She placed her elbows on her desk. “The EverStrong Products endorsement deal is worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, and by beating Littleton, that number has the potential to grow. Exponentially.”
“I know. I’m grateful.” He swallowed hard. His throat felt tight.
Daniella squinted, as if she were evaluating his every movement, like she did in the ring. “Stamina’s cut of that money will pull the gym out of the red for good. You, being the face of EverStrong’s equipment line, will pay for Trevor to train so he can quit the club and start taking his boxing seriously. It will also be what sets you up financially for the rest of your life. That and the cash prize for beating Littleton. So, please, if there’s anything I need to know, I want you to tell me now.”
“I don’t know what Tiffany might say. That’s the truth. I haven’t done anything to her or with her that should cause you concern. No drugs. No rough sex. Nothing.”
Daniella leaned back in her chair. “I know you didn’t. You’re a regular choirboy.”
“But something’s eating you,” he pressed.
A tense smile passed across Daniella’s face. “Maybe it’s just nerves. The gym is growing, exploding even. If all goes well, I’m thinking about taking on another heavyweight. Jack has plans to retire. We want to start a family and he wants to go out on top.”
For a moment he tried to imagine Jack with a baby. Holding a son or daughter, Mike could fathom. Jack changing a diaper, he couldn’t.
“Look, I didn’t want her tagging along.”
Daniella nodded. “I know how much you value your privacy.”
“But Ava showed up at my house last night,” Mike went on, before Daniella could continue.
Daniella’s eyes widened.
“We worked it out. She’s going to ride with me to New York. I’ll keep training along the way. She’ll get her interview, and as soon as she gets enough for a story she’ll come back here.”
And he would finally get the alone time he sought.
“I’m surprised. It’s a good surprise. Thank you.” Daniella’s easiness returned. She started to grin. “The poor thing. After riding shotgun with you for a day or two, Ava will probably run back to Vegas.”
He grinned. “I like routine. It’s not that bad.”
Daniella laughed. “I know you can handle yourself. You’re smart, talented. You can handle the press, their questions. But, if you need me, call me. Jack, Shakes, and I are flying to meet you in New York, but if you need me before then, I’m only a phone call away.”
Warmth rolled through his chest. Daniella really did think of everyone in the gym as family. He had admired R. L. and respected the hell out of him. But Daniella . . . She gave Stamina its heart.
“Don’t worry about Ava Phillips.” A confident edge lined his voice. “I can handle her.”
***
Later that day, Mike went a few more rounds with the heavy bag than usual. To take down a guy like Marlon Littleton, he had to work on delivering the power shots and throwing his punches from his shoulder.
“Snap the jab,” Shakes ordered. “You have to be quick. Quick jab, quick return.” Shakes threw the punch to the air and Mike imitated.
While he might’ve been in the best fighting shape of his life, Mike knew about his areas of improvement. Snapping the jab was one, along with perfecting his lateral footwork when Littleton came out of his corner and headed straight for him like a freight train.
Shakes set the timer and evaluated Mike’s round with the heavy bag. At first he brought the heat. Starting off with a quick one-two punch, he dodged the bag as it swung back to him after each hit, and set the next shot. Focus. Usually, he could stay focused. But in between jabs and uppercuts, Ava crept into his mind.
He knew he could keep his past hidden. He’d done so for so long it was almost as if it didn’t exist. As if there was no Michael Perez before Stamina. He hoped he could hide his body’s reactions to her sitting beside him for ten hours a day equally well. His heart raced at the sound of her voice. He loved her long, red hair. And those legs. Damn. Looking at those legs, he knew it was going to be hard to keep his eyes on the road.
Over the years he’d known beautiful women. Even though they were no longer together, when he was with her he thought Tiffany was hot. But there was something about Ava. No other woman could compare to her.
He admired her body, which totally rocked, but he doubted she realized just how beautiful she was. Or the kind of things she stirred up inside a man with one glance.
He forced himself to draw lines where Ava was concerned. Hard ones. Lines he vowed not to cross.
The bag swung toward him and he set up for a straight right hand followed by left jab.
“Good,” Shakes yelled at his execution. “Nice combination.”
As the bag swung away, he wished his life could’ve been different. That he was the kind of guy that could sit down and tell Ava what she wanted to know. He’d have given anything not to carry the weight of his brother’s death on his back. He wished it would have been him who died, not José. His little brother deserved a chance at life. Sure, they were kids. Directionless. Falling in with the wrong crowd. But shit had gotten real too fast. Blood in. Blood out.
One night, José got out.
But not the way Mike wanted him to.
He shook off the memory when the heavy bag nearly hit him in the head.
“Focus,” Shakes yelled. “What’s with you today?”
Mike didn’t respond. Instead, he pushed himself harder. His muscles burned with each punch. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he dodged the swinging bag. He landed a quick straight right hand, followed by a left jab, and Shakes grunted his approval.
He dug in, facing the bag like it was Marlon Littleton himself. As the bag came at him, he sidestepped, then moved quickly back into position and landed a left hook in the center of the bag. If it had been Littleton, the shot would’ve dropped him.
