by Meg Maguire
Screw it.
He was attached, and he’d let himself stay attached. Like drinking too much, he’d regret it when the party was over, but so what? He had it bad for her, and if it was going to hurt when he moved away, may as well hurt a hell of a lot. He’d lived through countless fractured ribs and split lips and black eyes and concussions. He could live through a broken heart.
Beneath him, she was coming apart. His awe returned as he watched her, that normally composed and pretty face looking wild, nearly angry. Beautiful.
“Jenna.”
He saw the trembling in her hand, felt it inside her. Need finally muscled the gooey thoughts out of the way, and Mercer wanted release. Now. He waited just long enough for her to come down from her orgasm, then he planted his hands on the couch and sped himself home. Palms stroked and studied him, all a blur. He wanted to come apart inside her, get lost and never be found. When the climax came it enveloped his entire body, wrung him out and left him gasping, white spots winking before his eyes.
“Holy shit.”
She laughed, rubbing his shoulder.
Blood slowly returned to his brain and he managed to make it to his feet, stumble to the bathroom and ditch the condom. Jenna was running her fingers through her messy hair when he returned, and he studied her fondly as he pulled his shirt back on.
“Thanks for the lasagna,” he said.
A smile, nearly as pleasurable as the orgasm. “You’re very welcome. Thanks for the sordid quickie.”
He returned the smile, wishing to God all this was really as simple as he was pretending it was.
* * *
LIFE GOT HECTIC. With both the mixer and tournament drawing near, Jenna and Mercer were seeing less and less of one another as organizing their mismatched events took over the daylight hours. But at night... At night they picked up where’d they’d left off the last time they’d enjoyed each other’s company, and that tended to be one of their beds.
Having a wedding planner on staff was a godsend. Lindsey thought of details that would never have occurred to Jenna. With her assistant’s help over the next two weekends, the cocktail party was starting to feel as though it really would happen, and that it really would be rather fabulous.
Best of all, Lindsey’s old boss had let her go with just one week’s notice. She fit in very nicely around the place, Jenna thought. Mercer agreed. The two had hit it off over a harried pizza dinner in the office that Saturday. Only one thing threatened the party’s success.
“Any good news on the man-procurement front?” Lindsey asked as they settled into the office on Monday morning. It was her first official day, and five short days before the mixer.
Thanks to the success of the billboards and subway ads, they now had a nice little list of confirmed attendees—some already preregistered with Spark, others eager to make their decisions based on whom they might meet at the party. But the women outweighed the men more than two to one.
“Sadly, no,” Jenna said, opening her laptop.
“What would you think about offering the women a discounted month of membership in exchange for bringing along a single male friend?”
Jenna knocked the idea around in her head. “I’m afraid it’d look kind of lame for a matchmaking service to ask prospective clients to BYO men.”
Lindsey frowned. “Right, duh. Jeez, you’d think free booze and shrimp would be enticement enough. It’s what gets people to go to weddings.”
“Doesn’t help that men are less prone to scheduling things ahead of time, or replying to RSVPs. For all we know a ton will decide to show up on Saturday—they just won’t bother to tell us about it.”
“Now that you’re stuck with me,” Lindsey said, “I feel like I should admit I’m going to make a pretty hypocritical matchmaker.”
“How so?”
“I’ve read the new client orientation materials back to front, and I’ve got to tell you, I don’t adhere to, like, half those rules. If the right guy walks through that door, I give myself one date—maybe two, tops—before I take him for a test drive.”
Jenna smirked. She’d yet to go on a real date with Mercer. “That’s a strict one, I know.”
“Try before you buy,” Lindsey proclaimed, rubbing an imaginary stack of bills between her fingers.
Jenna laughed. “If I catch you saying that to a client I’ll demote you to receptionist.”
Someone walked by the office windows, but Jenna had been inhabiting this room for long enough that she no longer glanced up at every passing shadow. Not unless she felt a little pang of happy queasiness, in which case she could reliably find Mercer on her threshold.
