Against the Ropes (3 page)

We cross the red line and enter the only part of the building benefitting from proper interior construction. Shower rooms, bathrooms, and changing rooms for both men and women are on the right, as well as a kitchen and a small lounge area. The walls are covered with floor-to-ceiling chalkboards setting out the daily class schedules and work out regimes. I catch the words “Boot Camp,” “Kick and Lick,” and “Punch Fest.” Definitely not the gym for me.

Torment leads me to the left and past a few offices with closed doors. Our shadows blend together, his magnificent body beside my small, curvy one. Even his shadow is sexy, dominating my other self as we weave our way through the loitering crowds to a door marked with a red cross.

Torment pushes open the door and turns on the lights. The small, whitewashed room is bare except for an examination table, chair, and a small cabinet with a sink and cupboards.

“Door open or closed?”

My breath catches in my throat, and I head over to the sink to wash my hands. “Open is fine unless you’re concerned about showing any sign of weakness to the rest of the pride. Someone might deem you unworthy to lead and take you down.”

Torment chuckles and his eyes sparkle, amused. He closes the door with a bang. My heart skips a beat.

“Up on the bed.” I choke on the last word and my cheeks flame. Really. Flaming cheeks. How unprofessional. What if he had a groin injury? My body heats and sweat trickles down between my breasts. Well, there’s my answer.

Torment eases himself onto the examination table. I open the cupboards and root around, pretending to search for supplies as I try to slow my racing heart. Deep, slow breaths. Unclench the jaw. Swallow the drool. Focus on the sharp scent of antiseptic.

“Okay, then.” I spin around and give him my best fake smile. Torment lifts his eyes from where my bottom used to be. He licks his lips. I almost melt under the heat of his gaze.

Swallowing hard, I walk over to the bed. “I’m…just going to examine you. I’ll be gentle.”

He gives me a curt nod, and I place my hands on his shoulder. His skin is hot, his muscles tight. His raw, primal scent of sweat and musk sends my already heightened state of arousal into overdrive.

Taking a deep breath, I clear my mind and focus on the task at hand. My training finally kicks in and I rule out a dislocation, not just because there are no physical signs, but because he does not appear to be in pain. I lean closer, pressing gently as I check for localized tenderness. My hair slides over my shoulder and brushes across his chest. He sucks in a breath and his muscles tense.

“Sorry.” I glance at his face to assess how much pain I caused. His eyes are closed and his jaw is tight.

“Did I…hurt you?”

“No. It’s…your hair…it’s—”

My hair? Did I hurt him with my hair? Or maybe he’s shocked by the color.

“Auburn?” I say, as he opens his eyes. “Most people think it’s a bad dye job because there’s so much red mixed in with the brown, but it’s real.”

Torment twists a strand of my hair around his fingers. “So soft,” he murmurs.

My lips curve into a smile. He likes my hair. He likes my name. He thinks I’m beautiful. My ego hasn’t had such a boost since…well, ever.

I trace my finger over three smallish scars on his shoulder. “You’ve had surgery on this shoulder.”

He shrugs. “It takes my weight when I fall. It’s seen a lot of misuse.”

“Poor little shoulder.” I brush my lips over the scars.

Torment’s body stiffens and he chokes. “Makayla.”

Oh God. What did I just do? After four years with the ambulance crew, I thought I had the empathy problem under control.

“Sorry.” I give myself a mental smack and rein my body in.

“Don’t ever be sorry for who you are,” he rumbles softly. From the way the phrase glides of his tongue, I sense it is something he also tells himself.

The rest of the examination proceeds uneventfully. I poke. I twist. I prod. I am the epitome of a clinical, detached, very horny professional.

By the time I finish running my hands over his sculpted body, I am wound tight with need. My breasts ache. My panties are damp. But I am in control.

“I don’t think it’s anything serious,” I say. “Probably a mild ligament sprain or a light tear. Pain killers and ice packs for twenty minutes every two hours should help. You might want to get someone to strap it down if it gets worse.”

I pull an ice pack from the freezer and hold it against his shoulder. Unable to resist, I close my eyes and inhale deeply, breathing him in. I had forgotten how heady the raw, natural scent of a man can be.

“Makayla? Everything okay?”

“You smell so good,” I blurt out, then clap my hand across my mouth. Did I just say that?

Grimacing, I force myself to look up. His warm, brown eyes lock on mine and he gives me a heart-stopping grin.

