The difference? There were no physical walls to hold back what stalked him. There was no threat that could be taken out with a single shot to the head. Memories that haunted him lived in his brain, and they would die when he did.
A knock sounded on his front door, and he shut off the television to answer. Pulling the door open Ava stood waiting for him. Her tight canary-yellow dress called to him, but he caught himself before he allowed his eyes to drop on those amazing legs.
“Can I talk to you?”
The look on her face begged him to let her in.
He pulled the door back and allowed her to walk inside. The scent from her flowery perfume drifted up his nose as she passed by. She smelled clean and sweet. The opposite of what he knew she really was, a dirty reporter trying to dig up his past.
Once inside, she faced him. “Daniella told me you refused my offer. She said you didn’t want me traveling with you to New York. Forgive me for dropping in, but I wanted to ask you to reconsider.”
He sighed. “Afraid I can’t do that, Miss Phillips.”
“Call me Ava.” She pressed her lips together in a firm, thin line.
“I appreciate your interest, but I need to go it alone.” He turned to show her the way out.
She cocked her head to the side, considering him. “How about if I sweeten the deal? First-class tickets?”
Mike shook his head. “I don’t fly.”
Her eyebrows hiked up. “You’re driving, then? Okay. How about limo service from here to New York, my treat?”
His bottom lip protruded. “No thanks. We don’t have anything to talk about, and I like the open road.”
She gave him a sideways glance. “Really? Nothing to talk about. Are you sure? Your ex-girlfriend, Tiffany, suggested you had a lot to say.”
That bitch.
He froze. His mind temporarily shut down at the mention of Tiffany’s name. “What’d she say?”
Ava exhaled. “I didn’t let her say much—I prefer to get my information straight from the source. But she has information on you. She knows you are a perfect story for somebody like me. Contrary to what you think, I’m not a tabloid reporter. I want to tell your story. The truth. And I want you to tell it to me.”
He placed a hand on his hip. “And if I don’t, Tiffany will.”
“If you don’t, Tiffany will find someone to print the version of your story as she tells it.”
His insides hardened. “So you think it’s better if I tell you first?”
Ava smiled. “The devil you know, Mr. Perez.”
Dammit.
He hated feeling backed into a corner, even if it was a woman as sexy as Ava putting him there. But the blame for shining a spotlight on him didn’t fall solely on Ava. Tiffany wanted her fifteen minutes, and she planned to ride his coattails to get it. His ex-girlfriend would do anything to achieve notoriety. The part of him that didn’t hate her pitied her.
“What did she tell you?” He didn’t hide the curiosity in his voice and he noticed his heart kicked up at anticipating her answer.
“Not much. I found a note on my car with your name on it, the word Miami, and the year 2003. I didn’t get any real details when we met.”
Mike cast his gaze to the carpet.
“It happened right after EverStrong announced they’d sign up to sponsor your fight.” He stilled. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”
“Have a seat.” Mike outstretched his arm and guided Ava toward the sofa. She sat, and he dropped down beside her. “I met Tiffany about a year ago. We met online, running partners. I ran to build up my endurance. She was training for some marathon in Southern California. We hit it off as friends with the occasional fuck. She was never officially my girlfriend. I don’t have girlfriends.”
Ava sat, letting his words wash over her. “Then why did she say she was your ex?”
“She wrapped herself up in my life. I guess leaving her toothbrush in my bathroom meant something to her. She’d follow me to matches, sit in my corner, and tell everyone we were together. I didn’t deny it. I don’t get my rocks off by embarrassing her, so I didn’t say anything.”
“Are you saying she’s making things up?”
“I’m saying if she’s got history on me, dirt on me, truth or fiction, she found out without me saying a word.”
Her brow furrowed. “So she’s lying.”
He lifted a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “When I told her we needed to part ways and that I needed to focus on my training, she didn’t take it well. Like I said, she saw our relationship differently than I did.”
