Fighting for It

by Jennifer Fusco

  “I’ve never seen this before,” he said absently, still staring at his reflection.

  “Daddy probably didn’t know to look for it. He was a great trainer and manager, but he never believed in anything other than a strong physical showing to deliver wins.”

  He kept staring at his reflection as if he were impressed. She took one small step closer to him and closed her hand over his at the spot on his head. Her hand pressed into his warm hardened skin. “Head, heart, and body, it all has to work together.”

  “I guess so,” he said, and his breath misted the glass.

  “Now come on.” She gave his hand a light pat. “Let’s go eat.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Breakfast served all day.

  Daniella waited while Jack held the door to the diner open for her. Giving him a nod of thanks, she passed by him and walked inside.

  “I’m starving,” she said, sliding in to the booth by the window. She dumped her purse on the bench beside her. Jack took the seat opposite hers. They faced each other and peered down at the laminated menus. Granted nothing looked as tasty as the sight of Jack shadowboxing without a shirt, but that was one dish she wasn’t going to try anytime soon.

  The waitress, a pretty little redhead, arrived and delivered two glasses of water. With a pop of her chewing gum she told them she’d be right back. The girl was petite, cute, kind of Jack’s type, if he had a type. Jack didn’t seem to notice her, as Daniella had expected. Little did the waitress know that Daniella desperately needed that ice water. Staring at Jack’s muscled arms had lit a fire inside her, and now, glancing at his blue eyes across the table, the fire started to smolder, and she feared it would take more than a glass of water to extinguish the flame.

  They could’ve been anywhere. The diner, miles away from the cabin, had been there for years, and the place was nothing special. The food was fair, coffee was hot, and the decor looked like it was straight out of the sixties.

  The massive counter ran the length of the building. Powder-blue vinyl covered the stools and benches they had squished into. Daniella’s knees brushed Jack’s under the table. He didn’t lift his head and merely kept reading.

  “Let me guess,” Jack said. “You’re getting French toast.”

  It was as if he’d read her mind. There weren’t too many diners around that served decent French toast made with Texas toast, nice and thick, none of that mushy white bread stuff. She grinned. “How’d you know?”

  He lifted his blue eyes up from the table and looked at her, his gaze piercing all the way through her. “That’s what you got last time.”

  She lifted her hand and rubbed her temple. “I did?”

  He nodded, then stuck out a finger and pointed to the booth in the corner. “We sat over there, remember? And you told me the only dirty joke you knew.”

  Mentally, she froze.

  “The joke about the Christmas tree, remember?” he prodded.

  Heat radiated through her chest. “I remember! You laughed so hard, milkshake came out your nose.”

  His face split into a wide smile. “It wasn’t so much that the joke was funny, as it was you telling it.”

  Her posture straightened. A rush of excitement poured through her brain recalling the dirtiest and dumbest joke ever. She leaned across the table to Jack, and deliberately keeping her voice low, told him the only dirty joke she knew.

  Jack laughed. “That’s really bad.”

  She threw her head back in satisfaction. “Isn’t it?”

  Facing him, she remembered just how much she liked to see him smile. Since her father died, neither one of them smiled lately. Funny how a little reminiscing could change the mood.

  “I think that calls for a milkshake,” Jack said when the waitress returned. “Chocolate.”

  “Make it two,” Daniella chimed in.

  The woman disappeared, and Jack’s wandering stare planted itself on Daniella. “Did you ever come up here much after you left Vegas?” Jack asked.

  She pursed her lips and shook her head. “Not really. With school and dad and work, there just wasn’t much time. And you? Did Dad bring the guys up here like he always talked about?”

  “Just once.” His gaze turned from her out the window. “About a year after you left, your dad and I came up to go fishing. But—” He shrugged. “I dunno. It wasn’t the same.”

  She didn’t want to press him further, even though she completely agreed with him. In the hours before he’d arrived at the cabin, Daniella had sat there alone and thought of being at the cabin without Jack. It was as if a piece of something was missing. There was no energy, no electricity in the air without him.