“So do you. Like flowers in the sunshine.” The soft, velvety texture of his voice takes my breath away.

“You can take ibuprofen for the pain.” My words tumble over each other as I try to maintain the rapidly diminishing facade of professionalism. “Although I find a tub of Ben & Jerry’s works just as well.”

“Ice cream?”

“Not
just
ice cream. Amazing ice cream. So rich you can only buy it in pints. They keep changing the flavors, but my current favorite is Chunky Monkey.”

“Sounds…unhealthy.”

“That’s the point. It’s an indulgence. It’s not supposed to be healthy.”

Torment traces a finger over my lips. “I can think of several indulgences that are very healthy.”

I inhale a sharp breath. Oh. My. God. Is he coming on to me? What should I say? What should I do? I freeze and stare straight ahead.

“What did you think of the fight?” He drops his hand and I lick my lips, tasting his salty deliciousness on my tongue.

“It wasn’t what I expected. I thought there would be more punching and kicking people in the face. Lots of blood. Bones breaking. I didn’t know about the whole grapple and submission aspect.”

“You asked me not to hurt him.”

I twist my lips to the side. “So…it is how I imagined?”

“Probably worse.”

I slide the ice pack to a better position. “Well, then my first instinct to stay outside was a good one. I’ll remember that the next time I’m tempted to sell tickets at a fight club to make a little extra cash.”

He frowns. “Do you need work?”

“I have a job at the admissions desk at the County Hospital, but the occasional odd job helps make ends meet.”

He tucks an errant strand of hair behind my ear, and the gentle, casual gesture makes my toes curl.

“I’ve been looking for someone with emergency medical experience to handle first aid at the club.” His hand lingers on my shoulder and my stomach does a backflip.

“This was just a one-off for me,” I say. “I couldn’t work here permanently because of the whole violence aspect.”

He cups my chin in his warm palm and strokes my cheek with his thumb. My heart flutters and desire sends shivers through my body.

“Is it just the violence, or do you have a boyfriend who doesn’t like the idea of you working here?” He drops his hand, and his tattoos undulate across his chest. The longer I stare at them, the more the center line begins to resemble a dragon, twisting its way down his sternum and over his abdomen, only to disappear under the waistband of his shorts. Oh, to be that dragon!

“No boyfriend.” I manage a hoarse whisper. “I mean not right at this very moment. I had one. Well, three, actually. In my life. Serious boyfriends. But not all at once and never for longer than a month or two. It just didn’t work out with any of them. It never does.”

“I find that hard to believe.” The caress in his voice turns my bones to mush.

Scrambling to orient myself, I focus again on his tattoos. So many. So intricate. But why only on the right side of his body? Maybe it was too painful. I remember the night Amanda and I foolishly decided to get matching tattoos to celebrate our high school graduation and how I screamed and ran the minute the needle touched my skin.

Unthinking, I stroke my finger down the dragon, stopping just before it disappears below his waistband.

Torment hisses in a breath.

I gasp. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…I wasn’t thinking…I know it hurts to get a tattoo and I was imagining your pain, and they are so beautiful and scary at the same time.”

This is mortifying. I am on the verge of running away when the door opens and Amanda steps inside. “All ready to go?”

Oh, thank God.

“Yup.” I hand the ice pack to Torment. “I’m sorry I can’t stay longer, but Amanda is my ride home.”

Amanda disappears and I repeat my instructions of when and how long to ice his shoulder. I get no response. His face is impassive and I can’t tell if he is angry, disappointed, or indifferent.

After I tidy up the room, I turn to him and for lack of anything better to do or say, I hold out a stiff hand. “It was nice to meet you.”

He slides his hand against my palm and strokes his thumb over the sensitive skin near my wrist.

A delicious shiver slides down my spine. I can feel his eyes on me, willing me to look up, but I don’t want him to see how much he affects me. Especially since I’ll never see him again.

“Bye.” I pull away and race through the door.

Jake and Amanda are chatting outside the ticket office.

“Can we go now?” I shift from one foot to the other.

Amanda looks at me and her eyes widen. “What’s wrong, Mac?”

“Nothing. I just…I thought we were leaving.”

She gives me a long, assessing look. Her eyes flick over my shoulder and back to my face. She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow and gives me a conspiratorial nod.

Uh-oh. Maybe I should stay at the club. My ride home promises to be an inquisition—Amanda style.