“So she’s looking for some sort of revenge?”
“If she’s contacting reporters, she’s out to make a name for herself even if it ruins me. Maybe that was her play from the beginning.”
Ava sighed. “That’s all the more reason to let me come with you to New York. You deserve to tell your story, not someone else.”
“I don’t have a story.”
She gave a slight shake of her head. “Everyone has a story, Mr. Perez.”
Thoughts of the past crept into his mind. If Tiffany knew about Miami and what happened in 2003, Ava was right. It was better to keep your friends close, and enemies closer. A total cliché, he knew, but snuggling up to Ava might be the way to control the information she got, and he’d see to it that she received as little as possible.
His fingers curled, balling into a fist. He didn’t see another way around the problem other than letting the reporter travel with him. What he didn’t know was how much he was going to be able to tell her. He knew he wasn’t going to bare his soul to a perfect stranger, one who would likely build her career on his back. However, if Tiffany was moving forward with a plan to expose his past, having Ava as an ally was better than having her as enemy number one.
“Okay.” Reluctance lined his voice. “You win.”
A smile crept across Ava’s face. “Really? That’s fantastic.”
Intense dread filled him. “Don’t get too comfortable riding shotgun. You get your story, and you’re back in Vegas quicker than Jack Brady’s right hand.”
She smiled, visibly pleased. “I’ll get my story, and I’ll be back in Las Vegas before Marlon Littleton’s face hits the mat.”
Chapter Six
After leaving Mike’s house, Ava parked her car in her mother’s driveway. If she was going on a road trip from Vegas to New York, Holly Phillips needed to be the first person to know. An incorrigible worrywart, her mother would start planning every world-ending scenario from the moment she started packing a bag.
Opening the front door, the first one to greet her was Scoop, her mother’s Persian, named for Ava’s love of a good story. He had been curled on the back of the sofa, but when she came in he lifted his head, mildly annoyed that someone disturbed his slumber. His big emerald eyes opened wide as Ava petted the top of his head.
“Ava, is that you?” her mother called out from the rear of the house.
“It’s me, Mom.”
“I’m back here.”
She knew exactly where she was. This time of day her mother routinely watered her many plants. Scoop lowered his head, re-formed his cat ball, and went back to sleep as Ava walked toward the sound of her mother’s voice. She found her on the sun porch, tending to many plants and flowers. Her mother lifted the watering can, waving Ava into her favorite room. Admittedly, the space was Ava’s favorite room, too.
The sunroom held so many flowering plants and small trees, it was starting to look like a jungle. Ava took in the smell of the flowers. Beautiful. Her mother was as attentive to them as she was to everything in her life—except she couldn’t go overboard with plants like she could her daughter.
In an instant, even a stranger could tell where Ava got her red hair. She was built exactly as her mom was, too. Tall, thin frame, and dancer’s legs. Not the exotic kind. The showgirl kind. And, even though her mother’s showgirl days were long gone, she continued to wear her makeup as if she were
going on stage. Too thick, but so gorgeous no one could look away. It was her looks that drew people to Holly, and her personality that pushed them away.
Ava loved her no matter how crazy her mother drove her.
“You look tired, sweetie. You’re not getting enough sleep.” Her mother gave her the once-over.
“I’m fine.” She walked over to the violets on the windowsill, admiring their color. “Don’t worry about me.”
“I have to. It’s my job.” Her mother picked through the leaves on a tree and let out an audible hmm. “I think the ficus is starting to develop root-rot. I thought it was dropping its leaves because I’d relocated it to this corner. These plants are prone to stress.” She sighed. “But it’s definitely root-rot, or overwatering. Next the pests will invade, costing me a fortune in neem oil.”
Not only did her mother worry about Ava, she fretted over plants, too.
Holly continued. “I can’t figure out what’s going on with Scoop. He didn’t eat this morning. I think he’s losing his appetite. I need to call the vet. If Dr. Marx can’t see him, he’ll shrivel up to the size of a dust bunny by week’s end.”
