Going the Distance

by Meg Maguire

  “Well, I’m intrigued.”

  “Didn’t even get to the best part of all,” he said with a smile.

  “And what’s that?”

  “You’d be right on top of me.”

  “You’re staying with your mom?”

  He nodded.

  Dear God, sleeping one floor up from Rich Estrada... She already spent her workdays hyperaware of the fact that he was prowling just a few feet beneath her. That might be too close for comfort. “Lynn’s kind of a haul.”

  “Half hour on public transportation? Beats the frigging Green Line on a Sox game day.”

  “I dunno.”

  He shrugged, dropping his sales pitch. “I’ll get my neighbor’s number for you, just in case you decide you want the details.”

  “Sure. Can’t hurt.” She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to squish some of her headache away.

  “You look beat.”

  “I am beat. And now I have to go home and tiptoe around so I don’t wake up my ex, who’s sleeping on the couch....” She gave her head a sharp shake.

  “You know what you need? An outlet.”

  “Like what? Yoga?”

  “No. You need to hit something.”

  “That sounds exhausting.”

  “No, really. Best therapy there is.”

  She smiled, skeptical. “Yeah, right.”

  “You want to try for real? Right now?”

  “Try what?”

  He nodded at the floor. “Come downstairs, take your anger out on something. A bag, that is. Not me. Don’t need my pretty face busted up on top of the foot.”

  “There goes all the appeal of the invitation.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “I have to catch the subway.”

  Rich glanced at the clock between the windows. “That gives us nearly an hour. Plenty of time.”

  She pursed her lips. “I don’t have any workout clothes.”

  “No need. We’ll find you some gloves and I’ll teach you how to throw a punch.”

  Why was she resisting, really? Another hour away from Brett, and it might work off some of this stress. Plus, Rich seemed to have lost all sexual interest in her since October, so that complication was moot.

  “Fine.”

  She locked the office behind them and followed Rich down to the gym. He dug for his keys, then flipped on the far row of lights. Lindsey had poked her head down here only a handful of times, usually trying to find Jenna. It felt far bigger at night, stark and quiet. Smelled the same, though. Like sweat and rubber and...men.

  Rich led her to a wall with a row of body-size leather punching bags. He turned and took her wrists, stopping her heart.

  “Jesus, you got tiny hands. I’ll find you some kids’ gloves.”

  He let her go, but her jitters lingered. Rich headed for an equipment closet and came back with a small pair and a roll of cotton hand-wrapping tape. He leaned his crutches against the wall and hopped to stand in front of her, balancing on one leg.

  “You right-handed?”

  “Left.”

  “O-oh, southpaw.” He took the hand in question in his large one, shooting hot, curious electricity up her arm.

  “Could skip the tape, but let’s make you feel authentic.” He slipped the loop at the end of the roll over her thumb. “Pay attention—you’re doing the other hand yourself.”

  She watched, fascinated. He wrapped the tape around her wrist, her palm, between two fingers, back around the palm. She stole glances at his face and downcast eyes as he worked, feeling scared and awed, as if she were in the presence of a different species. Maybe a jaguar, all sleek and dangerous and beautiful.

  If only he’d maul me.

  He reached the end of the wrap and secured its Velcro end at her wrist. “That’s it.”

  She flexed her hand. “Wow. I feel badass.”

  “You look badass. Now do your other hand.”

  She fumbled her way through the task, Rich wrapping both his hands before she finished the one. She pulled on the fingerless gloves, feeling better already. Tough and capable.

  “You ever hit anything before?”

  “I took cardio kickboxing classes a few times, but all we did was punch the air.”

  “Here.” He whacked a leather bag. “That’s you.” He hopped to the side and Lindsey took his place. “You’re a leftie, so right foot in front and we’ll work on your cross. Keep your legs bent, left fist protecting your ear, right fist near your chin...good. Extend your left arm....” She did, and Rich urged her closer to the bag. “Okay, guard back up. Lemme see what you got. Hit it with your left.”

  Nervous, she took a breath and gave the bag a lame punch.

  “Don’t straighten that arm too much.”

  She tried again, and Rich gave her a gentle tap on her ear with his padded knuckles. “Keep that guard up.”

  She snapped her fist back in place. She tried a few more punches, but surely her hand was taking more of a beating than the leather.

  “Okay, watch me a sec. Pretend I got two working feet. When you throw the punch, use your whole body. Drive that back hip into it. That’s where the power comes from, not your hand. Your fist is the grille of the truck, but your hip is the engine, giving you all the momentum. Grille won’t do any damage if the truck’s not moving.” He demonstrated as best he could, balancing only the barest weight on his cast. Even with that handicap, his punch met the bag hard enough to rattle the chains suspending it from the ceiling.

  “See that?” He threw a couple more, then to Lindsey’s mingled worry and delight, he stripped his shirt right over his back. “Watch my hip.”

  Oh, how she watched. His hand and arm and waist and leg all worked as one, twisting so the impact uncoiled like a whip.

  “Okay, I think I see.” Saw more than just the technique—saw every intricate shape twitching along Rich’s side and down his arm, plus that evil, evil muscle that crested from above his hip and dove down the front of his track pants. What the heck was that thing called? Should be called the Sexalus maximus, if it wasn’t already.

