IMAGINES: Celebrity Encounters Starring You (29 page)

Your body was in no shape for a jog, and Rat Dog, trapped in your bag, was most likely not enjoying this brisk pace. Pushing through the pain, you rushed into the building, hurried up to your floor, and fumbled for your keys with shaking fingers. Eventually, you were in the safety of your apartment, locked the door, ran into the bathroom, and let Rat Dog out onto the tiled floor with a string of apologies.

YOU FIGURED NICK
would buzz your apartment while you took a long, hot shower. You wouldn’t hear him over the spray of water, which meant you didn’t have to worry about even
considering
letting him up.
Genius
.

You lathered your skin and hair with your favorite grapefruit soap and shampoo, conditioned, and washed away any remnants of Cesspool. You stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around yourself. Rat Dog licked droplets of water off your calves. You got the hint and fetched him a bowl of water.

You slipped on a baggy nightshirt, white panties, and light gray jogging pants. As you started to brush out your thick, long hair, your stomach growled. It dawned on you that you hadn’t eaten, and there wasn’t anything in the apartment.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Looked like your dinner was toothpaste and mouthwash, because you were way too achy from the fight to go out and get food. But what about Rat Dog? You fished through your duffel bag and emptied the last of the broken-up jerky into a little bowl for him. Your stomach growled again as you watched him gobble it up.

Your apartment buzzer shocked you out of your hunger reverie and into instant panic mode. You paced the floor, and it crossed your mind that it might be Rhett. Your heart skipped a beat. What the hell was wrong with you? You were making yourself anxious. It was just Nick. You could just walk up to the intercom and tell him to fuck off. Maybe it wasn’t Nick. And if it
was
Nick, he’d eventually take the hint and leave. But if he left, you’d never know what he came to say. You’d never know. . . .

The buzzer sounded again.

“Fuck.”
You went to the intercom, your heart an orchestra in your ears. “Who is it?”

A deep, slightly raspy voice slid out of the speaker: “It’s Nick.”

You looked down at Rat Dog, who’d begun to bark uncontrollably. Of course. He
never
barked.

“Before you tell me to fuck off,” Nick continued, “please, just hear me out. I came to apologize.”

“Shh.
Shhh
. Rat Dog!” The dog finally stopped so you could press the intercom button and reply.
Strong, independent woman.
“How did you find my apartment?” You touched the raised part of your cheek. You felt self-conscious about his seeing how beat-up you were.

“I did some digging. Listen, can you let me up, or something? I brought you food. . . .”

Food.
You thought about meeting him downstairs, snatching the food out of his hands, and then making a dash for your apartment. It didn’t feel right to let a guy up to your apartment that you’d just met, no matter how gorgeous he was. You looked back down at Rat Dog, who was looking up at the intercom and shaking his little butt. He pawed at the wall, whining. Also, you had to do the right thing and give him back his dog.
Now
 . . .

“FUCK IT!”

You buzzed Nick in and practically flew around the apartment, throwing dirty clothes into your hamper and spraying a coconut scent to mask the place’s dank odor. You reached into your underwear drawer and grabbed your bottle of pepper spray, tucking it into the pocket of your joggers. You would act surprised that it was Nick’s dog. If it even
was
his dog. Then you’d take the food, hear him out, then
kick
him out. No big deal!

When he knocked, you walked reasonably slowly so he wouldn’t think you were eager. Rat Dog stood between your feet and pawed continuously at the door. You took a deep breath and opened it.

Nick held a white paper bag and a bottled iced tea in his hand. He got one look at your face and his eyes widened. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Nothing,” you said, unable to think up a lie. “Don’t worry about it.”

“That doesn’t look like
nothing
.” He stepped forward and lifted his hand, as if to reach for your cheek, but you flinched a little. He quickly pulled back. “Who did that to you?” With that question your mind immediately darted to Rhett, when you’d dated him and he’d shown you how angry he could get. You hoped that fucker rotted in hell. “Who did that to you?” Nick repeated, sterner. The rage in him seemed to darken his eyes.

“
Nobody
. I’m fine.”

