Love On The Ropes (Ringside Romance) (5 page)

Hell, in a single day J had gotten
into a brawl with Floyd, was dangerously close to blowing his cover, and would
be locked up with the drunks. Why did he join the DEA again? Oh yeah, to put
away the bad guys.

Sandy eyed Missy. “You didn’t have
to call the police. Everything’s fine. It was a misunderstanding.”

“I saw it all! The Stripper tried
to kill Floyd.”

“If I’d wanted to kill him, he
wouldn’t be talking right now.” Damn, how did that slip out?

“But you didn’t want to kill him,
right, Stripper?” Sandy spoke up. “And now you’ve apologized. What do you
think, Floyd? Can you give him another chance?”

“Don’t you dare,” Missy warned.

Sandy knew Floyd hated
confrontation and would love nothing more than to accept The Stripper’s apology
and move on. But at this moment his pride was on the line. She needed to act
fast.

“Ya know…” She ambled to the sinks
and rinsed her hands. “When Pops was laid up with cancer he used to tell
stories about the old days—stories about the new guys when they joined his
promotion.” She eyed Floyd through the mirror. “I’ll never forget the story
about Floyd when he first joined the promotion. He didn’t know where to go for
his list of moves or how to warm up for a match. But Pops helped you, didn’t
he?”

Floyd nodded.

“You were green and naïve, kind of
like The Stripper.” She ignored the fire in J’s eyes. For some reason he hated
the stage name, but she was trying to save his butt, and calling him by his
moniker reminded Floyd that this was show business. “The Stripper doesn’t know
much about pro wrestling other than, thanks to his magnificent body, he’ll get
a paycheck. A paycheck he needs to support his sister. The Stripper could use
your help, Floyd. He’s a little green, kinda like you were fifteen years ago.”

The room fell silent. She’d been
green, too, like the rest of them. Sometimes she wished she could go back,
become innocent again, maybe even regain her optimism about the future. But futures
were short in this business, even for those who didn’t abuse drugs.

“I’ll help,” said a voice from
behind Floyd.

Rey Risque stepped in front of
Floyd and extended his hand to The Stripper. The Stripper didn’t move at first.
She glared at him.
Take it! This is the opening you need
.

The Stripper finally shook the
guy’s hand, a comical sight since Rey was a little dude, barely five feet two.
He was an acrobatic wrestler, and the crowd loved him.

“Welcome,” Rey said.

“Thanks, man.”

He glanced at her and Sandy read
appreciation in The Stripper’s eyes. So, the man did have a congenial side. Not
bad. His eyes even warmed to a lovely shade of blue-green.

One by one, the boys stepped up to
The Stripper and shook his hand. They joked about him not bringing ladies’
footwear into the ring or strangling them with his thong. He recoiled at that
one, but then stood firm, shaking hands and even smiling.

Whoo-hoo! There was hope for him
yet. Hope for this creature that she suspected was a lost soul.

“I’m not forgiving you, ever!”
Missy cried, and stormed out of the locker room.

“Missy, wait!” Floyd called after
her. With a sigh, he took a few steps toward The Stripper and extended his
hand.

“Sorry about tackling you,” The
Stripper said.

“I’m sorry about your head. You
okay?”

“I’ll live.”

Sandy noticed a perverse sense of
satisfaction in Floyd’s expression. Fine, let him think he’d gotten the better
of his adversary. That would satisfy his ego and give The Stripper some
breathing room.

Cosmo ambled in as Floyd was
heading out after Missy. “He’s okay, Cosmo,” Floyd said nodding at The Stripper,
then glancing at Sandy. “See you guys Thursday in Tacoma.”

“Well, that worked out, didn’t it,
son—I mean kid.” Cosmo shook The Stripper’s hand.

Sandy slung her backpack over her
shoulder. Mission accomplished. “You guys need anything before I take off?” she
asked. No one spoke up, so she started for the door.

“I need something.” The Stripper’s
deep voice stopped her in mid-step. She turned around.

“I need your phone number,” he
said.

The room grew oddly silent. The
guys knew the rules: they benefited from her skilled fingers, massage techniques
and the first-aid experience she’d gained from patching up Pops, Duke and Curt.
Other than that, she was off-limits.

“No can do, Stripper. Later.” She
breezed out of the room and down the hallway.

