by Josie Kerr
Nanda watched as Tig shook hands with a tiny old man who had a gym bag slung over his bony shoulder. The man walked with the aid of a cane but moved quickly and efficiently as he chatted with Tig about what he wanted to accomplish during the session. The sight of the two of them made Nanda smile.
She blew out a breath. She had smiled more in the past three hours than she had in the previous six weeks. Yes, joining Junior in Atlanta was exactly the change of scenery that she needed.
The phone on the front desk began ringing again. Nanda rolled her eyes. A phone should never ring more than once, in her opinion. The phone rang several more times, and then Nanda couldn’t stand it anymore and went behind the desk. When the phone started ringing again, she answered with a bright, “DS Fight Club, how can we help you today?”
Junior and Colin emerged from their meeting to find Nanda still behind the desk, two neat stacks of paper on her right, and the phone tucked under her chin as she took down yet another message. She continued to talk as she handed one stack of messages to Colin and the other to Junior.
“Thank you very much. I’ll give him the message. You have a nice day, too.”
She hung up the phone and shook her head. “People sure are friendly around here, but I wish they would just get to the point and ask their questions. Damn.” She cracked her neck. “And you need a headset for whomever you’re going to hire for the front desk. You get way too many calls to pick up the phone every fucking time.”
“You got it. Pick out whatever headset you think is best.”
“What?”
Colin looked at Nanda. “I don’t know how long you plan on staying, but you’d be a welcome addition to the DS Fight Club family. The job’s yours if you want it. Lord knows we need a someone to keep people in line.”
Junior snorted and got ready to make a smart comment, but a big fighter interrupted him by calling, “Junior! Dude, you’re back! Thank God—Paddy was about kill me.”
The two men slapped each other on the back, and Nanda felt a glow of warmth. She was glad that Junior was surrounded by people that sincerely admired and loved him, even if he hadn’t quite found someone to share his life with.
“This is Nanda, my sister,” Junior said, placing special emphasis on the word “sister” and leveling the fighter a stern look. “Nanda, this is Dominic DiGiacomo.”
Nanda frowned. She vaguely remembered C fighting a guy named DiGiacomo right before he retired, a fight that was a lot closer than it needed to be.
“Yeah, I’m that DiGiacomo.” The big fighter grinned, his white teeth almost glowing in his almost-black beard. “Nice to meet you. You can call me ‘Dig.’ ”
“Pleasure,” Nanda said, her voice flat. She remembered who he was now, the exact descriptor Junior used being “manwhore.” Yeah, she was familiar with dealing with fighters that were too charismatic and had too much presence for their own good.
And Dig definitely had presence. Taller than Junior, who was six foot four, he was trim for a heavyweight, who often veered toward just heavy. He was also heavily tattooed but not in the usual black tribal ink favored by so many fighters. His ink was brilliant and full of color, greens and yellows and reds, vines and roses snaking up and around his arms.
Nanda snorted, and Dig’s big grin faltered a bit.
Colin chuckled. “Okay, y’all. We have a gym to run. Junior, I hate to do this to you, but there’s a meeting with Raptor Pryde at their facility—that charity expo is still in play.”
“Since the last one turned out so well,” Nanda said with another snort, recalling Junior’s recounting of the clusterfuck of a fight that ended with Colin in the hospital with a shattered jaw and broken forearm, and his now wife beating the crap out of an ex-girlfriend in the hospital lobby and getting arrested. And speaking of . . .
“Hey, when do I get to meet your mami, C? You never made it to Jersey to get the seal of approval from the other women in your life.” Nanda leveled a disapproving look at Colin.
“She’s coming for lunch today.” Junior snorted, and the big fighter chuckled, his ears pinking up. “Tell your brother not to be rude. You’ll meet her soon enough.” Colin turned to Junior. “We should get going.”
Junior heaved a put-upon sigh. “God, I hate Raptor, that arrogant fuck. I didn’t miss dealing with him at all. Nanda, you okay with hanging out here for a few hours?”