Nick studied your features, disbelief in his eyes. Suddenly, his expression went slack and you imagined he’d put two and two together.

Woof! Woof!

Nick’s brown gaze hitched to the little Yorkie jumping on two hind legs in front of him. He stared at the dog for a moment, appearing shocked, and then picked up Rat Dog with one large hand. Rat Dog began to whine uncontrollably, shaking his butt at turbo speed and stretching to lick Nick’s jaw with his tiny tongue.

“Joey? What the . . . ?”

“I found him yesterday,” you said, answering his unasked question. “He didn’t have a collar on. . . . He’s yours?”

“Yes . . . he is.” Nick set the white paper bag on the floor and held Joey up to his face with both hands, kissing his little furry head. Never in your life had you seen a grown man so affectionate and happy over such a cute, tiny dog, and it was . . . sweet.

“I can’t believe you found him. I mean, what are the odds? I put flyers up everywhere for my little guy. I was worried he’d get hit by a car or freeze to death because he’s so small. But all along, you had him. . . .”

He locked eyes with you and appeared to be at a sudden loss for words. Rather awkwardly, he plucked the white paper
bag off the floor and handed it to you. “I, um, brought you a bagel.”

You hid your excitement well. “A bagel.”

“And iced tea. It’s a peace offering. I came here to apologize to you.” The way he shifted on his feet came off as almost . . . nervous? “I was a real dick to you today. Moving here from LA, unpacking, and dealing with the paperwork for the center has been stressing me out. But that’s no excuse for the way I treated you. You impressed me today. And . . . I hope you’ll come back to the center. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

You acknowledged his apology but didn’t quite forgive him yet. “Toasted?”

“What?”

“The bagel. Is it toasted?”

“Oh. Yeah, it’s toasted.”

“And you got it from the place down the street?”

“Yes, that’s the one.” He scratched the back of his head, holding Rat Dog with his other large hand. “I couldn’t believe they were open this late. They didn’t have any plain bagels left . . . so I just ordered you what I got, an everything with vegetable cream cheese.”

Nick Bateman had gotten you your
favorite fucking bagel
. Honestly, that made you happier than a bouquet of flowers. If you weren’t so stubborn and prideful, you would have ditched your clothes and fallen to the ground with your legs wide-open for him, right then and there.

You peeked into the bag. “There’s two bagels in here.”

“Well, look at that.” He smirked that dazzling smirk, and his almond-shaped brown eyes narrowed. “It looks like you can have both of them . . . or . . .”

“Or . . . I could give one to Rat Dog,” you teased.

Rat Dog, who was curled up in Nick’s hands, looked over
his shoulder at you and licked the air. You locked eyes with Nick again and realized he’d been checking you out. The thick tension between the two of you was magnetic and dangerous and drew your eyes to parts of his body that you’d seen exposed in magazines. Letting Nick into your apartment would take a lot of trust on your part. Trust that you weren’t too sure he deserved yet. But your gut was telling you that Nick was a good guy. Deep, deep—like Grand Canyon deep—you felt something for him that was more than just attraction, and if you turned him down now, you would regret not hearing him out for the rest of your life.

“May I speak freely?” you asked softly, stepping to the side and swinging the door open wider for him to walk in. He towered over you and stopped when he was just past the door. He set Rat Dog down, and Rat Dog became uninterested in either of you and raced toward a pillow on the floor next to your bed.

“Of course,” Nick said.

“I still don’t like you. I just didn’t want to eat alone.”

“Translation: don’t try and get in my pants because I have pepper spray.” A smile twitched on his lips.

Your eyes went slightly wide. How the fuck did he know?

“I can see the outline of the bottle. And I understand. But I want you to know I’m not that type of guy.”

“Translation: I’m perfectly fine with your preferences, but that doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying. Or slap your ass with my bo staff to make you feel like a lesser person.”

He ran a hand over his jaw. “I can’t apologize enough for that.”

“It’s all right, I’ll just have to get you back.” Had you seriously just said that out loud?