  “I need to twist into it more.”

  “Exactly.” Rich hopped aside and Lindsey took his place.

  She threw her next punch in slow-mo, but the difference was obvious.

  “Better. Let your heel come up.”

  She tried a few more, and they began to land with nice loud thwacks. “Ooh, this is fun.” Thwack, thwack. Rich poked her ear again. “Ow, jeez.” She kept her fist up between punches.

  “Try a jab now. Switch your feet—good. That’s called orthodox stance.”

  “Oh! I actually knew that.”

  “Keep punching with your left.”

  He adjusted her form until she was landing the punches with that delicious thwack once more.

  “Very nice.”

  “You think?” Thwack.

  “Hell, yeah. You better be first in line once Wilinski’s officially welcomes women.”

  “Let’s not go nuts.” She tried a combination, a jab then a cross with her right hand. Thwack-thump.

  “Don’t forget that hip. So...”

  “Yes?” Thwack-thump.

  “This on-again, off-again cockroach-boyfriend...”

  Between punches, she raised an eyebrow in Rich’s direction.

  “Is this the guy you were seeing that night you and me...” He trailed off, letting a pointed look fill in the blanks.

  She dropped her fists. “The night of the tournament?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We were broken up, but yeah. We were together for over five years. That was one of our many off-again periods.”

  He frowned.

  She wiped the sweat along her temple with h
er wrist. “What?”

  “Nothing. Just being nosy.”

  “No, what? We weren’t together that night. If that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Jenna said you guys were. She texted me in the cab.”

  Lindsey replayed those moments, the ones that had left her so confused and deflated—Rich’s face as he’d read the screen, the immediate cooling of their activities. Her stomach twisted. It hadn’t been his other woman that ruined things. It had been her boyfriend. Her ex-boyfriend. And he’d spent the past ten months thinking she was a cheater?

  Crappity shit-crap.

  “If I kept Jenna informed of every time Brett and I broke up, she’d fire me as a matchmaker.”

  Finally, Rich smiled.

  “So never fear, I didn’t try to cheat on anyone with you, if that’s why you’re being all cagey.”

  “Nah.”

  She shot him a look, unconvinced.

  “Maybe a little.”

  Cute. And incredibly troublesome. Like a bolt, her infatuation was back, with all those doubts put to rest.

  Rich straightened, turning back into his usual cocky self. “Just don’t like the idea of being anybody’s rebound. Tucked way down there on the supporting card.”

  She smirked. “Bet you think you’re main event romantic material, don’t you?”

  “Oh, I know I am.”

  “You better watch that ego. If it gets any bigger you’ll go up a weight class.”

  Inside though, this was no joke. They’d spoken enough in the past minute for their mutual interest to be embarrassingly plain. It scared her, as much as it had excited her ten months ago. Her life was a wreck. She knew better than to get involved with someone, whether that meant putting her heart on the line or merely sharing her body for a night. And with Rich, she didn’t have the first clue which was at stake. Needing a distraction, she turned back to the bag, finding her rhythm with the jabs and crosses.

  “Well, anyhow,” she huffed. “I’m not looking for a rebound or anything, so...”

  She sensed his nod in her periphery. “Understood.”

  “Plus you’re above that role, apparently.”

  “Hey, I didn’t say that. Said I didn’t like the idea. Never said I was above it. I get beat up for money. What kind of standards you think I got, exactly?”

  She got the bag with a sharp jab, then turned to Rich. “Charming.”

  He grinned, and she wanted to smack him nearly as badly as she wanted to kiss him. Her blood was coursing too swiftly, her body agitated from the conversation and the exertion. It was infuriating, wanting someone this much, being this close, but knowing how doomed an idea it was. After a few more punches, she tugged the gloves from her hands and passed them to Rich.

  “Thanks for the lesson, but I need to catch the train.”

  “That help clear some of your angst away?”

  “I think so.” Though sexual frustration had taken its place, filling the void to brimming. All this time, that’s what had wrecked their flirting? That he thought she was a lousy girlfriend?

  “What?” Rich asked.

  “What, what?”

  “Why’d you look so sour?”

  She sighed. “So that’s what you thought this whole time? That I was awful enough to cheat on my boyfriend with you?”

  “I dunno. Or maybe you were drunk. Don’t get mad—we barely know each other. I got no right to judge you. Hell, I got no right to judge anybody with some of the shit I used to get up to. I just knew what Jenna told me, and I didn’t want to be that guy.”

  “Well, I’m not that girl.”

  “I know that now.”

  For a long time they stared at each other, until Rich broke the basement’s eerie silence.

  “I thought about you. While I was away.”

  A chill cooled her sweat. “Thought about me how?”

  “I didn’t want to, but the way things got interrupted...” He licked his lips, the gesture seeming more flustered than seductive. His gaze had dropped to her mouth, but he snapped it back to her eyes. “I dunno. I just thought about you. About what we started in the back of that cab.”

