by Lori Foster
“I am so confused.”
“Because I’m deliberately confusing you. Sorry. I’m just...giddy, I guess.” Leaning in toward Cherry, voice hushed with excitement, Vanity said, “I’m going to have sex with Stack! Isn’t that amazing?”
“Vanity, seriously.” Cherry gave her a critical once-over. “Have you looked in a mirror lately? You could have sex with anyone you wanted.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Thank you.”
Of all the— “Of course it was a compliment. You’re drop-dead gorgeous!”
“But no, I can’t,” Vanity said, disregarding her clarification. “Denver and Cannon are both entirely off limits, right?”
She frowned. “What?”
“For sex.”
Snapping her back straight, Cherry said, “Most definitely!”
“And I’m pretty sure Armie is, as well.”
“I—” Venturing into dangerous territory, Cherry cleared her throat. “You’re saying you want to have sex with Cannon, Armie and—” no, no, no “—Denver?”
“No, just proving a point.” She flapped her hand. “I’m all about Stack.”
Head swimming, Cherry stared at her. “You’re hung up on Stack?”
One brow went up. “Is there a reason you sound so incredulous?”
“No. Of course not. Stack is terrific. You’re terrific. I just... You’ve never mentioned him before.” At a loss, she lifted her shoulders. “Or dated, or far as I know, even talked to him that much.”
Vanity looked at her nails. “I think he’s yummy.”
“He is.” Not as hot as Denver by any stretch, but Stack was certainly as fit as the other fighters, and with his dark blond hair and smoky blue eyes, he drew a lot of attention. “I’m glad things are working out.”
“It’s just sex,” Vanity said, but her lips played with a smile. “Well, and a date to the wedding. Win-win.”
Cherry had to laugh. “Stack’s a lucky guy.”
“And I won’t let him forget it.” When the first raindrops splashed on the windshield, Vanity said, “Go, before you get soaked.”
Cherry hurriedly opened her door and as she stepped out, she said, “Thank you so much for the ride.”
“It was all my pleasure! Let me know how it goes with the car.”
With a final wave, she dashed inside. For the next few hours, she stayed too busy to worry about ex-foster brothers, hunky fighters or car troubles. Half the kids were afraid of the lightning, and the rowdier unafraid half couldn’t get outside to run off their energy. Midway through the day, the electricity went out. Luckily, things finally cleared up some and the lights came back on, making storytime easier. By the time Armie was due to arrive, the rain had even stopped.
Now if only the rest of her luck would improve.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DENVER AND ARMIE went through some conditioning exercises together. The high school boys always bitched about jumping rope, like they thought it wasn’t macho enough or something.
Armie snorted. At the moment, with sweat soaking his spine and the waistband of his shorts, he’d love to see one of the cocky boys keep up.
“Double jumps,” he told Denver, and they both adjusted, pushing themselves through two sets of twenty until Armie called a halt.
Denver tossed the rope aside and threw a few kicks at the heavy bag, then a series of punches.
Grinning, Armie watched him. “You’re going to make Packer wish this fight never happened.”
“That’s the plan.”
“Go take a break. No reason to overtrain.”
“Look who’s talking.”
Doffing an imaginary hat, Armie said, “You know it takes a lot to get my heartbeat up.”
“Because you’re insane.” With that parting shot, Denver went to the other side of the gym where he’d left his gear.
Armie headed to a bench to fetch his own water bottle and towel. He only had a few minutes before he had to take off, and he still needed to tell Denver that he was picking up Cherry. Didn’t want to look sneaky or anything.
But then, Denver knew he usually dodged sponsors, even sponsors not solely focused on him.
He’d just finished dragging the towel over his drenched hair and hot face when the chime on the door sounded and Havoc walked in.
Seeing him did what other conditioning couldn’t: Armie’s heartbeat went haywire.
Cannon walked up to the man, shaking his hand and greeting him like a long-lost pal.
