by Tiffani Lynn
“That makes sense. So here are my thoughts. You should come up with a slogan, a logo and a name for the gym. Then have a bunch of T-shirts printed up with all of those things on them, from youth sizes to plus sizes. Then you get a table at the next festival and sell them. Do a couple of drawings and give a few away. The key is to talk to people and help them associate you with the name and the logo. Also, to let them know who you are and what’s going on over there. You should try to meet with the local high school sports coaches and let them know what you have available. Offer a discount to the coaches and students who sign up to use the facility. When they join, give them a T-shirt. They will wear them around town and be walking billboards. Also, put a small ad in the paper for a couple of weeks, with the name, the slogan, address and business hours.”
“I think all of that sounds great, but I named the place after my old mentor and it’s not a catchy name or anything. I probably should have thought that through better, but he’s the reason I’m able to do this and I want to keep his memory alive.” I shrug and look down at the table, unsure of where to go from here.
“Oh, Keegan. That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” Dylan gushes as she reaches across the table to cover my hand with hers. I lift my head and look up into her eyes. “We can ask my sister-in-law Sidney if she has any contacts at the paper who might be willing to do a little piece on the gym and owner. I mean, you are famous. It’s not like you’re Joe Schmoe opening up a random gym. You’re The Punisher, for goodness sakes. I may not follow boxing like my husband does, but even I know who you are outside of our new friendship. You can use that fame and your story about your coach to help promote the place. People love personal interest stories, not just someone looking to make a buck.”
“I think the slogan should be something like ‘Get Punished at Lou’s’ or ‘Punish Your Body.’ Everyone would want shirts with that on it. Especially the guys. You may have to look at something else for the ladies though,” Grady shares, and his excitement is contagious.
“I like your ideas. They’re so simple; why didn’t I think of any of them? I mean, I have T-shirts from gyms all over the country. I always see people wandering around town in random T-shirts, so it makes sense.”
“See, I told you my wife is a creative genius,” Grady beams as he wraps an arm around her shoulder and pulls her tight against him.
“I’d hardly call that genius. It’s just easier for me from the outside looking in. If you want more of that type of thing, I think we’ll have to call someone better equipped to help, but that should give you a good start. For the record, I love both of the slogan ideas that my husband came up with. It’s a good play on words with your nickname and a fighting term. Should make it easy to remember.”
We finish lunch with some small talk and Dylan filling us in on the album she’s writing. Grady avoids talk of work, focusing mostly on Dylan. It’s during this lunch that I realize I’m starting to fit in around here and becoming more comfortable by the minute. It also brings on a light lonely feeling. I’d love to have what Grady and Dylan have.
Eight
Collins
A call comes in as we are heading back to the precinct to end our day. Armed robbery at a convenience store about a mile from where we’re stopped at a light. Wade grabs the radio and responds that we’re in route as I flip on the lights and make a quick U-turn. By the time we arrive, it’s over and we find the owner sitting on a stool behind the register, furious, scared and shaking. Two customers, one of whom called 911, are huddled together in the back corner of the store, afraid to move. This isn’t going to be a quick fix. Other police officers are arriving on the scene, so I excuse myself to call my dad and explain that I will be late for our Sam’s special spaghetti night.
Two hours later, I arrive at my dad’s to find the kitchen cleaned, except for a plate of spaghetti and two pieces of garlic bread waiting for me. I can hear chatter in the living room so I walk on through and find Sam, my dad and Keegan watching Family Feud and laughing at the answers.
Keegan. I haven’t been able to get the guy out of my thoughts. Now that I know he’s a nice guy, it’s hard not to be attracted to him. The gigantic ripped shoulders, pecs, biceps and triceps are enough to get my motor going, but there is so much more. I must stand there and stare a little too long without saying anything, because Keegan stands abruptly and says, “You know, I should be going. It’s getting late.”
Sam begins to protest and I snap out of it. “No, don’t go. I’m sorry, I’m a little tired and didn’t realize you’d be here. Let me warm up my food and you guys can all tell me about your day.” His head jerks back a little in surprise and then he smiles at me and that damn dimple thing on his cheek mesmerizes me for a moment.
Unsure of what else to say, I spin around and head for the kitchen, kicking myself for not bringing clothes to change into. I don’t usually mind my uniform but when I’m sitting in front of an incredibly handsome man who adores my brother and watches television with my father, I’m realizing that I should try to be a little more feminine. Not like he’s going to go for a woman like me. I’ll never be anything like Chris, with her long, painted nails and revealing clothing. It never before occurred to me to feel self-conscious about the fact that I’m not very girly.
When I return, the television is on a commercial break so I ask them to tell me about their day.
“Keegan’s gonna get shirts!” Sam blurts out.
Keegan chuckles. “Yeah, buddy. I’m going to get some T-shirts made and a couple of other things. I need to do some advertising or the gym will stay a virtual ghost town.”
“When I dropped by the other day, you had some people in there.”
I can feel my dad’s eyes boring into the side of my head at the knowledge that I went to see Keegan at the gym, but I pretend to ignore him. That is not my style and my dad knows it.
