Going the Distance (13 page)

She winced.

Rich hung his head. “Sorry. I got some dark shit in my skull.”

“It's okay. We all do, from time to time.” And she could sense Rich didn't vent his very often. Noxious thoughts needed airing, or they'd poison a person's perception of the world. If Rich had to talk about this, she was strong enough to hear it.

“It just became clear, if I didn't make it fighting, there was nothing else for me. No place I fit where I was respected, where I felt...I dunno.”

“Worthy?”

“Maybe. Or just, like, useful...” He trailed off, clearly struck by some thought or other.

“What?”

“Nothing. Anyhow, it's not a matter of loving the sport for what it is. I
don't
love it, not the way some guys do. I
need
it. I'll never be like Mercer or our mentor, happy just teaching people.”

Lindsey remembered how he'd spoken to Maya in the office, and realized she didn't entirely believe what Rich was saying. Even if he did.

“Then my mom got hospitalized and we found out how many procedures were on the horizon, and I just had to go for it. MMA was taking off and I talked my way into any paid fight I could get. Real shady ones. Ones that only paid fifty bucks, or only paid if you won. I fought three times in one week, I remember.”

“Oh, God.”

“It was insane. But I paid for my mom's first heart stent in cash. No installments.”

“Wow.”

He smiled, watching his fingers once more. “And it felt frigging
good.
I don't think she was ever proud of me before that. And I don't think she was all that proud that I paid her bills by beating people up, but it was more than my father had provided the last ten years of his life. And I wanted her to believe she could rely on somebody. So I just kept going.”

“Now here you are on the main card. Light heavyweight champ.”

He shook his head. “Now here I am, crippled and useless till my foot's healed.”

She wanted to move, wedge her butt next to his on the stairs and touch him. To comfort him, though she sensed Rich wasn't a man who welcomed empathy. Instead, she said, “You're not useless. Not as long as you keep training, getting ready for the next opportunity.”

“That's about all that's keeping me sane.” He laughed, the noise making relief bloom warm in Lindsey's chest. “Damn, I've been talking your ear off.”

“I don't mind. You're easily the most interesting person I know.”

“Then you oughta get out more. But how about you? Anything exciting going on with your clients?”

She felt her cheeks heat. “Not with my clients...though I guess I do have something kind of interesting going on.”

His brow rose.

“I got invited to do a magazine article. The cover story, about Boston's most eligible bachelorettes.”

“Wow.” Rich blinked, eyes glazing for a moment. “That's exciting.”

“I don't think it's because I'm glamorous or anything. They just like the paradox of a matchmaker and former wedding planner being all comfortable with her singleton status or whatever. But it's great for Spark. And...”

“And?”

“And I dunno...I'll get to dress up and be photographed. After all those years I spent fussing over brides.”

“Congratulations.” He smiled, though the warmth didn't meet his eyes. Lindsey's pride drooped as she wondered what he really thought of her big opportunity. Maybe it didn't seem that big to him at all. What was some local magazine feature compared to millions of people watching you on live TV?

“It's getting late.” She stood, finding her back sore where the rails had pressed. “And you have to be up before dawn.”

He got to his feet and Lindsey handed him the crutch leaning against the rail. “Come in for a minute.” He nodded to the open door.

“Um...”

“You want a glass of wine? For the first time in a year I can drink without my training team treating me like a criminal.”

She hesitated, then Rich shot her a cheesy, swarthy look, cocking his eyebrow outrageously. “I'll show you my belt.”

She laughed. “Okay, fine.” Why not? She needed to get it in her head that she and Rich were good as friends. And she
wanted
them to be friends, if that was all they were destined for.

Then she glanced his way and saw something in those dark eyes. A warmth that was far from friendly.

Something far, far better than friendly.

Lindsey flipped on the light by the door. Taking in the kitchen, she had to laugh. There was nothing in the way of food aside from a giant tub of whey protein and a line of supplement bottles on the counter, and no furniture save for a weight bench and a rack of dumbbells.