Now he was chuckling. “You really are something else, you know that?” He pulled a chair out from your small kitchen table, spun it around, and straddled it. For the first time ever, you were
jealous of a chair. “It’s late. We’re just having a quick, friendly conversation. We’ll start off with that shiner on your face courtesy of Cesspool.”

He nodded to the chair next to him, and eventually you sat down and smacked the paper bag onto the table.
Busted.

“Why?” he asked when you didn’t say anything. “Why would you go and fight at
Cesspool
? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“I can handle myself. I’m one of the best fighters there—”

“Your injuries say otherwise. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“You just
met
me.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to care about your safety. I’ve heard some fucked-up stories about Cesspool.”

You couldn’t meet his eyes. “Listen, just because I’m a woman—”

“That has nothing to do with this. I trust you. I trust your skill and your capabilities, regardless of your gender, or I wouldn’t be here right now. I don’t trust the
scum
at Cesspool. I don’t want you in that ring because there’s a chance that some psychopath will go a little too far and kill you.”

Instantly, your mind went to Rhett. Then you thought of your father. Someone had gone too far and actually killed him.

“Well,” you say, “it’s a good thing this isn’t medieval times and you don’t own me. We live in a world where shit happens, Nick. People die in the most random and unexpected ways.”

“And people make stupid decisions when they don’t have anyone to remind them how important they are. Your life is important to me. It’s important to Max too.”

You stared at each other for a long time.

“What were
you
doing at Cesspool, anyway?” You pushed away from the kitchen table, found some aspirin over the sink, and searched the freezer for an icepack. Seconds later you swallowed a pill, downed half a glass of water, and held an icepack
against your cheek. “Trying to pick up one of the trashy girls that the fighters sometimes drag along with them?”

“I’d heard about the arena from a friend and wanted to check it out. I won’t be going again.”

You sat in one of your kitchen chairs, pulled out a bagel from the bag. “Can’t afford to lose any more money?”

“No, the smell was horrible,” he said, ignoring your bitterness. “I didn’t bet anything. I just observed.”

“I know,” you admitted. “I saw you.”

“You did?”

“Yep.”

“Well.” He took his bagel out of the white paper bag. “I’ve seen you fight, and you fight hard. That wasn’t
you
out there tonight.” His smile was slow, almost devilish, as he came to some realization. “Wait a minute. . . . I fucked up your mojo tonight, didn’t I? I was probably the last person you wanted to see. . . .”

“Still are.”

He leaned forward on the table and lowered his voice. “That must be why you keep flirting with me.”

“You were doing so well.” You leaned toward him. “Then you got cocky. Aren’t you supposed to be winning me back for the center, or something?”

He chuckled. “I feel like you’re fighting real hard not to like me.”

“Eat your bagel.”

Nick blew out a frustrated breath and leaned back in his seat. You mimicked his position, too irritated to eat. From an outsider’s perspective, it appeared you were about to make a business deal. “All right, what’s it going to take?” Nick asked.

“What’s what going to take?”

“What’s it going to take to get you to come back? I need someone like you at the center. You’re passionate, tough, and you
tell it how it is.” He raked a hand through his hair. “This whole situation is making me feel like shit. I know I really hurt your feelings. I’m sorry, I really am.”

You sipped your iced tea, wondering why you had ever been nervous in front of this man to begin with. The ball was in your court. He wanted
you
back. And it was starting to be clear that he cared about your opinion of him. If anything,
he
should have been nervous. He
needed
you. And you didn’t want to be the shy girl who let men—like Nick—push you around. Deep down, you knew you got a little more nervous around men than most women did because of Rhett and the way he treated you during your relationship. You couldn’t let that fear define you as a person and suppress your true self. Rhett was the past. Right now, in the present, it was time to show Nick who was really in charge.

“I want a rematch,” you finally said. “And this time, you have to be blindfolded. I also get to chain you to the ceiling like a piñata and whack at your dick with a bo staff.” You started to laugh loudly.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. Silence. Your expression remained calm, but your heart was smashing into your ribs. You couldn’t believe your own boldness, but it was too late to stop now.