“Sorry, Jake.” She pecks him on the cheek, leaving behind the faint, pink imprint of her lush lips. “Have to go. Friends come first. But I’ll see you at my place after your fight. Don’t shower. I like you all sweaty and pumped up.”

Jake rakes his hand through his thick, blond hair and grins. “I aim to please.”

Amanda pushes open the door, and I glance back over my shoulder. Torment is standing in the doorway to the first aid room, still as a statue, his body chiseled from the finest marble, his tattoos begging to be explored.

No way in hell can I bring myself to go back and ask for my paycheck. I can’t face him ever again.

He studies me, thoughtful, focused, intent, and then he smiles, transforming breathtaking good looks into utter irresistibility in a heartbeat. My breath catches in my throat. I take one last, lingering look. And then I walk out the door.

I’m afraid she’s taken

“You’re five minutes late, Mac. That’s coming off your pay.”

Big Doris taps her clipboard while I take my seat at Admissions Desk One in Oakland’s leading county hospital. Although only five-foot-two and weighing no more than ninety-nine pounds, Big Doris is possessed of an unnaturally loud voice, and her words boom throughout the crowded waiting room, drawing titters from the patients waiting to see the triage nurse.

“I’m not late. The clock is five minutes fast. According to my watch, I’m exactly on time.”

“According to the hospital clock, you are late.” Big Doris writes up a shame-inducing green slip for my personnel file and then peers down at me over horn-rimmed glasses that I suspect are only for show.

“No wonder you failed out of pre-med in college. You don’t even have the discipline to get to work on time.”

“I didn’t fail out,” I explain through clenched teeth. “I graduated with a science degree and an Intermediate-Level EMT qualification. I didn’t have the money to pay for medical school.”

“Ha!” she snorts. “As if there aren’t dozens of organizations willing to provide scholarships to train new doctors. You must have been at the bottom of the class.”

Why is she always antagonizing me? She was so pleasant the first month, and positively evil for the last twenty-three months since I joined the department.

“I was at the top of my class. I just wasn’t sure if it was what I wanted to do. I didn’t want to take money away from people who were truly committed.”

She tears the green slip off her pad and flutters it in the air just out of my reach. “So much more fulfilling to be working the Admissions Desk and making a fraction of the salary, isn’t it?”

Snatching the slip from her fingers, I give her a cool smile. “I’m grateful to have any job in this economy.”

Two seconds after she stomps away in her four-inch, fire engine red pumps, my counterpart at Admissions Desk Two and second best friend, Charlie, pokes his head around the partition.

“Don’t let her get to you. She’s jealous because you are so much prettier than her. Just don’t eat any of her apples. She might be suffering from wicked queen syndrome.”

“Maybe if I eat a poisoned apple, my prince will come.” I turn on my computer. “Nothing else has worked so far.”

My computer hums to life and I stow my purse in the bottom drawer of my desk. Charlie rolls his desk chair into my cubicle, while seated, with a coordinated jerking of his hips and heels. His Mickey Mouse scrubs are bunched up around his thighs and a length of hairy calf protrudes above Disney-themed socks. His bright orange Crocs squeak when he pulls himself to a stop.

“Here I am.” He throws his arms out to the sides and almost knocks over the partition. “One prince, ready to kiss you and carry you away to my tiny bachelor pad in the sky.”

My grin and snort of laughter do nothing but encourage him. He closes his eyes and purses his lips, waiting for the kiss that is never going to happen.

“Sorry,” I lie, not wanting to hurt his feelings. “My heart is taken by the prince who shall not be named.”

“It’s Doctor Drake, isn’t it?” he whispers. “I can lower my standards. I’ll dye what little hair I have left the color of spun gold, add some blue contacts, lose one hundred and fifty pounds, work out, get a fake tan, take a chisel to my jaw, accept a job as a highly paid surgeon, and hang out in the waiting room for twenty-three months pretending to be assessing the staff.”

“Doctor Drake is the head of administration now,” I interject. “That’s why he’s always lurking around. And rich guys make me nervous. I’m more of a pizza and beer kind of girl, not caviar and wine. I wouldn’t be able to walk the walk or talk the talk. I just want to find someone I could be comfortable with. Someone like me.”

“Poor but proud,” Charlie sighs. “I suspect you’re going to have to change your attitude. Drake’s lurking around because he likes you. One day he’s going to work up the nerve to ask you out and I’ll have to challenge him to a duel in the parking lot.”

I flip my sign to “Open,” and give Charlie’s chair a shove. “I thought we agreed we were better off as friends. Now, get to work. Only eight and a half hours left until the weekend.”