“Not enough to keep the lights on. Grady and Dylan Malone were helping me at lunch, trying to figure out some ways to get my name out there. T-shirts are one of them.”
Sam talks about some of the guys who work out there and how a woman came in to sign up today. A flash of jealousy hits me at the idea of some woman working out with Keegan. Thoughts of some pretty, young petite woman with her hands all over him, rush through my head in rapid succession. I shake my head a little, hoping to rid myself of the unpleasant thoughts.
Keegan must realize the weird moment that just came over me was related to the woman who signed up, because he adds, “She’s a cool lady. Always wanted to learn to box, so her husband sent her to me to learn, as a present for her fiftieth birthday. Nice lady. I was a little surprised to see she was interested in boxing, but I’m sure she has her reasons.”
I breathe a sigh of relief and hope no one notices it. What is wrong with me?
“So, what ended your day so late, sweetie?” my dad asks, his eyebrows pulled down a little.
“A group of teenagers we’ve been having trouble with robbed a convenience store right before my shift ended, so I had to go out there and help with that.”
“You got the kids?” Keegan asks.
“No, but we have them on video. It was two of them, plus a driver waiting in a car. This shift is out looking for them. Shouldn’t be hard. Just try another convenience store. They love to hang out at those.”
“How old are these teenagers?” he asks.
“Anywhere from twelve or thirteen to twenty. Wade and I had an encounter with them not long ago, so I recognized them on the video footage.”
“Why are they so bad, Collins?” Sam asks, all of his naïve innocence showing. I don’t even have a chance to answer because Keegan jumps in.
“Because they have nothing better to do and likely no one in their life to care if they are up to no good.”
I shouldn’t be, but I’m surprised by his answer because he’s exactly right. I saw a lot more of it in Colorado Springs than I do here, but it still exists. The parents are either working to make
ends meet or absent for one reason or another. It’s a sad, endless cycle in some cases and I wish there was a way to break it. My friend on the force in Colorado Springs, ended up fostering and later adopting one of the kids she dealt with on the job. Carlo, the kid Quinn and Judson adopted, went from a home of drug addiction and domestic abuse to being president of his class and getting straight A’s. I keep in touch with them and enjoy getting updates. I’d love to see more success stories like theirs.
When I’m done eating and I’m feeling the fatigue of the day wear on me, I clean up my dishes and say my goodbyes. As I turn to go, Keegan stands up. “Time for me to hit the road, too. Four a.m. comes too early.” He thanks my brother and my dad and comes up behind me as I’m passing through the door. Once we’re outside, he follows me out to my car. It’s dark outside now and the air is the perfect temperature. It’s a very nice evening.
“You doing okay?” Keegan asks as he stops with me outside of my car door.
“Yeah, it was just a long day. I’ll be better after I get some rest.”
“Listen, I know this is kind of…” He pauses and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I was wondering if I could take you to dinner on Friday night?”
Did I hear him right?
“Are you joking?” I ask, completely thrown by the question.
His head tilts a little to the side. “A joke? No. Why do you ask that? Is a fighter not your idea of a good date?”
It’s obvious I offended him when I didn’t mean to. Most guys want a woman who falls at their feet and I clearly don’t have that problem. At least not that he knows of. I’d never share the many private thoughts that have gone through my mind since I met him. We didn’t even get along at all until now. It makes no sense why he would ask me out. “That’s not what I meant. What I’m asking is, are you talking about a date or as friends?”
He looks off into the distance over my shoulder, probably afraid to make eye contact with me. “Both. You’re beautiful and sassy, smart and tough. I can’t quite figure out why you’re single. It makes no sense to me. I’d just like to take you out and see what’s there.”
My mind whirls a little. I had no idea he was the least bit interested. In fact, I thought the guy borderline hated me after the way I came after him about Sam. Not to mention… “What about Chris?”
“Who?” He looks at me, totally perplexed.
“Chrysanthemum. Chris is what she goes by now. I saw you with her the other night.”
Keegan throws his head back and laughs long and hard. I stand there perfectly still, waiting for him to explain what’s so funny.
“I went to the bar to have a drink after the party the other night. Chris came on to me, I declined and left. You must have looked at us at the exact perfect moment, because she was only close to me for about thirty seconds. She’s not really my type.” He grins at me with that damn dent in his cheek.
Now it’s my turn to look away, slightly embarrassed. Should I give it a chance? Or just say no? I mean, I’ve thought about what it would be like for him to kiss me. Will his lips be hard and unforgiving or soft and sweet or claiming and passionate? That’s something you can’t judge by looking at a person. Warmth spreads in my chest and dips lower in my belly at the mere idea of any kind of intimacy with him. I stare at him for an uncomfortable amount of time, until I finally give in to the idea. If I break it down, going out on a date will probably take him off my mind and I can go back to concentrating on work, my dad and Sam. Chances are, we won’t have anything in common and there won’t be any sparks, or so I tell myself. “Um, sure. Yes, that sounds good.”
