by Josie Kerr
“You’ve lost a lot, then.”
He nodded.
“It’s impressive, Nolan. You should be proud of yourself.”
“Thanks.”
“Nolan, look at me.”
He met her eyes for the first time that day.
“You’ve done a great job.”
“Thanks,” he said again.
Bridget sighed. “You’ll believe it someday. I hope sooner rather than later.”
She began wiping down the counter and putting the containers back where they belonged.
“It’s really dumb. The reason, I mean.”
“Try me.”
“There are these guys on my team, right? They’re super built, veiny. Not an ounce of fat on ’em. They bring their lunch, just like I do, but, you know, they have the branded portion-control packs and the carrier and all that, and I use lunch meat containers and plastic grocery bags.”
Bridget rolled her eyes. “I know the type. Thank God that particular flavor of gym rat doesn’t last too long around here.” Nolan nodded. “Did they give you a hard time?”
Nolan barked a bitter laugh. He’d felt like he was back in middle school, when his father had moved the family to Nashville, to an upscale neighborhood, and Nolan had shown up with his brown sack lunch, proud because his family didn’t qualify for the free lunch program anymore. He’d been mercilessly teased for the way he talked and dressed, and for his size. The coaches had tried to get him to play football for a while but had eventually given up because Nolan didn’t have an aggressive bone in his body. If there was one thing having a father like Chet Harper taught him, it was how to keep your head down and avoid notice, even when you were six feet tall and over two hundred pounds at the age of twelve.
“Yeah, I made the mistake of asking them what their protein-to-carb ratio was, and then later I heard them talking about what a fat-ass I was.” He sighed. “Bullies never change, you know? They just move from the school yard to the boardroom. Or the wannabe boardroom. Those guys are gonna be stuck in middle management for the rest of their lives because they’re content to coast.”
Bridget leaned back against the cabinets and crossed her arms. He could feel her examining him from top to bottom.
“How long do you think they’d last in the kitchen? I mean, provided they were capable of cooking something other than brown rice and chicken.”
Nolan barked a laugh. “Ten minutes, tops. They wouldn’t be able to control the sous-chefs, and the GMs would be reaming their asses every five minutes.”
“See? You are so much better than them, Nolan. I know I don’t know you at all, but the fact that you gave up something you loved because you knew it was killing you proves you are strong. A lot of people aren’t brave enough to part with something that’s toxic, simply because they’re familiar with it. They’d rather die knowing it’s bad than take a chance and risk failure.”
“You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”
Bridget shrugged. “Maybe. You never know what people are capable or incapable of, you know? Sometimes they surprise you.”
“And sometimes, unfortunately, they tell you exactly what they’re gonna do, and you still don’t believe them.”
Bridget leaned her head back and laughed, a full, throaty sound that sent a shiver down Nolan’s spine.
“Nolan Harper, you are something else.” She clapped her hands together. “You feel better?”
He nodded.
“Good. Now get outta here. I’m sure you have something better to do than to hang around a fight club.”
Nolan shrugged, and the idea of asking her out to see Tobias perform flickered in his head, but he quickly dismissed it. Bridget wasn’t the type of woman who would go out with the likes of him, even if she was kind enough to listen to his blathering.
“I’ll let you get out of here. Thanks, Bridget.”
“Sure. C should be back for your next session, but I’ll be around. It was nice working with you, Nolan Harper.”
He bobbed his head. “Likewise, Bridget Doherty.”
Clincher (DS Fight Club #7) is available NOW, exclusively on Amazon.com.
Acknowledgements
To Alex, who always liked Cal the best of all the Harper brothers.
To Yvette and Abdabs, alpha readers extraordinaire, for honest feedback and encouragement.
To Bethany, the queen of continuity, thank you for not killing me when I changed a main character’s name and didn’t tell you. Oops.
To Eric Battershell, thank you for offering that perfect, perfect candid shot as a book cover.
To the Hot Books and Cold Coffee Café denizens, thank you for putting up with my inconsistent posting and for your enthusiasm.
And to all the readers who like their characters a little more seasoned – thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Also by Josie Kerr
The Second Chance Neighbors series
A Bad Bit Nice
The Best Ever
The DS Fight Club Series
Fighter
Kicker
Trainer
Striker
Brawler
Cutman
Clincher
Matchmaker
Hemlock Creek
Whiskey and Serendipity
Sounds and Spirits
Moonshine and Muscadines (forthcoming)
About the Author
Josie Kerr is a transplanted West Texan living on the edge of semi-profoundly rural Georgia, a.k.a. the southernmost edge of the northernmost county in Metro Atlanta.
She has an M.Ed. in Secondary English Education, but discovered that she hated high school more the second time than she did the first, so she decided to meld her love of technology with her background in education and became an Instructional Designer. When not writing articles about how to fire someone without getting sued or why you should really not apply for jobs using your [email protected] email address, she writes steamy romance novels that feature grown-up heroes and heroines.
Connect with Josie:
Website: www.josiekerr.com
Facebook: facebook.com/AuthorJosieKerr
Twitter: @AuthorJosieKerr
Pinterest: pinterest.com/AuthorJosieKerr
Spotify: AuthorJosieKerr
Amazon: Author.to/AuthorJosieKerr
For bonus material, giveaways, and special sales, sign up for Josie’s newsletter. (She’ll never sell your info or give it to a third party.)