“Please. Your damn phone needs to be answered.” As if on cue, the phone began ringing again. “See what I mean?” She picked up the phone and chirped a cheery, “DS Fight Club, how may we help you today?” She winked at the men, settled down behind the desk, and shooed them away.
She watched as Colin and Junior waved and left the fight club, Junior looking worriedly behind him and nodding. She nodded and waved as she finished taking a message.
“Ahem.”
Nanda turned and inwardly groaned at Dig’s grinning at her from across the high desk. Dammit, but you are a handsome devil, Dominic DiGiacomo. “Can I help you?”
“So, tell me about Nanda Maldonado. What does she like?” Dig grinned at her.
“I’ll tell what you what she doesn’t like. She doesn’t like cocky, handsome fighters who think they’re God’s gift to women.”
“You think I’m handsome?” More grinning.
Nanda rolled her eyes. “That was what you took from what I said?”
Even more grinning with an added wink and a shrug. “You said it. I just heard it.”
“Well, Dominic DiGiacomo, there’s just one thing you need to know: I don’t date fighters. I know their habits way too well, so you can just move along and go back to whatever you should be doing instead of hanging out at the front desk, pestering me. I’m betting those mats that are piled up in the corner over there don’t belong in that spot.”
The phone rang again. “DS Fight Club, how can we help you today?” She scowled at Dig as she talked and flicked her hand toward the mound of mats, dismissing him.
Chapter Four
Dig lay sprawled on the mat with his eyes closed, trying to catch his breath. He was halfway convinced that Paddy was trying to kill him before handing him back to Junior for strike training.
He felt a nudge and cracked open an eye, only to see the wily Irish boxer grinning maniacally down at him.
“You gonna miss me, boyo, when that big, bald fucker is putting you through the wringer?” Paddy wiggled his bushy eyebrows at Dig. “Oh, you are, aren’t ya?”
Dig laughed. “Yeah, I am. You guys have such different styles, though, so I’m glad I got to train with you. Whoo.”
Paddy nodded. “That’s what I like to hear. And don’t get too comfortable with Junior, yeah? You never know when I’m going to step back in.” Paddy bounced around lightly on the balls of his feet, jabbing at Dig’s prone body as he continued to lie on the mat.
Dig hauled himself up into sitting position and took a gulp of water from his water bottle. “You know something I don’t, Paddy? Hmm?” Paddy’s comment niggled at something in Dig’s psyche.
Paddy gave him a shrewd look but just shook his head. “We’ll see ya tomorrow morning, bright and early, Dig. Good job today.” He patted Dig’s shoulder and opened his mouth, but then he caught sight of two gym members walking away from the free weights without putting them back. “Oi! Hold up! You best not be just walking away and leaving those lying around, yeah?”
Dig clucked his tongue at the two, who now stood slack-jawed as Paddy shamed them into straightening up not only the free weights but also the mats as well, mats that Dig had just put to rights after Nanda Maldonado had given him the stink eye worthy of the fiercest Italian mother.
Fernanda Maldonado.
Any other time, Dig would have been plastered to that front desk, laying on the charm and plying the woman with his most winning smile because, yes, she was just his type: sassy and sexy. But he needed to keep his head on straight and keep distractions to a minimum because Paddy had all but confirmed
that Dig was out of the expo fight and in the running for a much bigger bout.
Dig glanced over at the now abandoned front desk. Women definitely distracted him. Getting involved with one that worked with him and was his boxing coach’s younger sister? Yeah, that was too risky even for him.
Still. He wasn’t in strict training camp yet, so he definitely needed to take the opportunity to blow off some steam. With a plan in his mind, Dig scrambled to his feet and set off in search of his usual partner in crime, Tig.
Dig stuck his head around the corner of the locker room.
“Hey, Tig. What do you have going on tonight? I was trying to round up some guys to go to Foley’s. I heard they’re bringing back karaoke.”
“Oh man, you know I don’t sing. Besides, I have a date with my pretty lady tonight. Charlotte wants to finish breaking in the house.” Tig, his best friend, grinned at him and wiggled his eyebrows. “We’re still making up for lost time when I was in training for the Round Robin.”