  Fool that it was, her heart soared in her chest. All this time she’d worried he’d completely forgotten about her, gone cold on her as quickly as they’d heated up. I thought about you.

  “I thought about you, too.”

  Again, those dark eyes zeroed in on her mouth. “How about that.”

  She pursed her lips, so utterly unsure what she wanted. Her body knew. She wanted Rich, wanted him so badly it hurt. But if they kissed—or more—and she awoke hung up on him all over again... He didn’t do relationships, and he’d told her as much not even an hour earlier. Lindsey didn’t want one herself just now, but she’d lost sleep over Rich, over a kiss, and developed an unhealthy obsession with the man. It was already out of control. Best-case scenario, they came to a mutually enjoyable arrangement until he left again, once his foot healed. Worst case? His itch got scratched and Lindsey wound up with a broken heart the next time he went frosty on her.

  “I better go.” She pried her gaze off his and tore the Velcro from her wrist, unwinding the tape. He felt so...so close. She suspected she was the kind of girl who could handle a casual arrangement. In theory, but not with this man. Anyone but Rich Estrada. Her attraction was too strong, her heart too banged up to survive the fallout.

  He hopped to grab his crutches. “I’m taking a cab if you want to split it.”

  “No, thanks. I...I don’t trust us in the back of a taxi.”

  “I’ll walk you to the subway, then.”

  “No, really.” Shy, she finally made eye contact, finding him smiling. It reminded her to breathe.

  “I’m quick on these things,” he offered, waving a crutch.

  She shook her head. “My life’s such a mess right now. Sorry.”

  “I’ll be a gentleman.” That grin said his words weren’t to be trusted.

  “No.” She tossed the wadded cotton tape onto the mat. “Thank you for all this, but I have to go.” She grabbed her bag and headed for the stairs, and over her shoulder added, “I’ll see you around.”

  By the time she was striding through the foyer, her heart was pounding. She felt as if she’d just fled a mugging. Such a stupid impulse, yet when the door locked at her back with a snap and she gulped that cool night air...she’d escaped. Barely.

  She aimed herself toward Park Street, speed-walking so she wouldn’t miss the final train.

  She realized then why Rich frightened her. Because he stirred things in her that Brett never had, not even when they’d been freshly, happily, madly in love. Rich wasn’t even her friend. She didn’t really know him, couldn’t say she trusted him, certainly couldn’t predict how he might be after they messed around.

  But she knew if his reaction was to ignore her or lose interest...it would hurt more than she wanted to admit. And how could he not lose interest? She was just some woman who worked in the same building as he did. Rich had surely spent the better half of the past year drinking champagne with hard-bodied ring girls and fight groupies. Lindsey hated herself for even having these insecurities at twenty-seven, but come on—if Rich was a jaguar, she was a tabby. Convenient. That was her selling point, surely.

  I thought about you.

  Maybe. Just maybe he had. But she’d wasted too much time herself on thoughts of what had nearly been, hung up on a man who belonged to the whole damn world.

  As she boarded a Green train, she thought, just once she wanted to feel like the shiny one. The one in the center of the photo, the scene-stealer. She wanted someone as shameless and sexy and electric as Rich to look into her eyes and make her feel as if she was the only person in the room. She wanted that look, and she wanted that body. She wanted the greed
y, nasty sex his smile had promised her.

  But sleeping with someone extraordinary was no substitute for feeling like someone extraordinary. And she couldn’t handle being cast aside by a man like that. Not at this point in her life.

  She got off the T at Brigham Circle, dragging herself the two blocks to Brett’s and her building and up to the third floor. Light glowed under their door, and her heart sank. She was too wound up to play well-adjusted friends tonight. Plus it probably looked really bad, her coming home so late, hair wild from her little workout. She smoothed it as she walked down the hall.

  The second she opened the door, Brett was striding toward her, still dressed in his work clothes. “Where the heck have you been?”

  “At work late. Then I wound up hanging out with—”

  He interrupted, saving her the trouble of having to explain. “I’ve called and texted, like, fifty times!” He shut the door behind her.

  “Sorry. My phone’s been on silent.” And I’ve been avoiding you. “Is something wrong?”

  He nodded, brows drawn together, but he lowered his voice. “Yeah, something’s wrong.” He took her arm and led her toward the bedroom. As he pushed the door, light from the hall spilled in to reveal the shape of a body under their covers, a long tangle of curly brown hair flopped across the pillow.

  Lindsey felt rattled deep down to her bones. Was this some revenge thing? She hadn’t come home on time, so Brett had conjured a rebound to spite her? That was just psycho.

  “What the hell, Brett?”

  The lump moved—rolling over, sitting up. Lindsey’s heart dropped to her feet. “Oh, crap.”

  “Hi, Linds.” Her little sister smiled blearily. “Surprise!”

  5

  FOR HER FIRST time ever at Spark, Lindsey called in sick.

  Called in frantic, at any rate, waking Jenna just after seven but getting the thumbs-up to stay home. Luckily Thursdays were typically quiet, and the Boston Spark branch wasn’t busy preparing for any special events that weekend. Still, it drove home that they were growing big enough that they’d need to hire an additional matchmaker or two in the coming months. A good problem to have.