There was a scuffing of shoes and Jenna looked up to find Rich in the doorway.
After news of the gym’s imminent closing had been shared with the trainers, Rich had treated Jenna as though she didn’t exist for several days, but eventually his cold silence turned to single-syllable exchanges, then to a more authentic imitation of friendliness. And the expression on his handsome face now was far from angst.
Lindsey was distracted, and behind her back Rich gave Jenna an amusing little show. His gaze went from Lindsey to Jenna, then back to Lindsey, brows rising. Jenna rolled her eyes and beckoned him inside.
“Morning, boss. And mystery woman.” He flashed one of his dangerous smiles.
“Rich, this is Lindsey Tuttle, my new right-hand woman and future matchmaker. And the person who’s going to single-handedly make this mixer happen. Lindsey, this bruised specimen is Rich. Mercer’s, um, colleague.”
“Nice to meet you,” Lindsey said, rising to shake his hand. If the gigantic welt on his jaw or the powerful body not much camouflaged by his sleeveless shirt gave her pause, she hid it perfectly well.
“Rich Estrada,” he said. “Light heavyweight, nine and one—though that one was pure robbery.” He released her hand and turned to Jenna. “Where’ve you been hiding this one?”
“This is my first official day,” Lindsey said.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Jenna warned. “I own her every waking minute until this party’s over.”
“Speaking of ideas,” Lindsey said to Jenna, “have you considered inviting the guys downstairs to the mixer?”
“I had, briefly....” She exchanged a not-entirely-easy look with Rich then glanced at the door to make sure no one was passing. “But I don’t think they’d appreciate discovering I recruited them for a kickoff of the business that’s driving the gym away.”
Rich shook his head gravely.
Lindsey’s smile drooped. “Of course not. Too bad. Would’ve been a nice mix, added to all those white-collar types.”
“Oh yeah?” Rich made an approving face and crossed his big arms over his chest. “You got a soft spot for scar tissue, sweetheart?”
“It’s not a matter of scars or any other thing,” she said, putting on a nice little snob act to counteract Rich’s swagger. “And my soft spot is officially off-limits to partygoers.”
Rich laughed.
“No matter their fight record or what they can bench. I’m very happily single. And I’m quite happy to focus on other people’s love lives for the foreseeable future.”
He smirked. “Well, I’ll have you know that torture chamber’s packed with undercover businessmen and all sorts of boring types. Only a few of us sweat from nine to five. One of our best amateurs is a pediatrician.”
Jenna grinned. She knew as well as anyone that the gym wasn’t what it seemed. What went on down there was a craft that few outsiders could make sense of, but the men drawn to it went beyond the bloodthirsty and one-dimensional.
“Too bad we’re shutting down—Merce was gunning to build a female membership. Could’ve found out if one of you two was the next big thing.”
“Think I’ll pass.” As much as Jenna now respected the sport and its practitioners, she wasn’t inviting anyone to punch her. Lindsey looked more game, nodding with a thoughtful little smirk.
“There’s always private lesson
s,” Rich added, bobbing his brows at Lindsey with innuendo.
She rolled her eyes and turned back to the printouts on her desk.
“You’ll have to excuse us, Rich,” Jenna said. “We have a man-drought to solve.”
“I’ll leave you to it. I’m late for a scrap with your boyfriend.”
Jenna nearly corrected him, but she shut her mouth, because temporary or not, official or not, Mercer was obviously her boyfriend.
Once Rich had bidden them goodbye and disappeared in the direction of the gym, Lindsey shook her head. “He’s a bit full of himself, leading with his fighting stats.”
“That’s his shtick. Prince Richard.”
“Well, they ought to call him the Rooster. He’s insanely cocky.”
“Seems to work well in the ring.”
Lindsey smiled grimly. “Well, it doesn’t work on me. I’ve had it up to here with egotistical men.” She drew a line across her throat and made a gagging face.