  However, it took him stepping out of his car for her to realize how easily the hum of excitement returned with each step he took, moving closer toward the house, the cabin filled with a powerful buzz, the kind only Jack Brady could create.

  “I’m glad that after I left, Dad still had you. Someone who cared about him, who made sure he was okay.”

  Jack squirmed as if her words made him uncomfortable. But her sentiments were true and she wanted him to know how special he was to her dad.

  And to her.

  She could’ve sworn she heard Jack sigh in relief when the waitress returned with their milkshakes. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling he held something back. There was something he wasn’t telling her.

  Maybe she didn’t want to know.

  Jack glanced up at the waitress and ordered grilled chicken and vegetables. She let Jack’s milkshake slide, and apparently he knew better than to order something unhealthy for his meal. Daniella, however, stood firm with her decision of French toast and a milkshake.

  “Well, hello there, sugar rush,” Jack teased as soon as the waitress walked away. “What kind of workout will you need to work off that one?” he asked with a wicked grin, looking all too happy to oblige should her workout require assistance.

  “I’m not working out. You are.”

  He raised his eyebrows. As expected, he understood her reply to mean something sexual. Well, maybe that was the way she wanted him to take it. Admittedly, flirting with him like the old days sent a hot rush through her stomach. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, exposing her neck.

  “What’s your plan?” he asked, wetting his lips.

  “Michael is driving up and spending the next few days. We’re going to do some sparring. Shakes tells me he’s been lifting weights, gaining bulk. I think he’s the perfect sparring partner to prepare you for Cortez. Don’t go easy on him.”

  “I never go easy on him.”

  “Good.”

  He nodded as if he understood and agreed with their course of training. They waited in companionable silence until the waitress brought their food. Placing Jack’s plate before him, the waitress asked, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  He waved her away, unaware of her invitation, and focused on his meal.

  Spearing a piece of grilled squash, he said, “I like this.”

  She glanced at his plate. “Are you talking about the squash?”

  He looked down at his fork. “No, but it’s not so bad, either.”

  She wrapped her lips around the straw and drank the milkshake. After swallowing, she said, “Tahoe is a great place for training.”

  He paused from chewing. “I meant I like being here . . . with you.”

  The icy chocolate glob felt as if it stopped sliding down her throat. It just stuck there. Like his words. Hanging in the air.

  She reached for her glass of water and took a long sip. “Good,” she said finally, after the ice glob found its way to her stomach. “I like it, too.”

  He smiled and went back to his meal. For a second she wished she could stop time, go back, forget all the crappy history stuff, and isolate the two of them in the here and now. Maybe time did heal? Maybe he still wanted her like he had before? A glimpse of how they were then and how they could be now appeared before her.

  Laughing.

&
nbsp; Flirting.

  In love.

  She lifted a forkful of syrupy goodness to her lips. Her eyes darted to Jack. Eating, she outstretched her hand and reached across the table. He covered her hand with his.

  His eyes fixed on hers and held her gaze, looking at her for a long time. He didn’t eat. He didn’t move. It was as if he didn’t breathe. If either of them said the word, a hasty trip to the backseat of his car might be in order. On the verge of saying something, anything to indicate this might be what she wanted, he wet his lips again, and she nearly melted.

  At a time not so long ago, they were good for each other. Probably still good in a lot of ways. And right now in the middle of the diner, looking into his baby blues, it was hard to come up with a reason not to partake in anything Jack had to offer.

  They were two consenting adults.

  They were single.

  They were alone . . . at least for the next two hours they’d be alone. And there was really no reason why they shouldn’t . . .

  “Why don’t we . . .” As the words hung in the air, a shrill noise from deep inside her purse sounded.

  She pulled her eyes away from Jack and searched for her phone. Punching a button, she lifted the phone to her ear and said, “Hello?”