Charlie hangs his head in mock disappointment and rolls back to his desk.

***

An hour later, my cell phone rings. I wave the phone over the partition to let Charlie know to watch out for Big Doris. He thumps the partition in agreement. I settle in my chair and accept the call on the last ring.

“Makayla Delaney?”

“Yes.”

“This is Sergio Martinez from Collections R Us. I received your file from the Education Commission. They inform me you have defaulted on your loan payments. It is my job to collect the money.”

My heart thuds in my chest and I swallow hard before answering. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I tried to make the payments after I graduated. I used all my savings, moved to a cheaper apartment, and sold my car, but I was unemployed. I applied for deferment and they agreed to defer the loan for five years.”

“Apparently, they changed their minds.”

“But that’s not fair. They never told me.”

Sergio yawns. “Not my problem. They sent me the file with the word ‘Default’ stamped on the front in big red letters. I take that to mean you didn’t make your payments.”

Sweat trickles down my back and I grip the phone. “I can send you the paperwork or you can contact them yourself. The five years aren’t up and my circumstances haven’t changed. I can barely pay rent and—”

“Frankly, Ms. Delaney, I don’t care about your circumstances and it’s not my job to conduct an investigation or to contact the Education Commission. My job is to collect the money, and the government permits me to use every means at my disposal to get it. Let’s see what you owe. I have a loan calculator right here.” He taps on what sounds like a keyboard and then rattles off a number that makes my heart seize in my chest.

“That’s almost twice the original loan.”

Sergio laughs. “Interest and penalties have been accumulating.” More tapping. And then he gives me a monthly payment amount that sends my pulse skyrocketing.

“I can’t pay that much.” My voice rises to a pathetic whine. “That’s almost my entire monthly salary. I won’t have money to pay rent or eat.”

“I’m afraid that is the minimum payment to rehabilitate your loan. Nine payments in ten months and you repair your credit and get me off your back. My boss wants more but you sound like a nice girl and I want to give you a break. You have until Monday to decide or I’ll seize part of your paycheck forever and you’ll never have another chance to rehabilitate your loan.”

“Monday?” I squeak. “I can’t do it. I need time to contact the Education Commission and find out what happened to my deferment.”

Sergio sighs. “Are you sure you want to do that? You will be required to make a formal complaint and who knows how long it will take them to respond. In the meantime, your default will show up on credit checks, and the interest and penalties continue to rise. I can offer you the opportunity to rehabilitate your loan right here, right now. Don’t you want a fresh start?”

“But where will I get the money?”

“I’m sure you have family, friends, relatives, or neighbors who could help you. Maybe you have things to sell. Have a garage sale. Clean out your wardrobe. Be creative. That’s what I tell all my debtors.”

My heart sinks to my stomach. “I have nothing. I have no jewelry or fancy clothes or paintings. I don’t own a bicycle or a car. I don’t even own the TV in the house I’m sharing with four other people. I can’t ask my friends for money. Most of them don’t have enough to make ends meet. And as for my family—”

“Again, Ms. Delaney, don’t waste your breath. I’ve heard it all—injuries, accidents, sick children, dying parents, unexpected pregnancies, fatal illnesses, hungry boa constrictors, divorces, exploding houses, and rabid dogs running off with bags of cash.”

“Have you heard the one about the elephant and the trombone?” I scramble to save the situation the only way I know how.

Sergio is silent for so long I can’t tell if he is amused or really annoyed. “Actually, Ms. Delaney, I can’t say that I have. Please enlighten me.”

I tell Sergio a long joke about an elephant, a debt collector, and a trombone. When I get to the punch line, he snickers, then he snorts, then he laughs out loud.

“Very amusing.” He chuckles again. “I haven’t laughed like that for years. Usually people scream, swear, and threaten me. I heard the words ‘Fuck off’ two hundred and three times yesterday. No one has ever told me a joke.”

I cross my fingers. “I aim to please.”

“And please you have done. In return I’m going to do something for you. I’ll give you an extra week to come up with your first installment. After that, as long as you make your payments, you’ll have no trouble from me. If you miss even one payment, the entire loan comes due with immediate effect. I will then be entitled to seek orders from the court to garnish your wages, seize your income tax refunds, drain your bank accounts, and I can do the same to your parents. As guarantors of your loan, their assets are up for grabs, including their house.”