Jenna could sense the faintest defensive tone behind the silly gesture, and wondered if her assistant might be talking about more than just annoying grooms. An ex, maybe. A fresh ex, she bet. But Lindsey was one of the few women who’d arrive in this office not seeking Jenna’s opinions about their personal lives, and she’d respect that, much as the curiosity drove her crazy.
“Let’s take stock,” Jenna said. “Catering’s done, officially?”
“Ditto the bar service. I went ahead and approved the costs my contact emailed me, because it was pretty much exactly what you’d budgeted.”
“Perfect. Security? Oh, that company the franchise overseer recommended. I better call and confirm they’re sending us three guys. The only thing we’re short on is us, really,” Jenna said. “You and me, plus Tina.” Tina would be sweeping in from Providence to make sure the party went off to Spark’s standards. Jenna felt a familiar surge of dislike toward her boss, but stuffed it back down, knowing the woman’s decision had been purely professional...much as it hurt. Plus Tina knew the business inside and out, and Jenna needed her help as much as she feared messing up with Tina as a witness.
“Three people should be enough,” Lindsey said. “Also, the hotel said it’ll be no problem getting a couple laptops set up so people can register. Oh, and you know what I thought would be fun, and really easy to do, to get people into the mood to join?”
“What?”
“We should print up cards with sample questions from the compatibility survey, the one you take after you join? All those fun questions about, like, what celebrity is your ideal date? What cocktail best sums up your dream man or woman?”
“Right.”
“We could scatter them around the tables and invite people to quiz each other. People love being quizzed. Especially when they’ve got a nice wine buzz going. Plus it’ll entice people to sign up, so they can take an entire survey about what they want in a mate. I don’t want to imply that people are narcissists or anything...”
“No, you’re right. That’s the most empowering part of joining a dating service, that initial stage where you’re focused on what you want. It is fun, getting all hopeful and excited about Mr. or Miss Right, feeling like it’s all about you.”
“So what’s left to do? Decorating?”
Jenna nodded. “I’ve ordered as many floral arrangements as the hotel suggested for that room, and they offered to rent us the tablecloths. But I thought on Wednesday you and I could go shopping for other random stuff to spiff the place up. There’s room in the budget for that, thanks to your connections cutting us deals on the food.”
“The DJ promised to email me the playlist and cc you. I told him, ‘Upbeat make-out music for classy people.’”
Jenna laughed. “Sounds perfect. Jeez, we’re actually in good shape. I didn’t see that happening this time last week. In fact, on Wednesday, after we’re done shopping for extras, I’m taking you to lunch, to say thanks.”
“I won’t stop you.”
“But today and tomorrow, we’re focused on man-procurement. Let’s see if we can’t get a few of our better prospects to commit. Or at least RSVP.”
While Lindsey got busy with that, Jenna sneaked downstairs, thinking she’d see how Mercer’s day was.
He wasn’t in the gym itself, but the door to the makeshift office—formerly a storage room—was open. She waved to a bunch of fighters as she crossed the floor mats, shoes in hand, to peek around the threshold. Mercer was sitting on an old metal desk under the room’s rather harsh overhead light, talking on his phone, the fingers of his free hand drumming the desktop. His face looked ominously, dangerously sexy in the severe glow from above. He didn’t see her.
“No, I’m interested,” he said. “Full-time, though, right? Great. I’m done here as of January first.”
Jenna’s stomach constricted. She’d spent the past couple hours with Lindsey, thrilled to see how excited her assistant was about the opportunity Jenna had given her. But on the flip side, she was wrecking the dream job of the man who shared her bed...and heart. Buzz killed dead, she backed away and headed upstairs.
* * *
BY MID-WEEK, Jenna and Lindsey’s gentle email reminders had indeed managed to garner a few more RSVPs from Greater Boston’s male population. Jenna had ignored Lindsey’s snide suggestion they simply title the subject line “Free Shrimp!” She’d gone instead with “Real Men Wanted.” Every guy liked to think of himself as a real man, both in the rugged sense and also the inclusive Everyman sense. It won them over a dozen new acceptances, bringing the total number of confirmed guests to an impressive but manageable seventy, and the ratio to about sixty percent women, forty percent men. Doable.