Neither of them looked his way.
What the fuck were they up to?
He had to shower before going after Cherry, but no way would he walk off now, not after that jibe of “running.” It’d look bad and—screw it.
Tossing the towel aside, Armie took a step.
“Planning a frontal attack, huh?”
He spun around on Denver. “Did you know about this?”
“About one of Cannon’s friends dropping in? No. He doesn’t run his social calendar by me.”
“Screw you, that’s not what I meant.”
“Armie.”
Shit. Holding his breath for a count of two and clearing all expression from his face, Armie turned to Dean “Havoc” Connor. And said nothing. Hell, he didn’t know what to say.
Havoc held out a hand, so Armie took it.
“Glad I could finally catch you.”
His eye twitched.
Havoc—damn him—laughed. “Bad choice of words?”
“Did you want something?”
“Yeah. Let’s start with a lack of hostility.”
To give them privacy, Denver slapped Armie’s shoulder and headed off to talk with Cannon. Traitorous bastard.
“I’m not hostile,” Armie said, sounding well beyond that namby-pamby word.
“Good. Could I have fifteen minutes?”
“Shit.” He ran a hand over his face. “Here’s the thing. I need to shower and head out.”
Havoc stood there, judging him, measuring him.
“It’s the truth.” Going for a casual vibe, he shrugged. “I’m helping a lady in distress.”
“Then pick another time.”
How about never? “I can be back here in a few hours.” He may as well get it over with.
Havoc checked the time, then nodded. “I’ll take you to dinner.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. Hands on his hips, he frowned. “Thought you said it’d only take fifteen minutes?”
“If we did this now.” Havoc never blinked. “But you’re talking dinnertime, so we’ll eat.” Cocking a brow, he said, “Unless you have a problem with that?”
A flat-out challenge. That deserved another heartfelt—but silent—fuck. Pasting on his most disingenuous smile, Armie nodded. “Dinner it is.” And now he only had about two minutes to get out the door or he’d be late getting to Cherry. He still hadn’t told Denver about her car, but Havoc headed over to Denver, so he’d just have to clue him in later.
Hustling, Armie headed for the locker room and the fastest shower of his life.
* * *
“I’M TAKING YOUR class for you,” Stack said.
Having just finished a shower after sparring with Cannon, Denver sat on a wooden bench, taking a moment to rest. He’d thought he was alone, but there stood Stack fresh from his own shower, wearing only a towel around his hips. “Why’s that?”
“Because you look like shit.” Speculative, Stack said, “Don’t suppose Cherry kept you up all night?”
“Actually, yeah.” Rubbing the tired muscles in the back of his neck, Denver flexed and popped his head to the side.
In the middle of finger-combing his wet hair, Stack paused, intrigued. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.” He stretched, so tired he didn’t even care that Stack was probably imagining all sorts of things he shouldn’t, like Cherry in excess-sex mode. “But I can handle the class.”
“You sure? I don’t mind.”
Rather than admit he’d feel like a wuss if he let a
woman throw him off stride, Denver asked, “No big date tonight?”
“Later,” Stack said as he pulled a clean T-shirt out of a locker. “I have time.” He stepped into jeans.
It was Denver’s turn to speculate. “I thought you and Vanity were getting together.”
“Not until the wedding.” Taking his own seat on the bench, Stack pulled on socks and athletic shoes and pretended not to see Denver scrutinizing him. “You can quit that shit any time now.”
Grinning, Denver said, “You weren’t going to expound?”
“On the date tonight? No. Just a friendly hookup.”
“Will Vanity be pissed?”
“She said not.” Stack rolled a shoulder, looking a little pissed himself. “She more or less told me to go about my business until the wedding.”
To make sure he understood, Denver asked, “Go about your business with other women?”
Suddenly, Stack turned to blast him with his frustration. “That’s fucked up, right? I mean, she comes on to me, only to set a date—for sex—that’s weeks away, but doesn’t care what I do until then. Have you ever heard of a woman making that arrangement?”