“That’s the way,” Shakes coached. “One just like that in the ring and our boy is down and out.”
Mike’s chest swelled. Pride filled him. He knew he had this fight. He had the drive, the ferocity, and the determination. All he had to do was keep in the present, stay focused, and knock out Littleton.
Right then and there he promised himself, when the gloves were on, thoughts about everything else went away, especially thoughts about Ava. He’d never had trouble with that before, and he wouldn’t now. He went another round with the bag. Shakes’s tone lightened.
“You need a rest?” Shakes asked, after his last round.
“No, I’m good.” They both looked at Daniella when she appeared from her office. Mike picked up the pace in his training. With the boss lady watching, the last thing they both wanted was to be seen dragging ass.
Daniella sauntered in his direction. He worked the bag, giving it the quick one-two and balancing his punches between head and body shots. “Nice work,” she said upon approach.
“Thanks.” Mike breathed heavy.
“Take a break.”
He stopped, let his gloves drop.
“EverStrong called. They want to see you in advance of the fight for a photoshoot. Guess they want to get their pictures now in case you step out of the ring with a black eye.”
Mike chuckled.
“They’d like you there in five days. I told them you’re driving. Are you cool with leaving early?”
Early. He let out a grunt. “Let’s revisit the training plan. Five days is a lot of missed gym time.”
“You can train just as well out of the gym as in it.” Daniella crossed her arms in front of her, and everyone knew in that moment Mike was leaving.
Daniella turned and started walking back to her office. Then she stopped and looked over her shoulder at him. “I’ll give Ava a call, too. Tell her to pack a bag. If you’re going to make it to New York on time, you should probably leave tonight.”
Chapter Eight
They didn’t leave that
night. Mike was quickly learning that traveling with someone meant taking their schedule into consideration, and he wasn’t a fan. His jaw clenched. He hadn’t left Vegas and he already wished the trip was over.
Keeping the motor running, he waited in Ava’s driveway. Once she told Daniella leaving on a moment’s notice wasn’t possible, Daniella asked her to be ready to go at four thirty the next morning. He cast a glance at the car’s clock on the dashboard. 4:31 a.m. Mike pressed his hand on the steering wheel and honked the horn twice.
No Ava.
After another minute of wasting gas, he killed the engine and tromped up the steps to her door. This was not going well. If the woman couldn’t respect his schedule, he didn’t see how they were going to make it around the corner, much less all the way to New York.
After the third knock, the front porch light clicked on. A beat later, the door opened.
“Sorry.” Ava stood in front of him wearing a short black minidress, something that was probably made for the runway, not a road trip.
He allowed his eyes to shift downward and take in the meat of her thigh, marking the spot he’d like to bite, if he was a different kind of guy. “Ready?”
“Yes. Here.” She handed him a Styrofoam cup. “I made this for you.”
Taking the cup, warmth pressed into his hand.
“It’s a cinnamon latte, my specialty. Sorry I didn’t come out when you beeped. I was washing the pan. I mix the cinnamon with melted sugar and milk first, and then add it to the coffee.”
Intrigued, he pulled the lid off the cup. The sweet smell of cinnamon sugar hit him in the face. He took a long pull from the cup. The warm liquid bathed his tongue. Liquid Heaven. Okay. So, maybe it wasn’t unforgivable that she was late. She made him coffee, a kind he’d never tasted.
She extended her hand, giving him her cup. “Would you mind holding this while I get my luggage?”
He pushed past her, ignoring the coffee, and gripped the handle of her bag. Big. Pink. With flowers. The damn thing was huge. His bicep bunched lifting the fucker. What did women carry around? Their life story?
“What’s in here? The body from your last interview?” He huffed.
“Everything I need.” She laughed.
He hoped she packed a pair of pants. It was hard to miss the sweet curve of her ass as she bent to lock the door. Damn, he was going to have trouble keeping his eyes on the road. Loading the suitcase in the trunk of his SUV, he collected his composure. The last thing he needed was a story breaking in the Las Vegas Times about how he couldn’t keep his hands to himself.
He got in his Pathfinder and waited for Ava.
First things first, she needed to know his rules and how things were going to go if she was hell-bent on traveling with him. As soon as she got in the car he prepared to lay down the law.
She closed the door and crossed one beautiful leg over the other. His mouth watered.
“Thanks for this.” He gestured to the coffee. “But I don’t drink coffee. Just water. Always water.” He placed his cup in the holder.
Ava’s face fell. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
He put the car in reverse, backed out of her driveway, and headed for the interstate. “Even though we’re going to be on the road ten hours a day, for the next five days, I still have to train. We stop driving when I say we stop.”
It was as if the woman shrank in her seat. “No problem.”
“And this interview, you get one question every two hundred miles.” He kept his eyes on the road.
“Why?” She paused. “Wait. Does that count as my question?”
He shifted in his seat. “A boxer has to prepare physically and mentally. I don’t need a bunch of chatter taking my mind off Littleton.”
She reached down into her purse, which sat beside her ankle, and drew out a notepad and pen. It looked to him that if she couldn’t ask her questions as she thought of them, she’d write them down. Good. She understood the importance of silence.