Ava. Plants and Scoop. Yep, that about summed up the Chicken Little forecast for this hour.
“Scoop will eat when he’s ready. He does everything on his own time.” Ava exited the sunroom and dropped her purse on a kitchen chair. “Can I make you some tea?”
“Tea sounds fine. Speaking of tea, did you hear about the price of tea? Going up, they said. Tea is starting to replace coffee as the morning drink of choice. Great. Now I’m going to break the bank on neem oil and a decent cup of Earl Grey.” Holly let out a disappointed hum.
Ava filled a teakettle with water and placed it on the stove and waited. Ava. Plants. Scoop and now tea. Her mother’s worrywart list was growing. After a few long moments spent in silence, the kettle whistled.
Removing the pot from the stove, Ava said, “I came by to talk, Mom. I’m going out of town. It’s for work.”
Holly walked into the kitchen, watering can still in hand. Confusion lined her face.
“I’m traveling to New York for a story about a boxer. He belongs to the Stamina Gym. From a distance, he looks clean, but there’s something there, I can feel it.”
Her mother sat down at the table and waited for Ava to bring the teacups and kettle filled with hot water. She poured the steaming liquid over the tea bags to steep.
Holly sighed. “New York, huh? I don’t like the sound of that. Sixty-one percent of crime in New York is theft.”
“It’s a road trip, Mom. We’re driving to New York.” She could feel her mother’s anxiety building.
Holly shook her head. “I don’t like this. Not at all. Nearly 1.3 million people die in car accidents every year. That’s an average of over thirty-two hundred a day. You should fly.” She lifted the tea bag and repositioned it in the cup. “No, on second thought, pilot error and mechanical failure are the leading causes of plane crashes. Both are equally risky. Can’t you stay home?”
Ava smiled. “I could, but I wouldn’t get the story, and I’d certainly lose my job. Plus, I want to go. There’s just something different about this guy. Sometimes you have to go get what you want no matter where it takes you.”
Her mother sipped her tea. “Is he an axe murderer? Now I’m going to have to worry about them finding your body along Highway Fifteen.”
Ava laughed. “No. He’s not an axe murderer. He’s a boxer.”
And what a boxer he was. As much as she wanted to remain professional, she couldn’t shake the memory of his mountainous biceps and toned, hardened chest. She made a living covering athletes. She was used to seeing men at their fittest. But Mike Perez. Whoa. Watching him in the ring, how his muscles flexed and extended, drew her eyes to him. His sculpted chest looked as if it were a work of art, not a boxer training for a match. His dark black hair contrasted against the café con leche color of his skin. Somehow she could sense that underneath his gruff exterior burned passion, a kind she’d only read about.
Mike was more than a unique specimen of athletic talent. He was built like a fucking god, and there was no doubt he could rock her world.
“What about your job?” her mother asked, bringing her back to the present. “Does your editor approve of you chasing a story all the way across the country?”
Ava nodded. “He gave his permission.”
Her mother’s face blanched. “Sure, he did. He doesn’t care if you end up as roadkill.”
Ava blew across the top of her teacup, cooling the liquid inside. Holly shook her head, still unhappy.
“You shouldn’t have to chase a man just to do your job.”
Ava drank and swallowed. “I’m not chasing him. I’m getting an interview.”
“Sounds like chasing to me. If this guy wanted his story told, he’d tell it, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t need you riding along pulling his teeth.”
“Mom.”
Holly lifted her hand, cutting her off. “You don’t ever chase after a man. The day your father left, did you see me running to Los Angeles after him? No. His career with the Angels was more important than you and me. That’s the thing about male athletes, it’s all about them. They think they can do no wrong. They are the exception to every rule and people cover for them. They can do drugs, or cheat on their spouses, and it’s all okay as long as they know how to throw a ball or throw a punch—the rest doesn’t matter.”