  “Hi. Is this Daniella Chambers, Jack Brady’s trainer?” a young woman’s voice said.

  “Yes.” A shockwave hit her in the chest. To her own ears, her voice sounded as cold as her milkshake.

  It was a woman who introduced herself as a sports reporter for the Las Vegas Times. “May I speak with him, please?”

  “Of course,” Daniella said in a clipped tone. She steadied her hand and thrust the phone out in front of her. God, she’d done it again. She’d let the memory of old times and old feelings seduce her. She felt her face harden remembering the sound of the woman’s voice, and Jack lifted his head. Looking down at the phone, she turned her gaze on him, and in a steely voice she said, “It’s for you.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jack craned his neck from side to side, taking in the glitzy neon lights. The Tahoe Boxing and Fitness Center reminded him of a little piece of Vegas. Pink and green lit the windows, blinking TRAINING CLASSES START NOW. With the popularity of boxing workouts taking off, these cheesy strip mall gyms popped up nearly everywhere to offer housewives and desk jockeys the opportunity to work out like the pros.

  Nice, but a little too posh for his taste.

  It was times like these he missed Stamina. The smell of days-old sweat combined with worn-out leather played to his senses, toughening him. Stamina was a man’s gym. He doubted if a soccer mom or a workout warrior could handle the lack of amenities at a gym like Stamina. Without a steam room or a smoothie bar, R. L. never had to worry about kissing someone’s ass in order to bill their credit card.

  Stamina was real. This wasn’t. Jack looked around. It was like trying to work out at the Caesars’ Palace spa.

  He let out a long sigh and resigned to make the best of it.

  Lucky for all of them, mini Caesar’s had a full-size boxing ring.

  Jack stood across the ring from Michael, sweat pouring from his brow. With their chests heaving and their bodies as tired as hell, both men prepared to come out from their corners fighting. They’d sparred for the last forty-five minutes, and Daniella showed no signs of letting them break. The situation didn’t take a fancy psychology degree for him to know the phone call from that woman pissed her off. Any guy could see that. Plain as day. He’d always preferred to surround himself with lots of women, even when he dated Daniella. Not the smartest move for a young and overconfident boxer. The phone call was like picking up the past and throwing it in her face. He regretted that the conversation took time away from Daniella.

  If the situation was reversed, and a man interrupted him with Daniella, he wouldn’t hesitate to introduce the guy to his fist. That call had dredged up her old fears, and the fact that she didn’t trust him.

  And probably never would again.

  A ringing bell brought him back to the present.

  They boxed another round. Jack’s jab had improved, knocking Mike on one side of his head, and then Mike threw another powerful combination. Jack countered and Mike stumbled. Unlike some of the boxers Jack had trained with, he and Mike didn’t gloat after a good hit or let out a bunch of trash talk like they used to. Since his loss, their relationship had grown strained, more businesslike and less like bros. They shared a mutual respect for each other and the sport of boxing. Yet he couldn’t deny that the changes at Stamina kept the guys on edge. Jack noticed he and Mike boxed nervously with each other. Not like the old days when they talked trash and ribbed each other raw. Still, Jack liked everything about Mike. His punches were smooth and controlled. When fighting opponents from other gyms, he kept his competitive nature hidden underneath his admiration for the sport.

  And, like Jack, Mike was one hell of a badass.

  He was the only motherfucker who could drive seven hours, get out of his car, and deliver a shot to buckle Jack’s knees. And then take one of Jack’s punches to the chin just as hard as he had thrown it.

  Jack loved him for it.

  At the bell, they broke.

  “Take off your gear. That’s enough,” Daniella said.

  The gym attendants quickly crossed through the ropes into the ring and put a stool under his ass.

  “Good round,” the gym attendant, wearing neon pink, said as he held a squirt bottle for Jack to drink.

  Jack opened his mouth and the rush of cold water eased the burning in the back of his throat. He rinsed and spat. “Thanks,” he said, when his mouth was wet enough to speak. Before the guy had his headgear off, Daniella barked orders.