Dig barked a laugh. “Dude, it’s been a few months since your last fight. You haven’t worn her out yet?”
“You got that backwards. Never underestimate the sex drive of a woman in her late thirties. Whew!” Tig finished buckling his belt and then put his ever-present cowboy hat on his head. “You should ask Ryan.”
Dig snorted a surprised laugh. “Uh . . .”
Tig waved him off. “I talked to him after. He’s . . . he’s good. He needs to blow off some steam, but someplace that’s not too chaotic. The crowd at Foley’s is generally pretty well behaved.” Tig shrugged a shoulder. “I think it’d be good for him.”
“Yeah, okay. Sure thing.” Dig exhaled and fidgeted, stalling.
Tig leaned up against a locker and peered at his buddy. “You doing okay, Dig?”
“Yeah. It’s just quiet around here these days.” Dig shrugged. He told the truth, but he did not tell Tig how lonely he was now that Tig had moved in with his girlfriend.
Tig nodded. “There’ll be a new neighbor for you to serenade soon.” He looked at his watch. “Sorry, buddy. I gotta scoot. I want to have stuff ready when Charlotte gets home from the office, and I’ve gotta pick up some things.”
Dig nodded his head. “Yeah, I’ll catch you later. You running sessions this weekend?”
“Nope. I’m off until Monday.”
“Well, then, I’ll catch you bright and early Monday. See ya, Tig.”
“Bye, Dig. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Tig winked again and disappeared through the door of the locker room.
Dig stood in the locker room for a moment, lost in thought and looking around. He shook his head as if to clear it and stepped out of the locker room and into the main gym. Classes were done for the day, and there were just a few guys on the free weights or working the heavy bags.
He looked around the gym, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ryan “Goody” Richards, the DS Fight Club cutman. He didn’t know Ryan as well as Tig did, mainly because he hadn’t been involved in the illegal fights that both Tig and Ryan had been attending up until a few months prior, but he liked the quiet veteran. And if he had been under as much stress as he seemed to be, well, Dig could try and help him relax.
“Hey, Goody!” Dig called out as he trotted across the gym floor toward Ryan, whose head snapped up at his name. “Wait up!”
Ryan walked toward him, his gait the slightest bit uneven, and met Dig halfway across the floor.
“Hey, Dig, what’s up? You need something?”
Dig repeated his invitation to go to the neighborhood pub, Foley’s, for a drink and karaoke, and waited patiently while Ryan considered the invitation.
“Sure, I’m game. You mind if Jason tags along? We, uh, need to, um . . .”
Dig knew Ryan’s twin even less than he did Ryan, but Jason had been very entertaining the few times he had been around him, being the more gregarious of the two brothers. “Sure, the more the merrier. Meet you there about nine or so?”
“Sounds good. See you there.”
Dig and the two Richards brothers sat at a high top in Foley’s Pub, Dig with his back to the door so the two former military men could keep an eye on the room. Jason Richards sat with his hands on the table, relaxed, but Dig could tell the man knew exactly who was doing what in every part of the bar. His brother bounced his foot on the rung of the stool, making his knee and the table jiggle.
“Little Brother, chill, okay? You’re making me twitchy, and Lord knows that’s not my usual state.” Jason squinted at Ryan. “You okay? We need to bug out?”
Ryan shook his head. “Whatever crashed in the kitchen threw me off a bit, but I’m okay now.” Ryan drained his glass and poured himself another beer.
Sensing a need to lessen the tension, Dig signaled the pretty bartender, Meghan, for another pitcher and then asked, “Is it weird having someone that looks exactly like you around?”
“We don’t look exactly alike,” Ryan balked.
“Close enough. Hey, did you two ever take each other’s tests or anything like that?”
“I was game, but Goody Two-Shoes over there would never do it, even if it meant his favorite brother failing math,” Jason said as he poured some beer into his glass.
“Goddammit, Jason. Why do you always do that?” Ryan groused.
Jason stopped, his glass lifted halfway to his mouth. “Do what?”
“Leave just a little bit of something but not enough to do anything?” Ryan pointed first at the half inch of beer left in the pitcher and then at Jason’s half-full pint glass. “Why didn’t you pour it all in?” He shook his head in disgust.