It was a story Ava had always heard, and over the years Ava had done her part and proven her mother’s theory. She’d caught big-named golfers soliciting hookers on Fremont Street, and a racecar driver snorting coke off the hood of his car at the Las Vegas Speedway. That made for an impressive front-page headline. But nothing could compare to the rush sent through her body when she was with Mike Perez. Something was there. A story with epic potential to take her career to the next level.
Since she landed the job with the Las Vegas Times, Ava knew the local paper was small potatoes. Her five-year plan included building a name in the media while capitalizing on what she had, the city itself. Too many people, especially athletes, believed what happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas. However, she committed to making sure what happened in Vegas wound up printed in the Times.
Her father, the professional athlete, had done nothing to make her and her mother’s life any better after the day he walked out. She didn’t feel the need to go easy on any athlete in return.
“Sometimes I wish you’d switch beats,” her mother said in between sips of tea. “Maybe cover local politics or take over the community section.”
“I don’t think anyone’s ever been offered the anchor job at ESPN for running the community section.”
Her mother sneered. “ESPN? You wouldn’t like Connecticut. Too much snow. Your car might slide off the road into a ditch.” Holly, always the ray of sunshine. “Is that what this is? A plan to get away from me? You’re driving to New York to work at ESPN and you don’t want to tell me.”
“No, that’s not it at all. I’m covering a story for the Times.”
Her mother’s forehead furrowed. “You’re sure?”
“I don’t think you have to worry, Mom. I promise as soon as I get what I need, I’m coming home. There’s absolutely nothing that would keep me away.”
“Not even the boxer.”
Ava took another sip of tea. “Especially the boxer.”
Chapter Seven
At four thirty the next morning, the lights illuminating Stamina were once again unwelcomed. Usually, mornings belonged to him and him alone. Whoever intruded on his private training time better have a damn good reason for it. He hoped it wasn’t Trevor, getting off work at the strip club and coming by for a quick workout before he went home. As much as he loved his brothers at the gym, Trevor’s affection for practical jokes and his party-time attitude clashed with Mike’s work ethic.
He slowed his run and pushed through the doorway. Unexpectedly, he found Daniella waiting for hi
m outside her office. “What brings you in so early, coach?”
She ran a hand through her hair, the way she always did when she was stressed. “Come on into my office, Mike. I hate interrupting your workout, but this is the only time we’d get to talk in private.”
Mike jogged off the rest of his run, slowing down to a walk. He had to let his muscles cool down before going into her office to sit. Once he’d gotten his heart rate up, bringing it back down took time. He walked a few circles around the gym, getting his pulse under control. A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek and Mike wiped it away with the back of his hand.
Then, he strolled into the office and dropped into a chair facing Daniella.
Her face scrunched up. “Is there anything I need to know?”
Mike gave a slight shake of his head.
“You sure?” She waited as if she was giving him time to confess a sin.
He nodded.
“As excited as I am to have someone like Ava covering the gym, she seems extremely focused on you. Do you know why?” Concern lined her voice.
“She likes a good story. Thinks I’ve got one.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
“Then why is she so hell-bent on accompanying you to New York?”
Mike crossed one leg over the other, propping his ankle on his knee. “Do you remember Tiffany, the girl I used to hang out with?”
“How could I forget? She was here every time the doors were open, no matter if you wanted her at Stamina or not.”
Mike cleared his throat. “Tiffany called Ava. Said she had a story, got Ava’s ears up.”
“Does she? Have a story?”
Mike grunted. “Not one that would reflect badly on the gym.”
“But it would reflect badly on you? Is that what you’re saying?”
His muscles tensed. “I didn’t say that.”
Daniella stroked her chin. One of the things he admired most about her was how calm she stayed under pressure. Even back in the day when Jack pushed all her buttons she never let her emotions show. He thought a lot of her cool head, and her as a woman and a coach.
Going The Distance (Ringside #2) Page 4