That wicked grin resurfaces as he moves in close to me. My heart rate picks up and my breathing becomes shallow. Then, not giving me a chance to back away, privately freak out, or say something else that might be offensive, Keegan dips down close, placing his fingers under my chin to lift it up slightly. Then he places the sweetest of kisses on my lips. I’m paralyzed with shock and something sweet sizzles deep inside. “I’ll call you tomorrow to discuss details,” he whispers, still up close and personal, before sauntering back to his motorcycle.
Like a statue, I stand there watching him pull away on his Harley. Where did my tough girl go, my redheaded temper, my anything? Apparently, it went with Keegan down the road.
When I get home, I call Ahmod because Keegan’s little departing kiss has been replaying in my mind and I’ve had time to work up a head full of insecurity and a what-the-hell-am-I-going-to-wear-on-a-date-with-this-guy madness in my head.
It takes me less than a minute to spill what’s on my mind, and his squeal is piercing. “Yeeeesssss! I had you two shipped before you even admitted you were checking out his butt. Girl, this is the best thing I’ve heard all week! We’re not wasting time. You need to open your closet and switch this to FaceTime so I can pick out your clothes. I’m thinking about sending a friend over to do your makeup.” I open my mouth to protest, but he changes direction too quickly. “Never mind. I doubt Mr. Muscles wants you covered in makeup. He seems to like you just fine without it. So maybe some mascara, light eyeliner and lip gloss. What do you think?”
“I’m glad you changed your mind because I’m definitely not letting one of your makeup whores get ahold of my face. You know I hate the stuff.”
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t invented for women like you with beautiful skin and features. It was made for the rest of us hags.” He cackles with laughter and commands, “Now let me see your closet.”
An hour later, he’s finally agreed on a cute denim skirt that comes to about two inches above my knees and a fitted sea green top that brings out my eyes. It was pure torture. He was so fussy about what I was going to wear that I was ready to give up and wear a T-shirt and shorts. He vetoed that immediately and made me finish the task. I can’t decide if having a best friend with style is a curse or a blessing.
Two days later, I’m opening my front door to find the sexiest man in California standing before me in a collared shirt and jeans, looking like something that just stepped out of my fantasies.
“Wow! You look amazing,” he says, his eyes traveling down me appreciatively but not sleazy-like. I’m sure I blush a little at his compliment, if the heat in my cheeks is anything to go by.
“Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”
I grab my purse and keys, lock up and we head to his car. After he opens the door for me and joins me a few seconds later, my nerves take over. When was the last time I had a date, much less a date that looked like him? I can’t recall.
Nine
Keegan
My hands twitch with nervousness, which isn’t usual for me. I don’t remember the last time I had a date, much less with someone so strong-willed and stubborn. Collins clearly wants to hate me and rip my clothes off at the same time. I’m just hoping she abandons the first inclination and gives in to the second.
The last couple of women I went out with were beautiful, but didn’t turn out to have anything else going for them. Maybe that’s why I’m so interested in Collins. There is so much more to her than a pretty face.
This woman is a natural beauty and it’s all I can do not to drive straight to my house and drag her inside. Her fiery hair is down, straight and shiny, framing her face in light layers. Every other time I’ve seen her, it’s been braided back away from her face. The tight shirt and skirt she’s wearing were designed to make a man stupid with lust and I can’t quit looking over at all the creamy skin that’s exposed when her skirt rides up her thighs. It’s tempting to slip my hand over to rest on her thigh. My brain is functioning like a teenage boy tonight, and I need to get a grip.
The car ride to the restaurant is quiet and although I’m not a naturally talkative person, I’m still not usually at a loss for words. My nerves are getting to me. I can hear Lou saying in my subconscious, “Get outta your head, boy. Face the task at hand. Beat back the fear and win this!” He didn’t need many words; those usually worked. Of course, those were used pre-fight as
a pep talk and they worked. I won far more than I lost. Guess I need to get out of my head if I want to win her over.
Once we’re seated at the mom-and-pop Italian eatery located in the next town over, I try to start a conversation. “I’ve never been here; what’s good?”
“Everything,” she replies as her head stays buried in the menu.
“You’ve eaten everything on the menu?” I ask, trying to pull a real response out of her. Her menu lowers and she gives me a raised eyebrow stare.
“No, but I’ve had quite a few things and it’s all been good.”
“Okay, so what is your favorite so far?”
“Shrimp scampi linguini. Do you like seafood?”
“No. Anything that swims is off of my list of food to eat by choice. When I’m training for a fight, I eat a lot of white fish because it’s lean and full of protein, but I don’t enjoy it. I’m not training for a fight, so I’ll find something else a little less… fishy.”
“Suit yourself, but you are missing out.” She shrugs and sets her menu down.
The server appears and takes our drink order. Collins orders a glass of red wine and I order the one beer I allow myself when I’m out. Not only do I try to keep my alcohol consumption to a minimum, but I’m still not sure if I’m going to go back to professional boxing. I don’t want to let myself get too far out of shape, just in case I return.
The table is quiet as she stares at everything in the restaurant, except me, while I study every little detail of her face. During my perusal, I decide that the little batch of freckles that trickles across her nose and cheeks is my favorite of her features, besides her eyes.
“So tell me about yourself. I know you have Sam and your dad, and you are a police officer. You have a crazy best friend who lives in L.A., but what else?”