“Ah...no.” But it made him wonder if Vanity had suggested it specifically to make Stack nuts. If so, she was succeeding.
“Know what I think?” Stack stood to slam his locker. “I think she’s off doing God-knows-what with other guys and that’s why she made the deal in the first place.”
“That matters to you?”
He stalled. Dropped his head. Muttered, “Fuck,” in a really mean way. Then he shook it off to glare at Denver. “I don’t know.”
Doing his best not to laugh, Denver stood, too. “Some unsolicited advice—if it does matter to you, then don’t wait for the wedding.” As a man who’d waited, he knew the regrets that could bring.
What if Cherry hadn’t pressed the issue when they were out of town for Armie’s fight? What if he hadn’t finally broken?
She’d have been in that hotel room by herself, sick without anyone to help her.
And she’d be dealing with Carver and his dick brothers all on her own.
The idea tormented him. Especially when he thought about how different she might be now if he’d gotten together with her a lot sooner. Maybe she’d be more open already.
Maybe she’d have already given up her secrets.
“I don’t know,” Stack muttered in disgust. “She was pretty clear.”
“About wanting to wait? Maybe she just used the wedding as an icebreaker. You know it’s impossible to figure out women. Your best bet is to ask her outright.”
With a rude snort, Stack dropped back against the locker. “Like you did with Cherry?”
“Freely admit it, I fucked up.”
“Yeah, says the man who spent the night getting laid.”
The laugh came before he could stop it, then he immediately pointed at Stack and said, “Shut up.”
Still grinning, Stack held up his hands in understanding. Jokes about a casual hookup were no big deal, but with Cherry it was more than that. “If you don’t want me to do the class, then I’m heading out for some relief sooner rather than later.”
“Will you at least think about talking to Vanity?”
He ran a hand over his face. “I’ll think about her all right, even when I shouldn’t be if you know what I mean, but talking won’t be in the equation.”
Denver gave an exaggerated wince. “Just don’t admit to your lady friend that you’re picturing another woman.”
“Yeah, I’m distracted, not stupid.” He grabbed up his gym bag. “That’s the kind of loose talk that could put an end to friends with benefits.”
Denver headed back out to the main area with Stack. His class would start in just a few minutes.
The high school boys were already in place, warming up, goofing around with the heavy bag, all in all being healthy, athletic guys. Denver was headed toward them when, one by one, he saw them look toward the door.
His neck prickling with unease, Denver turned—and found Pamela Barnett Lewis standing there.
The quintessential evil stepmother.
Claws of hostility soured his mood. Disdain overshadowed exhaustion.
He did not need this shit today.
Of course she made a smiling beeline for him, looking around as she strode elegantly across the floor.
At twenty-nine, she was only four years older than him—making her twenty-three years younger than his dad.
Straight red hair, the color enhanced by a pricey salon, hung loose to skim just below her shoulder blades. The curve-hugging dress and high-heeled sandals showcased her body.
Behind him a whisper sounded and Denver realized that not only the high school seniors were ogling her. When Pamela walked in, she deliberately drew attention, so now most every male in the place was appreciating her curves and poise.
Right before she reached him, he called out to Stack, who’d paused at the reception desk on his way out to talk briefly with Gage’s wife, Harper.
Stack looked at him, then at Pamela. Curiosity lifted his brows high as he said one last thing to Harper and headed over.
“Hello, Denver.”
For the moment, Denver ignored her. “Sorry, Stack, but I might need you for a few minutes after all.”
“Sure.” He started away, but of course Pamela didn’t let him.
“Hello.” She held out her manicured hand. “I’m Pamela Barnett Lewis, Denver’s stepmother.”
She stressed the relationship, waiting for Stack to show his shock, to tell her she was too young, anything, as long as it was a big reaction.