The trip to find extra decorations had been a success and on Wednesday evening Jenna was camped out with boxes of would-be centerpieces.
The door clicked, announcing Mercer’s arrival and filling her with happy, antsy energy. She smiled as he stepped inside. He’d been gone the entire afternoon, taking Delante to a steep hill on the South Shore to run sprints, something to do with lung capacity or some other sadistic fighter-thing.
“Hey, you.” He closed the door, looking as exhausted as she’d ever seen him. “What’s happening here?”
“Centerpieces for the party. Don’t judge yet—they’re not done.” Before her was a wasteland of vases and glass pebbles and willow branches, soon to be transformed into miniature trees and festooned with the survey question cards Lindsey had printed. “How was torturing Delante?”
“Great. The countdown’s kicked in. He’s got a healthy fire under his ass now.” He stretched his neck and tossed his keys on the coffee table. “Some kids crumble under pressure, but for him, that’s what he was missing.”
“Excellent.”
“Yeah. Now I just need to focus on finalizing all the last-minute crap for the tournament. Too bad I don’t have a Lindsey of my own—I’m useless with juggling details. Rich is even worse.”
She frowned her sympathy.
“That was always your dad’s thing,” Mercer said. “Though luckily the promotions company’s pretty organized. You eat already?”
“I was waiting for you.” She stood and stepped over the mess. “Nothing fancy, pasta and these good sausages I found in the North End.”
“I’d eat my own leg, I’m so hungry.”
She got dinner ready while Mercer showered. He emerged and walked to where Jenna stood stirring the sauce, and wrapped his arms around her middle. He smelled like soap, and she knew exactly how his wet hair would feel if she turned and kissed him and ran her hands over his head.
She’d arrived here expecting someone so different. Tough and stubborn, an opponent. And here he stood, her unlikely boyfriend. She ached to tell him she loved him. She’d said those words to men she’d been less enamored with than Mercer. Not insincerely, either. She simply hadn’t known a romantic attachment could run this deep.
“Smells awesome,” he said.
“So do you.”
“Compared
to my usual stinky man-fragrance, I’m sure I do.”
“Get us some bowls and utensils, Mr. Rowley. And the cheese shaker.”
“Will you kill me if I watch the Sox-Yankees game?”
“Of course not. I think I’d get excommunicated if I stopped you. Let me clear off the couch.”
They settled in the living room, and Jenna liked the atmosphere—each of them absorbed in their own concerns. Mercer’s presence felt warm and easy and natural.
The Sox lost, but Mercer almost seemed to relish it. Like Boston itself, he thrived as the underdog. If only that spirit could’ve somehow saved the gym.
Jenna managed to come up with a decent arrangement for the little card trees, though her fingers were nicked and achy by the time Mercer switched off the TV at ten. She wondered if he’d like to work off his Sox angst in one of their beds.
“I, um...I have some news,” he said.
“Oh?” She tensed.
“Yeah.” He turned to the side, hugging one of his knees and looking her in the eye. “I think I’ve secured a pretty damn decent training gig for the New Year.”
“Oh,” she repeated, numb. “Where?”
“Philly.”
The word knocked the wind out of her. “Philadelphia?”
“Yeah. Straight-up boxing. Not mixed disciplines. But I know the guy who runs the gym—he worked for your dad ages ago. Good young prospects to work with.”
“That’s so far away.”
His expression softened, reflecting her own preemptive grief. “It is far. But it’s a good fit. And it gets me out of Massachusetts and away from all the old rivalries between the facilities here.”
“Right.” Wilinski’s and its fighters had never quite managed to shed their pariah status, he’d said, and suffered a lot of trash talk for it.
“You okay?”
She nodded. She had to be all right, since it was his decision. Hurt like hell, though. “When do you think you’ll go?”
