KAGE (KAGE Trilogy #1) (6 page)

As I watched, the guy slipped his t-shirt off and slung it over the arm of the machine. Then he began to crunch his very tight, very prominent abdominals, keeping his eyes trained on his six-pack as if to visually confirm that the muscles were engaging. When I realized I was studying his muscles just as intently as he was, I looked away and reminded myself to resume my own exercises.

I could tell a difference in my own appearance during the off season. I kept myself in shape, which was easy considering my natural tendency toward a long, lean muscularity. Baseball, basketball, and football had all been important to me in high school. I’d juggled all three sports until my junior year when it got too much for me. Carrying a full load of Advanced Placement classes and trying to play every sport they offered began to feel like a slow suicide, so I reluctantly dropped baseball. By college, football had fallen by the wayside as well, mainly because I had little chance of doing anything at a big university other than riding the bench.

The decision had also been affected by my desire to focus on preparing myself for a successful career, and also by my secret fear that I couldn’t hang with college-level athletes in such a physically demanding sport. My parents seemed relieved when I announced my plans to drop football. I think we all breathed a little easier knowing I wasn’t going to have to compete with guys who would probably stomp me in the dirt. I did still play basketball, though I often considered retiring that jersey, as well.

Quitting ball wouldn’t be so bad. I could always stay in shape by frequenting the gym, just like the guy I was currently watching work his abs. I mean, he was no Michael Kage, but he looked good.

Dammit, now I was thinking of that stupid fighter again. It felt like he’d appeared in my life for the sole purpose of making me feel like shit in comparison. I had looked at his pictures on my cell phone until I was sick to death of seeing him. Especially the ones where I was in the frame with him.

I wondered what his abs looked like under the dress shirt he’d been wearing at the event. No doubt amazing. Some guys had all the luck. Sure, Kage worked his ass off for that body, but the face… he was born with that. Ever since I’d met him I’d been preoccupied with the idea of getting in better shape, but I knew no matter how hard I tried, I’d never be able to attain his level of attractiveness. I wondered if he’d found me attractive, or if maybe he looked at mere mortals like me and felt pity.

And now my girl just dumped me. Can I get any more pathetic?

I hopped up from the weight machine in the middle of a rep, quickly sprayed and wiped the seat and handles, and hurried down the long corridor to the back of the gym. I grabbed one of the white towels off the cart just outside the door to the shower room and went inside.

Leaning over the bench that ran beneath the wall of tall gym lockers, I propped a foot up on it and unlaced one of my sneakers. That’s when the guy from the ab machine rounded the corner, a towel slung over his shoulder along with his shirt. When he saw me, he stuttered to a halt at a locker near the door and began to remove his own expensive shoes, not bothering to untie the laces. I was careful not to look in his direction, but at one point, as I pulled my t-shirt over my head and slung it into the locker, my eyes accidentally found him anyway. To my surprise, he was looking right at me.

He smiled tentatively, and I glanced away like I’d just been caught peeping through the keyhole of a brothel bedroom.
Shit
. I was usually very careful to not look at other guys in locker rooms, but I wasn’t exactly my usual self that night. I swallowed hard and worked my sweaty shorts and boxer briefs down my legs and wrapped the rough towel around my hips. Then I headed for the showers at the back of the room.

Even though we were alone in the locker room, the guy entered the shower stall right next to mine. I could see his head and shoulders out of the corner of my eye the whole time I was bathing, and I knew he could see me, too. It was awkward as hell, and I found myself wondering why I was in this predicament anyway. Had he purposely followed me into the locker room? Why was I here, anyway? Normally I just drove straight home and showered.

“You need some shower gel?” the guy asked from the other side of the low wall.

“Huh?” I was startled enough to almost lose my footing.

“Shower gel,” he repeated. “I noticed you didn’t have any. Would you like to use some of mine?” He held up a black bottle of shower gel, sans top. “You can use it for your hair, too.”

“Uh, sure… I guess,” I stammered, reaching for the bottle. As I poured a dollop into my cupped palm, I read the label aloud. “
Tom Ford
. I thought he only made clothes.”

The guy shrugged, took the bottle back from me. “What’s your name?” he asked.

I felt my eyes widen, and I looked at him like he’d just asked for my social security number. “Um…”

“Never mind,” he blurted. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“No, I do. I want to.” I lathered my body quickly as I spoke, without regard for accuracy of coverage. “It’s Jamie. My name’s Jamie Atwood. Can I get another squirt of that soap?” I smiled, trying to warm up and relax.

He spilled some out into my palm, and I rubbed it into my hair. After I’d finished rinsing my hair under the faucet and wiping soap from my eyes, I said, “You know my name. What’s yours?”

“Cameron Walsh,” he answered.

He wasn’t creepy, wasn’t trying to look over the wall or anything, but his eyes never left mine. It felt strange and oddly exhilarating as we held gazes for what seemed like minutes, both searching for something else to say and coming up blank. When it got a little too intense, I was the one to break the stare, glancing down and watching the last tiny bubbles of Cameron’s shower gel gathering at the edge of the drain before being sucked down.

“Well, I guess I’m gonna get out of here.” Cameron finally found his voice, and I was relieved. Relieved that I hadn’t had to speak first, and relieved that he was leaving. Better not to find out just how strange a gym shower conversation could get.

I felt like I’d just been hit on. Hell, I knew I had. It wasn’t the first time a guy had ever shown interest in me, and I’d never gotten up in arms about it. I just considered it a fact of life. But this one had seemed different— bolder.