  “I swear to God, if I have to watch you give away shots, Jack, I’m going to tie your hands behind your back and just let Mike wail on you.” She let out an exasperated sigh, then yelled, “Somebody grab the medicine ball so I can throw it at Jack’s gut.”

  One of the attendants ran out of the gym, presumably answering Daniella’s call.

  Mike spit his mouthpiece out on the canvas and walked over to the place where Daniella stood and he heaved for breath. “Nice place. I didn’t expect to see a gym like this up here.” He glanced across the ring to Jack. “Good round, Jack. You got me with that last right hand.”

  The attendant returned with a medicine ball, and handed the twenty-five-pound weight to Mike once he’d shed both gloves. Jack stuck his gloves out, waiting for the attendant to unlace them.

  “Keep them on,” Daniella said. “You’re not done.”

  Then she patted Mike on the shoulder and told him to grab some water. She stuck out her hands and Mike placed the ball in her arms.

  “Lie down,” she said to Jack.

  He knew the drill. He’d lie on his back and she’d stand, straddling him. Then she’d drop the ball on his gut. A barbaric method, sure, but it worked. There was nothing like a medicine ball dropped with the force of a heavyweight punch to strengthen your abs.

  However, he’d never question lying down anytime Daniella wanted to straddle him. Medicine ball or not.

  She said, “Hold your breath.” Then she pursed her lips and let the ball drop. He tightened his stomach just as the force pounded into him. Nobody needed to tell him how badly her mood had deteriorated. Tomorrow he’d have the bruises to show for it. And the real kicker . . . the woman reporter only wanted to confirm his record. Something she could’ve asked Daniella, but the lady probably wanted to get her information straight from the source.

  Daniella picked up the ball, and with a huff, dropped the weight again.

  He tightened.

  Thud.

  The impact forced him into a half–sit up. “Are you mad at the ball, or me?” he asked once his stomach muscles released and he laid his head back on the mat.

  “What makes you think I’m upset?” She picked up the ball. He tightened. She dropped it as if the ball were on fire.

  The weight lan
ded on his stomach and rolled off onto the canvas.

  “Is there anything you want to ask me?”

  She lifted. “Ask you?” She dropped. “No.”

  Gut check.

  He exhaled.

  Daniella bent and picked up the ball, continuing her torture.

  “The woman that called, I haven’t slept with her,” he told her.

  She held the ball in her hands and lifted one eyebrow. “So what if you did? It’s none of my business.”

  “She’s a sports reporter.”

  “Okay.”

  The next throw didn’t come down as hard.

  “I don’t do that anymore.”

  “Do what?”

  Cute. She pretended like she’d forgotten. “I don’t see more than one woman at a time. When I’m with someone, I’m, you know, with them. No cheating. Learned that lesson the hard way when I messed things up with you.”

  She gave a half shrug. “That’s in the past. Plus your personal life is none of my business.”

  He exhaled. “Maybe so. But I thought you should know. With as much force as you’re dropping that ball, I expect to see that fucking squash again soon.”

  Her shoulders relaxed. “Oh. Sorry.”

  “It’s all right. I can take it.”

  She flashed a seductive grin. “I’m sure you can.”

  He shifted out from underneath her and sat up. Rest break or not, his stomach had suffered enough punishment. And the last thing he wanted to do was puke on Daniella’s shoes. Resting his elbows on his knees, he took a few deep breaths to allow the tingling in his abdomen to wear off.

  Mike walked up to the ring and stopped next to them. He held a towel and addressed Daniella, “There’s a whirlpool in the locker room. Mind if I hit that, coach?”

  “Take your time.”

  He gave a decisive nod and walked in the direction of the locker room. Daniella returned her focus on Jack. Her jaw relaxed and she lost her slightly pissed-off edge.

  “We’re not done here, you know.” Her voice sounded almost teasing.

  The corner of his mouth pulled up in a sly grin. “Why not?”