“Fighting really is your entire life, isn't it?”

“Just about.” He locked the door. “You stick my mom and sister in Wilinski's, and you pretty much got everything I ever cared about, all in one place.”

“What will you do, someday when you retire?”

“Hell if I know. Shame to waste this body.” With a smirk, some of his swagger returned, his darkness left outside to blend with the approaching dusk. “Maybe I should look into exotic dancing.”

She laughed.

“I'm not kidding,” he said, though he clearly was. “I got rhythm.” To demonstrate, he rolled his hips for her and advanced with a couple steps that, even on crutches, proved the man did indeed have some moves. “Don't be casting aspersions on my fine Colombian ass. We can salsa before we're out of diapers.” He crowded her with a few more outrageous steps.

“You win, you win. I'll start carrying singles.”

He went to a cabinet and flashed a bottle of wine. “Red okay?”

She eyed it, wondering if this was a terrible idea, what with the return of shameless Rich now official.

“Just a small glass.”

He found a corkscrew. “I got sent gift baskets by everybody under the sun after I broke my foot. May as well share the wealth.”

She joined him at the counter and accepted the glass he poured her. “To your mom's cooking. And the fact that I won't need to eat again for two weeks.”

“Amen.” They clinked and sipped. “Before, when I'd get a fight around Boston, I'd have to burn off at least ten pounds to make weight. Never had to do that once on the road. Now I know who to blame.” Rich took another sip, looking puzzled. “Is this any good?”

“I like it. But I like any dry red.”

“I'll make a note of that.”

All this week, they'd been doing so well—an exemplary imitation of a plain old friendship. A little flirty, maybe, but nothing like after the tournament or down in the gym that night. But now...

Maybe it was the wine, and the fact that every time they shared a drink, they also wound up sharing one another's mouths. Whatever the reason, Lindsey felt the atmosphere shift, a giant question mark hanging in the space between their bodies. Another floated in her head.

Can you handle it, if you hooked up again? If you woke up liking him more than ever, and he just went back to how he was, like it never happened?

She didn't know. She only knew how her body would cast its vote, and those instincts couldn't be trusted. Not around Rich, certainly not around Rich and alcohol.

He took another sip, gaze glued to hers above the rim of his glass. After swallowing he asked, “You want the tour?”

She managed a strategic joke, needing to take the temperature of the invitation. “Why do I suspect it'll be comprised mainly of your bedroom?”

“Because you've got a dirty mind.”

She gave him a little glare and he offered a way-too-innocent shrug in return. “Take it and find out.”

She relented. Rich waved a crutch, and she obeyed, preceding him into the hall, carrying his glass for him. They had the same floor plan and he sneaked by, sweeping them past the closed door to the living room.

“Bathroom,” he said, flipping on the light. Surprisingly tidy for a man used to the daily ministrations of motel staff.

“Please don't tell me your mom cleans up after you in addition to cooking.”

“My mom had her heart valve replaced last winter. What kind of a selfish jerk do you think I am?”

“Thank goodness.”

He grinned. “My sister does the cleaning.”

She sighed her annoyance and Rich shut off the light. “Not my fault I've been spoiled. Plus I bring home the lion's share of the money around here, and usually carry it in bleeding. I'm not gonna apologize for being a caveman.”

“You better find yourself a real traditional girl to marry.”

“That would certainly please my mom.” His smile softened. “Though personally I'd rather find a snarky feminist to roll around in my sheets with.”

She blinked, knocked senseless for a breath at how obviously he meant her. “I see.”

He stood a bit straighter. “Unless you're all done with me, after last week. Personally, I thought we had some unfinished business...but maybe that was just me.”

“I dunno.” She wanted to say more, demand some answers.
If you're not done with me, why'd you go so cool after that night? And if we take things even further, will you go straight-up cold come morning?

But those were demands you'd make of a boyfriend, or of a lover you thought you might be getting serious with. Rich was basically home on shore leave.