“Because it’s rude to take it all. I’m not an asshole.” Jason looked at Dig. “This fucking guy, I swear. You have siblings, Dig?”
Dig nodded his head. “Yeah, I’ve got an older sister, but she’s eight years older than I am. We’re not close.”
“We know about older sisters, too.” Jason snorted. “Naggety-nag-nag-nag all day long.”
“You know Ashley was just trying to fill in for Mom, Jason.”
“She didn’t have to be as bossy as she was. Hell, she’s still bossy. I don’t know how Rory puts up with it.”
Dig choked. “I think Rory likes it.”
Ryan flashed a rare grin, his teeth white in his sandy beard. “You know he loves it.” He chuckled.
The karaoke hostess interrupted any further conversation when she called the first name of the karaoke participants.
The first person up, a heavyset man with a beard and tattoos, took the stage and nodded at the karaoke hostess. Dig groaned when he heard the first strains of the song. No one should be allowed to attempt “Bohemian Rhapsody,” ever.
When the man finished butchering the Queen song, the karaoke hostess called Dig’s name.
“You doing this?” Ryan asked with a chuckle.
“Hell yeah, I’m doing this.” Dig grinned, slapped the table, and made his way to the small stage set up at the front of the pub.
“This is Dig, and he’s going to be performing another Queen song. Let’s give it up for him!” The hostess handed Dig the microphone as the first strains of music came over the speakers, and then Dig began to sing, effortlessly hitting every high note and low growl.
After he was finished, he walked back to the high top, where Jason and Ryan sat, mouths agape.
“What the actual fuck, man?” Ryan laughed. “Oh, man, DiGiacomo. You totally surprise me.”
Dig bowed. “What can I say?” He slid back into his seat and poured himself another beer. “I, uh, actually majored in voice in college for a while.”
“Like singing?”
“Like opera.”
Ryan threw his head back and laughed. “An opera-singing striker. That’s awesome.”
And Ryan and Jason weren’t the only ones impressed. Several women stopped by the table to express their admiration and put their numbers in his phone, prompting Jason to remark that he was
going to reconsider his anti-karaoke stance.
The night went on and Dig sang a few more songs, each one racier than the next, garnering him more and more female attention.
By the end of the evening, Dig, Jason, and Ryan were sharing their high top with four women, who jockeyed for the attention of each of the men. Dig noticed Jason watching Ryan carefully, so he turned his attention to the quieter man as well. Ryan made lackluster small talk with one of the women, but made it very clear that he wasn’t interested in prolonging a conversation, yet wasn’t outright rude. But as the night went on and Jason’s apparent date consumed his attention, Ryan grew more and more agitated, becoming argumentative enough to almost get into a fistfight on the way back from the restroom.
“You okay, man?” Dig furrowed his brow. He’d never seen Ryan this wound up.
“If one more person asks me if I’m okay, I’m not gonna be,” Ryan growled. He shifted in his seat and grimaced. “Man, my hip’s bothering me, okay? I get testy when I’m in pain.”
Just then, the DJ that replaced the karaoke hostess turned on dubstep and strobe lights, and Jason bolted out of his seat.
“Sorry about this, ladies, Dig. I gotta get him home before . . . yeah.”
Jason put his jacket over Ryan’s head and whispered something in his ear before hustling the now panicking man out of the pub. Jason turned and lifted his chin at Dig before he guided his brother out the door.
“Wow,” one of the women said. “Is he going to be all right?”
Dig blew out a breath. “I hope so. Probably. He’s in good hands.”
“You look like you’ve got good hands,” she purred.
“What was your name again?”
“Jacquie.”
“Jacquie, nice to meet you. I’m Dig. And yes, I’ve got very good hands.”
Chapter Five
“Good morning, Mr. Johnson. You’re looking great today. Those are some snazzy sneakers.”
“Molly said that they were too much, but I kind of like them. They brighten things up a bit.” Tig’s ancient client grinned at Nanda and stuck out his foot, now encased in a pair of acid green sneakers instead of his usual white.
