Raven shakes her head and rolls her striking blue-green eyes. “Don’t mind him. He could be here for hours trying to figure it out.”
“Come on, Ray. You know who I’m talking about, right? She’s got a man’s name… Harlen, er, Haman, Hayden!” He shoves his big, oil-caked finger, into my face. “Hayden Panteen-tiere or some French shit. You’re tiny, just like her.”
The smile I’d been trying to hide breaks free. “Thank you. I’ve never been compared to her before, but I’ll take it.”
“Hot damn, girl. You’re her with brown eyes.” His gruff compliment warms my cheeks.
Raven shakes her head, directing a warm smile to the older man. “You need to lay off the nighttime drama and try some documentaries or something.”
He slams his hands on the counter, making me jump. “Tell me you don’t see it, Ray.”
She squints and studies my face. “I guess. I mean, she’s tiny and blonde.”
“Ha. See, I was right.”
She hooks her arm in mine. “Let’s get you to your truck. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than talk crappy TV with Guy.”
Yeah, I wish. Sad thing is, that’s the most fun I’ve had since… Nope. Not thinking about him.
She leads me out of the small office, a little bell above the door jingling as we pass through. “Nice meeting you, Guy.” I wave to him over my shoulder.
“Hey, can you speak with a southern accent?” He tosses his question across the room and out the open door.
I shake my head and laugh along with Raven as the door closes behind us.
The bright afternoon sun hits my eyes, and I squint into the parking lot. Shining and looking better than it did when I got it, which isn’t hard to do, sits the Bronco.
“Raven, wow. It looks like a different car.”
She shrugs and looks away. “Yeah well, we had it detailed and waxed for you.”
Oh, for crying out loud. Another thing to add to my list of IOU’s. “I’m sorry, but… look, I appreciate all the work you’ve done, but I can’t afford any of this. I realize this is what you do, and you were trying to hook me up, but.” I shake my head. “Is there a payment plan I could get on, or maybe—”
“It’s been taken care of.”
My eyes dart to the Bronco and back to Raven. That had to have cost a fortune. “By who?” I ask, but something tells me I already know.
“Blake. He insisted we get it in tip-top shape, no matter the cost.” Her smile is warm and a little too knowing.
I pull at the ends of my hair and flip them around my finger. “You’re not kidding.”
She shakes her head, the knowing grin getting even bigger. “No. I’m dead serious.”
“Why would he do that?” Granted, he must have agreed to this before he started avoiding me, but that makes all this even more ridiculous. Who takes care of the repair costs for a woman he doesn’t even know, or speak to?
A quick laugh bursts from her mouth. “I was just as shocked as you are, trust me.”
“Blake doesn’t strike me as a philanthropist.”
Her expression turns thoughtful. “Not usually. But, I think if you got to know him, he’d surprise you.”
Hard to get to know someone who won’t talk to me. Anymore.
I thank Raven and hand over the keys to her Camaro. We laugh and fall into easy conversation over our mutual love of classic hot rods. I thought she’d explode out of her skin when I told her about my old Trans-Am.
“I better let you get back to work.” I hop into the Bronco. “Thanks again, for everything.”
“We should grab a drink sometime,” Raven says as I reach to close the door.
That would eliminate another weekend without plans. “Sure. I’d like that.”
“Perfect. How about Friday night? I’ll bring my friend Eve.” Her bright eyes twinkle at the mention of her friend. “You two would get along great.”
Being invited into the inner circle between girlfriends is a huge honor. How could I say no?
“Awesome! Friday it is.”
Driving away, my heart feels full. Between Raven’s offer of friendship and Blake’s generosity—even if it happened before he decided to hate me—I feel hopeful about my future here. I groan when I’m hit with what I’m going to have to do on Monday. I can’t imagine how much all this work cost, but I’ll have to chase Blake down to thank him and of course offer to pay him back. The thought of talking to him again sends butterflies throughout my body.
Guess I’m not ready for the weekend to end after all.
Blake
Shirt off, face down, shorts and boxer briefs tugged low on my hips, Doc Z administers another round of cortisone to my back. Seems I must be immune or something. The shots only buy me a few days relief.
“I’m upping the dose here.”
A sharp pinch and then a burn forces my eyes to clench shut. My mind takes me to her.
It’s been over a week since she was at my house. Five days at the training center trying to stay away, avoiding her when she’s around. It’s not easy when she’s everywhere I look.
And is it just me, or is there a sudden fucking influx of blondes in Vegas? Shit, they’re everywhere I turn. I’ve had to limit my exposure, going from training to home, with one outing to Red Betty’s to see Ataxia play.
Lucky me, Rex doesn’t have a show at The Blackout until this weekend. I’ll be skipping out on that face-to-face. Now that Layla’s buddy-buddy with Mac, I’m taking a pass on those shows. Sure as shit, she’ll be there, dressed like a rock goddess in all her casual hotness that no girl can pull off like she can.
Fuck. I rein in my thoughts to avoid an uncomfortable situation with my dick and the good doc.
“It’s a guessing game with the doses. You keep up on the pills and the shakes. Those should help.” The doctor’s murmured instructions are the same he’s been drilling into me for the past two weeks. At least it takes my mind off her.
“I’m on it. Shakes and pills.”
“Done here.” Doc Z crosses the room. The sound of him shuffling medical shit followed by the snap of his latex gloves signals I’m good to go.
I right myself and pull on my T-shirt. “Thanks for staying late to hook me up.”
The shot takes time to kick in, but already I feel amped. Other than the annoyance of my back, my training has been spot on. Even after hours of sparring, I’m breathing well and have energy to spare. Most days I have to spend an hour on the treadmill to burn the shit off. Wade’s a jackass if he thinks he can take me. I’m in the best shape of my life.
I wave off Doc Z then head into the locker room. It’s seven thirty at night. The place is deserted. I grab my iPod from my locker and decide to hit some weights before I crash for the night.
Walking across the training room, I take in the posters on the walls. The fighters, both past and present, who’ve left their mark on the sport—the warriors who dedicated their lives to the advancement of MMA. To think how far it’s come—from the world of underground fighting to cable television, and now mainstream. Fuck, if Gibbs gets his way we’ll all be made into dolls to be sold next to those boy band dolls—what the hell?
The light in the weight room is on. I thought I was the only one here. Cool, I’ll have a spotter.
I push through the doors and—holy shit—I’m met with a sight that sucks the oxygen from my lungs.