My lungs seize up and I gasp. “Oh God. No. That house means everything to them. It has been in my stepfather’s family for generations. He gave it to my mother so she would never have to worry about having a roof over her head again. They plan to live there until they die.”

“Or until I foreclose to pay their daughter’s debts.”

I clench my fists under the table. Never. I’ll never let him take their house. “I’ll make the payments,” I say, through gritted teeth. “And I appreciate your offer.”

“I’m glad you do,” he says. “As with most student debt collection agencies, we are incentivized to collect the debts. Usually we receive a percentage of the amount collected plus performance bonuses, and it can add up fast. My supervisor made half a million dollars last year and the CEO made one million dollars. I used my bonus to buy myself a Jag. This year, I’m aiming to buy a Porsche.”

“How nice for you.” I do a quick mental calculation. Even if I pare down the grocery shopping to the bare essentials, cut out meat, forgo Friday nights at the bar with Amanda, and collect my money from Torment, I won’t have enough to make the payment. I need a second job. Fast.

“I can hear the wheels clicking in your brain.” Sergio’s thin, reedy voice jolts me back to reality. “I see from your college transcript, you’re a very clever girl. You should have applied for some scholarships and gone to medical school. Your loans would have been deferred until you were done and then you would have been making so much money they wouldn’t have been an issue.”

“Thanks for the advice.”

Sergio chuckles. “I like you Ms. Delaney. I can’t say that about many of my debtors. I look forward to speaking to you again soon.”

***

A few hours and several dozen patients later, I doodle a picture of a boxing ring on my notepad. Maybe I should have stayed at the club last Friday instead of running away. Maybe after everyone had gone, Torment would have taken me into the ring and kissed me. His hard body would have pressed me back into the ropes. We would have made the offer on my “FCUK Me” T-shirt a reality, and afterward we would have gotten matching tattoos.

“Mac, wake up.” The urgency in Charlie’s voice snaps me out of my daydream.

“What’s going on here?” Big Doris swoops into my cubicle and stares down at me through clear, plastic lenses that do not refract her eyes in any noticeable way. She whips out her book of green slips and clicks her pen. “I’ve had a complaint about a patient backlog.”

“We’re having problems with the computers.” Charlie pokes his head around the partition and lies with the aplomb of a used car dealer sensing a sale. “They keep freezing up. We need someone from IT down here right away.”

Big Doris narrows her eyes but even she doesn’t dare challenge Charlie. He has been here too long. He knows too many people. And he has a very sharp tongue.

“Fine. I’ll deal with it.” Big Doris deflates and storms away.

“You just ruined her morning,” I call out. “She wanted to give me another green slip.”

“Don’t worry about Big Doris. I’ve got her figured out. She just needs a man. And since you won’t have me, I’ll have to settle for tenth best.”

Hah. Charlie and Big Doris. Never going to happen.

While I wait for the computer to dredge up a new patient form, I resolve to find Charlie a girlfriend. Someone normal. Someone who likes nice, soft, slightly balding guys who are eager to please. Someone whose heart doesn’t pound at the sight of hard-bodied men covered in tattoos.

A collective sigh from the waiting room pulls me out of the start of yet another daydream about Torment. I look up, just as Dr. Donald Drake, preeminent heart surgeon turned administrator, glides toward me. He stops in front of my desk and smiles.

Ah. My insides quiver. Although he has no visible tattoos or piercings and exudes an aura of calm competence as opposed to one of seething danger, I am not immune to his chiseled charms.

“How are things going today, Mac?”

My smile stretches my cheeks. “Very well, thank you, Doctor Drake.”

Dr. Drake places his hands on my desk and leans forward. I inhale his fresh, clean scent of laundry soap and after dinner mints. I sneeze.

“Doris mentioned you were having difficulties with your computer. Perhaps I could take a look at it for you.”

“You?” My eyes widen. He has departments filled with minions to do his grunt work, not to mention an entire IT department.

Charlie makes lewd, loud kissing noises behind the partition, and I cover my mouth, pretending to cough.

Dr. Drake glances over at the partition and frowns. “Problem, Mr. Brown?”

“No, sir,” Charlie calls over. “Just sucking on a lemon. I’m trying to increase my consumption of citrus fruits.”

My stomach clenches with repressed laughter.

Dr. Drake looks down at me and smiles again. Such a happy doctor. The light glints off his unnaturally white teeth. “I know a thing or two about computers, Mac. I didn’t spend all my time with my head in my medical books.”