families were families, and you dealt with them as best you could.
“This is really good, Cal.” Nolan licked his lips, and his brother grinned at him. “Really good.”
“Never underestimate homemade ginger syrup.” Cal raised his glass to Nolan. “And cheers to you, Nol, for venturing out and about. I’m just sorry I wasn’t there to support Tobias. He said he had some good sets.”
“Yeah, he did. I’ll admit I was skeptical about him playing with only a backing track and not a band, but it worked. People were on their feet, dancing and moving. Foley’s booked him again tonight as an opener for one of their out-of-town bands, so apparently they liked him, too.”
“Cal, Alphonse isn’t here, and someone needs to sign off on the delivery. Oh, hi, Nolan.”
Nolan smiled blandly at Cal’s fiancée, a pretty but superficial woman who Nolan thought was way too young for his brother.
Cal grunted, “Be back in a sec,” leaving Nolan sitting at the bar, savoring his brother’s newest concoction and perusing the rather uninspired menu. If he were the executive chef of Pickett & Spence, he’d go in a completely different direction than the standard gastropub fare. But he wasn’t, so he would keep his mouth shut, or at least try to. He flipped over to the dessert menu. Where are the desserts?
“Sorry about that, Nolan. I swear, I don’t know what’s going on with Alphonse lately. This is the third delivery he’s missed this week.”
“Why are the desserts missing?”
Cal pinched the bridge of his
nose. “Because Al hosed our dessert connection.”
“Oh man. He broke up with Kennedy?”
“She broke up with him. He was fucking around behind her back and apparently was such an ass during the breakup that she won’t work with us anymore.”
“Dang. So you have no desserts at all?”
Cal shook his head. “No, we don’t. If only I knew someone who could whip up an insane chocolate cake on a moment’s notice . . .” Cal stuck out his lip and gave Nolan a pitiful look.
“Okay, okay. Twist my arm. I’ll make a few cakes.”
Nolan held up his fist, and Cal bumped it.
“So, tell me about this fighter chick.”
Nolan choked on his drink. “Are you talking about Bridget?”
“Is there more than one fighter chick?”
“Well, no . . .”
“Then, tell me about this Bridget. Tobias said she stared down Dad.”
“Yeah, she did.” Nolan chuckled, recalling the way Bridget’s jaw set when she locked eyes with his father. Not many people could hold out against Chet Harper’s thousand-yard psycho-stare, but Bridget did, and he could’ve kissed her for it, should have kissed her for it.
“You fuckin’ her?”
“God, man, no,” Nolan spluttered. “I barely know her. She filled in for my personal trainer when he was out.”
“But you wanna fuck her, right?”
“Jesus, Cal. Man, I . . .”
Cal leered at him. “You do, don’t you? What’s stopping you? She have a husband or something?”
Nolan shook his head. “No, she’s just . . . I don’t think she’d be interested in a guy like me. She’s very Yankee city mouse, and well . . . I’m me.”
Cal slapped his hand on the counter. “Well, of course she wouldn’t be, with an attitude like that. Shit. Remember what Toby used to tell us?”
“I know, I know.” He shrugged again. “So how many cakes do you want? Three? Four?”
“Four. And I think you should ask her out. You said she’s not really your trainer, right?”