“How do you plan to defeat Marlon Littleton?” She pointed her pen on her paper. “That’s my real question.” She leaned across him and wrote down the mileage on her paper. He took in the flowery scent of her shampoo. Her scent alone seduced him.
He brought himself back to present, taking a sharp left. The vehicle climbed the entrance ramp to the highway. “Littleton attacks right out of his corner. He’s a good boxer, but he lets his emotions get the best of him. I’m going to absorb his body blows and hold a good defense, then back him to the ropes and knock him out.”
“It sounds like you’ve been studying him for a while.” When his facial muscles hardened, she flashed him a sheepish look. “That wasn’t a question.”
“No. That was noise.” His foot pressed down on the accelerator, and neither of them said a word.
They rode for the next hour in silence. No talking. No radio. Just silence. Okay. Even he admitted listening only to the sounds of passing cars was getting weird. Not to mention, just having her sit in close proximity to him was a distraction. Breaking the awkwardness, he said, “If you get one question every two hundred miles, seems like I should get one, too? Right?”
Ava smiled. “Is that your question?”
He shook his head. “Why did you become a sports reporter?”
She ran her hand through her hair as if it were a question she’d prefer not to answer. “My dad played for the Angels. He joined the team when I was eight. I never got to see him, except when he was on television. So I’d watch ESPN to see if I could get a glimpse of him.”
A small ache pinched his heart. “You didn’t go to California with him?”
Her smile widened. “That’s two questions. Guess you’ll have to wait for a few hundred miles.” She took a long sip of her coffee.
And to his surprise, he thought the waiting would be hard. Control had never been a problem for him. Sure, he wanted to know why her father went to California to play ball and she didn’t follow. Did her parents divorce? Or was her family situation as fucked up as his? He wanted to ask.
He knew about estranged families, though it wasn’t a subject he wanted to discuss. He made a silent promise to himself. He’d have to talk if he wanted to get through a week’s worth of her questions and not kill her. As long as the conversation revolved around boxing and not his personal life, he’d answer whatever she wanted. It was only fair.
When her hundred miles was up, she cleared her throat. “Back to boxing. Tell me why you started boxing?”
He let out a small sigh, wondering just how far back to go. Sure, she’d fact-check what he told her, but to him, no matter what happened in Miami, his boxing life didn’t start till Vegas.
“R. L., Daniella’s father, recruited me off the street. I wasn’t boxing so much as street fighting. One night I was really low on cash so I bet this guy twenty bucks that I could take him out. I wasn’t really sure if I could or not, but I needed the money. I didn’t notice R. L. evaluating me from the crowd until the guy quit fighting because I’d bloodied his lip. That night, I got my twenty, and an offer to come to Stamina and start training.”
She scribbled her notes. Then, she let out a long, contemplative sigh. “I realize you need your space. But, this whole silent treatment thing isn’t working for me. If you really want to be alone, I think you should answer my questions and once I’m done, I’ll find my way back to Vegas.”
Not only was she beautiful, she was smart, too. She made a lot of sense. Answer what she wanted and she’d be on her way. That sounded like Heaven to him. He let out a breath. “Okay then, what do you want to know?”
“R. L. found you street fighting. Talk to me about that kind of life.”
He gave a quick shake of his head. “No. Next question.”
“You grew up in Miami. Is that where you discovered you liked fighting?”
He let out a deep huff. “No. Next question.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Seriously?”
“We
ll, you won’t answer a real question.” She glanced out the window.
“Blue,” he said almost under his breath, and she craned her neck toward him.
Didn’t she realize talking to her was like a boxing match? He had to devise a calculated response to every answer he gave. Not for the question she asked, but for the questions she’d ask two or three moves from now. Since the day he found out she was tagging along, he’d had to develop a strategy for answering her questions, but telling her nothing.
Ava let out an exasperated sigh and reached her hand across the dashboard to turn on the radio.
“What are you doing?” he asked, as soon as the music blared.
“Killing the silence.” She switched the station and kept scanning until she stopped on a song she liked.
Who would’ve thought? Taylor Swift. If she started singing along, he’d pull over. There was only so much a guy could take.
“You can’t expect me to sit here like a zombie for the next two hours.” Her hand fell back into her lap. “You might be the most self-disciplined person I’ve ever met, but not everyone has your control.”
He grunted. “Not everyone knows talking to you is a death wish.”
She uncrossed her legs. Skin slid against skin, and his pulse raced. “Is that what you think this is? That I’m here to pry a story out of you that will ruin your career?”
“Isn’t that what you do?” His voice hiked up an octave.
He didn’t miss the eye roll. “I simply bring the public the truth.”
Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. Aside from the songs playing on the radio, they rode together for the next few hours in silence. Cars passed. Horns blew. The weatherman on the radio announced they were heading straight into an afternoon storm. No big deal, he thought, as the rain started to fall. No matter how hard the wind blew or the lightning flashed outside, it couldn’t match the atmospheric disturbance of being trapped inside his SUV with Ava.
Chapter Nine
Going The Distance (Ringside #2) Page 5