But still Stack didn’t take the bait. He accepted her hand in a brief greeting, said, “Ma’am,” with enough respect for a grandmother, and excused himself to get the boys going.
Damn, he had terrific friends.
Puzzled, Pamela gave a reasonable facsimile of a frown without actually puckering her perfect brow. “Denver—”
“This way,” he said, unwilling to have any discussion with her, for any reason, out in the open. Not bothering to see if she’d follow or not, he headed for the breakroom.
The click of her heels right behind him made him feel stalked. When he finally got into the room with relative privacy he released a pent-up breath.
Pulling out a chair, he seated himself and waited for her to do the same.
She tsked. “You still haven’t learned any manners.”
Censure from her was laughable.
But sitting was a bad move on his part because instead of taking a seat, she propped her hip on the table—right next to him.
Letting his revulsion show, Denver pushed back his chair and stood.
Her long sigh sounded both seductively breathy and reproachful. “I see you’re still holding a grudge, too.”
“There’s no grudge.”
Lined green eyes taunted him. “Your father chose me over you and you’re understandably bitter.”
One step brought him nose to nose with her. Low, his anger somehow fresh and still raw, Denver said, “Who he fucks is his business. But when you try to fuck me, it becomes my business, too.”
“I was young.”
“You were a lot of things. Let’s not go through the list.”
Her voice rose with her snapping temper. “Can’t you be civil for even five minutes?”
Apparently not. Taking a step back, he crossed his arms. “What do you want, Pamela?”
With an effort, she pulled herself together, needlessly toying with her hair and smoothing the short skirt of her dress. If he didn’t know better, he’d almost believe her act of distress.
“Your father’s birthday is coming up and I expect you home for his party.”
Denver barely heard the words since Pamela said them while ogling his body. His eyes narrowed.
She caught herself and actually flushed. “I’m sorry. It’s just...it appears you’ve gotten even bigger.”
His jaw locked.
<
br /> She gasped. “I don’t mean... I wasn’t...” Stammering didn’t suit her. She righted herself and said with formality, “Clearly you’ve been taking good care of yourself.”
His mood growing more frigid by the moment, Denver considered walking out on her. But she was so tenacious she might follow, and then he’d be back out in public with her again. “I’ll try giving Dad a call, but we both know he doesn’t want to talk to me.”
“No, a call isn’t enough.” She took a stance. “I’m having an intimate family party and that means you, dear son, need to be there.”
* * *
SOON AS SHE saw Armie pull up, Cherry raced out to meet him. Holding her purse close to her side, avoiding the deeper puddles, she bopped along the sidewalk like a woman on a mission. The light sprinkling rain, she decided, wouldn’t be so bad as long as she didn’t linger.
Unfortunately, halfway to Armie, the skies opened up and a deluge of freezing rain, carried on a high wind, drenched her to the skin.
Armie threw open the door. “Damn, Cherry, why didn’t you wait for me?”
As she jumped in, he handed her several napkins that she used to dry her face and throat, then she immediately wrapped her arms around herself to try to fight off the shivers. “What would you have done? Gotten drenched, too?”
“I have an umbrella and a windbreaker.”
“Oh.” Yeah, her umbrella was in her car. So dumb. “I’m getting your seats soaked.”
“They’ll dry.” Reaching into the backseat, he dug out the nylon windbreaker and handed it to her, then slowly pulled forward with the line of cars picking up kids.
“Bless you.” The jacket didn’t do much to help, but it was better than nothing. After she had it on, she buckled her seatbelt.
“Want me to turn up the heat?”
“No, that’s okay.” He was in no more than a T-shirt and looked comfortable. No reason to roast him. “Once I get to the rec center someone will have a T-shirt I can change into.” Maybe even Denver, although his shirts were enormous on her, better suited for a nightshirt than to wear in public.
“I thought I was taking you home.”
“Denver wanted me to meet him there.” It was along the way, closer than her house. “Do you mind?”