Though if she couldn't voice those concerns, perhaps she shouldn't waste time worrying about them. Not when the invitation in front of her now felt so simple. She upgraded her response to a shy “Maybe.”

Rich replied without a single word. He leaned close and caught her lips in a soft, slow kiss. Nearly innocent, if not for the shallow flare of his breath giving away his intentions. He kept his eyes glued to hers as he straightened, taking all his heat away.

Lindsey swallowed. The wine in the glasses she held trembled.

“You probably expect guys to be all suave, huh?” he asked. “You must coach them on that stuff, as a matchmaker.”

“Thankfully, no.”

“But that probably wasn't real smooth, my just asking flat-out if you wanted to mess around.”

“I know what you do for a living, Rich. I never expected subtlety to be your strong suit.”

“Oh, good. I like a gal with low expectations.” And with that, he freed a hand and put it to the small of her back, nudging her toward the open door at the end of the hall—the bedroom directly below her own. Good Lord, she really
had
been on top of him this entire time.

She set their glasses on a bookcase and found the light switch.

“Oh,
no.
” She laughed, taking in the five full-length mirrors screwed flush along one wall, facing the bed. “Tacky much?”

He rolled his eyes, passing her on his crutches. “This has been my room since I was a kid. I used to shadowbox in here.” He turned, smirking, then leaned in to plant a kiss on her forehead. “Why you gotta make my innocent childhood sanctuary into some kinky sex den?”

“You have to admit, it looks bad.”

“To a pervert, maybe.” Another kiss, on her temple this time. “How many chicks you think I sneak in here? My mom and sister are downstairs.”

She looped her arms around his waist. “Like that would stop a man on a mission.”

“Maybe not. But admitting to a woman I still live with my mother usually does the job.”

He kissed her softly, again and again, coaxing her back a step at a time, crutches brushing her arms. A strange seduction, but somehow apt. She felt the mattress at the backs of her knees and sat. Rich set his crutches aside and joined her, tugging at her arm until she kicked off her shoes and lay down with him.

I'm on Rich Estrada's bed.
When they were simply hanging out, she forgot for long stretches that he was famous-ish. Wouldn't those stupid Courtesan groupies just
hate
her if they could see? She shoved the petty, pleasing thought aside as he cupped her jaw and kissed her lips.

Far more exciting than messing around with a minor celebrity was messing around with Rich. On Rich's bed. A queen-size bed, a soft black cotton comforter. Nothing flashy, just the place where this extraordinary man slept, in this room where he'd grown up. Surely the most mundane space in his world, yet Lindsey felt positively giddy. This big mattress after the confines of the weight bench and recliner...like a playground. And she wanted to climb Rich like a jungle gym, tumble all over with him, wrestling and laughing and being ridiculous.

She stroked his chest through his T-shirt, and his hand slid over her shoulder, down her arm, then found her waist. Misgiving flared. They'd gone much further together, but tonight felt different. Her previous recklessness had been replaced by something cautious. Plus this was not a flattering angle for her belly, considering how many tamales she'd stuffed it with. Rich slipped his hand beneath her shirt, multiplying the horror.

“I love how soft you are,” he murmured.

She bit back a sheepish smile, anxiety melting. “And here I was, lamenting however many pounds I gained at dinner.”

“You feel perfect to me.” He kissed her neck, and any last scraps of worry she felt fled with her deepening breaths.

His lips and tongue teased her throat, the contact growing hungrier as her body gave him approving cues with heavy exhalations, her palms admiring his shoulders and arms.

She combed his hair with her fingers. “You're such a gym rat. I worried...I dunno. I just worried.”

“Got no time for scrawny girls. I like a woman I can roll around with, without being scared of breaking her. Sometimes I look at you, and I just want to
squeeze
you. You look so soft.”

She laughed. “I'll take it.”

He pulled back, locking her eyes with his, black as pitch in the low light. “Lemme undress you.”