Not tonight, buddy. Not ever.

I pretended to shower until Cameron had left the locker room. Then I got dressed and headed out to my car. Instead of going straight home like I normally did, I took a detour and drove straight to the local pick-up bar, The Collegiate. It was where all of the single guys on the basketball team hung out, and I figured since I was now a single basketball player, that was where I belonged. Besides, a guy was almost guaranteed to find something he could take home in there.

Since fate seemed to be kicking me in the ass that day, I was only slightly surprised to discover Layla and her new boy toy cozied up together at a back table in The Collegiate. It made me angry for more reasons than one, but mainly because Layla deserved to be taken somewhere better than this shit hole for a first date. But she also deserved better than me, so who was I to talk? I hadn’t even been able to muster enough interest to ask her not to break up with me.

At that point, my appetite was gone. And I don’t mean my appetite for food. I sat down at the bar and ordered one of the fifty-cent well drinks the club used to get the girls compliant, which in turn brought the guys through the front door every night.

One girl after another sat next to me to order their drinks, but I never even cast a full glance at any of them. They never stayed more than a couple of minutes, either— probably because of the arctic chill emanating off of me. Just after I got my second Screwdriver, Matt slipped onto the stool beside me.

“Hey, man,” he said. “You okay?”

“Not really,” I grated.

He rested his forearms on the bar. “Look, we never went out while you two were together. I just want you to know that, okay? I didn’t steal her from you. She said you two just grew apart.”

I finally turned to look at him. “It’s not even that. So we grew apart. Fine, I accept that, and she and I are still friends. But dude… what are you thinking bringing her to a place like this on your first date? She’s not some piece of meat. She’s a great girl, and she deserves better than this. Why don’t you pretend you’ve got some fucking class and take her out to a nice restaurant?”

My response was not the one he was expecting. He floundered, obviously wanting to say something though his mouth wasn’t producing words.

“That’s what I thought.” I swallowed the last half of my drink in two large gulps and set my glass back on the bar. “You don’t even know this is wrong, do you?” I slid off my stool and left the bar, sparing a glance at Layla on my way out. She looked appropriately uncomfortable, and I just felt really, really bad for her. Jesus, I hoped she would find someone better than that asshole. And someone better than me.

4

M
Y CELL phone rang just after noon the next day. I rolled over and squinted against the light filtering through the blinds, opening and closing my mouth in a futile attempt to smack away the horrific case of cotton mouth I had. I found my phone on the floor beside the bed, nearly dead, and flipped it over to see who was disturbing my coma.

Dr. Washburn?

I answered hesitantly, wondering what he could possibly want. It was almost like getting a midnight call from the hospital or the police station.

“Jamie, hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time,” he said.

“No, Doc,” I groaned. “What’s up?”

“Something quite interesting happened this morning. I got a phone call from Las Vegas concerning you. Do you have anything you’d like to tell me?”

I wracked my brain, trying to come up with any possible reason Vegas would be calling. I’d stopped off at a convenience store on my way home the night before and picked up a case of beer, then gotten exceedingly wasted. In fact, my head felt like a subway accident, and my mouth tasted like I’d sheered a sheep with my teeth. But I was fairly certain I hadn’t gone to Vegas.

Still, I could play along.

“Who called? Was it the mob looking for the money I won counting cards, or the transvestite hooker I married in the Elvis chapel? Because I swear I thought she was eighteen.”

“I’m sure you did.” Dr. Washburn chuckled. “But in all seriousness, some big shot from Vegas called and requested you for an internship.”

That woke me up. “What? Why me? Do juniors usually do internships?”

“Well, technically you’re a senior now,” he pointed out. “But no, normally people take internships after graduation. However, this would only be a summer position. Summer break is sixteen weeks, so you would be in Vegas for roughly fourteen weeks. A hell of an opportunity to get some experience without interfering with school. That is, if you’re willing to give up your summer vacation.”

I laughed, wincing at the pain in my head. “Sounds like you’re pretty excited about it.”

“Of course I am. I’m always thrilled when my students show initiative. I just wish you’d told me you were applying so I wouldn’t have been blindsided. I’m afraid I was a bit clueless when the man called, but I think I recovered nicely.”

I was shaking my head as if Dr. Washburn could see me through the phone. “I didn’t apply to anything, Doc. This is just as much of a surprise to me as it is to you. More in fact, because you got the call first. I’m finding out from you. How the heck did they get my name?”

“I was told you had been recruited at the MMA event you attended several weeks ago. You must have talked to someone or done something, Jamie. They requested you specifically.”

My head was spinning. Immediately, my memory was assaulted by the image of Michael Kage winking at me as he took off behind his goons to catch a plane.

Catch you on the flip side.

And I’d bet money that plane was headed to Las Vegas.

“Wow.” I said. No other words would come to me.

“Does something ring a bell now? You weren’t drinking at that event, were you? It’s strictly forbidden.”

“No, of course not. But I never officially put in for a job. I think I would have remembered that.”

“Well, you must have some idea how this came about.”

“Hmmm, let me take a stab in the dark, and you tell me if I’m warm. I’m going to be interning as a publicist for an MMA fighter named Michael Kage. Am I right?” My heart rate picked up at the mere thought of it. Could there possibly be a sweeter gig on earth? Forget all that moping and moaning I’d done in my mind about him being sent to make me feel like shit. The truth was, I would have killed to intern for him.