No, Sandy didn’t give out her
phone number to anyone in the wrestling world. He had no way of knowing that,
of course. He had no way of knowing that, or the fact she’d never, under any
circumstances, give that guy her number. Why? She wouldn’t give Jason aka “The
Stripper” her phone number because she’d be way too tempted to invite him over
for a game of strip poker.

As she headed for the parking lot
she admitted to herself that he fascinated her, from his hardened attitude to
his expressive eyes. She hadn’t felt this kind of attraction since Cody seduced
her last year—seduced her, used her and left to become a movie star.

After that betrayal, she’d vowed
that no man would hurt her again, especially not another brainless wrestler who
abused his body for fame.
Sorry, Pops, that’s how I feel.
But Pops
didn’t see things the same way. He thought of the boys as talented athletes
devoted to the world of pro wrestling. Sandy saw them as broken men risking
their lives for notoriety.

Yet her heart went out to them.
She was a healer, after all.

At any rate, no one in the
wrestling world knew her address or home phone number, not even Cosmo. He had
her cell number, but she didn’t want any part of the wrestling business when
she was off duty. Except for her biweekly visits to Pops’ place, she preferred
not to think about work. Instead, she looked forward to hanging out with her
calico, Madame Bovary, who purred in her lap as Sandy beaded jewelry for her
nieces.

She worked hard to keep the boys
from seeing her as an attractive female. She was one of the guys, only better:
she could actually heal them instead of beating them up.

As a kid she’d loved hanging out
at wrestling shows. She was a behind-the-scenes girl, a sidekick to big
brothers Duke and Curt. She had no desire to get into the ring and pretend to
be something she wasn’t, yet she could use her talent to help the boys be a
little more comfortable while they were killing themselves. It was the right
thing to do and it should made Pops proud.

* * *

Three days later, sitting in his
rented Chevy outside the arena in Tacoma, Washington, Jason mentally prepared
for the show. Not that he was scheduled to go into the ring tonight, thank God.

He rubbed a scrap of paper between
his forefinger and thumb. He’d gotten Sandy’s home phone number from his buddy,
Totem, and planned to call and thank her for helping with Floyd. But instinct
warned him the girl needed her anonymity and her space. He’d heard about her
broken heart thanks to some asshole named Cody Monroe. J sensed that once she left
a stadium or the BAM office she was someone else, someone not related in any
way, shape or form to pro wrestling.

He sympathized.

Sometimes he didn’t know who the
hell he was: drug dealer, DEA agent, stripping pro wrestler or failed son.
Failed son?
Whoa, brother
.

He’d been stalling outside the
stadium. He wasn’t nervous. It wasn’t like they were putting him in the ring
any time soon. A part of him dreaded that day. But for now he was still on
reserve, waiting in the wings for an opening.

He shoved the slip of paper with
Sandy’s number into his leather jacket and headed for the locker room. It would
probably be a boring night, sitting around watching the wrestlers cheered on by
groupies. The guys loved it. Who wouldn’t?

Jason, that’s who. There was a lot
more to this man than six-pack abs. There was the stuff inside, the stuff that
kept him awake at night: his fears, his dreams. Things he shared with no one.

And right now his dream was to
nail whoever was trafficking steroids at BAM, if that person even existed.
Leave it to Meek to send him on a wild goose chase, making him suffer in show
business hell.

Then J remembered Totem’s warning
about something bigger going down at BAM. Was it possible? Maybe. But whether this
case was about peddling steroids or something else, Jason would nail the
bastards.

First, he’d get a hold of a few of
the guys’ cell phones so he could run contact numbers through a database of
known felons. He could do that after they emptied out the locker room for the
show.

J finally got out of the car.
Following some of the roadies through the back door of the stadium, he bumped
into one of the female wrestlers.

“Hey, sorry,” he said.

“No problem.”

“Wait, aren’t you—”

“Catherine Zelinski. They call me
The Cat.”

Everyone knew Catherine Zelinski
from her very public screw-up with the secret service. Apparently Cosmo spared
no expense recruiting her for BAM. He was banking on her notoriety bringing in
the bucks. From government agent to pro wrestler.
You’d better watch it or
this is going to be you, McBain.

“Good to meet you.” He shook Cat’s
hand, trying to keep the pity from his expression. Then again, could she be working
undercover with a different law enforcement agency?  She could be the wildcard
Totem warned him about. Nah. Now he was getting paranoid.

Laughter from down the hall drew
his attention. “Sounds like a party.”

“Not exactly.”

Pity flashed across her light
brown eyes. “Nice meeting you.” Wrapping white tape around her palm, she walked
away.

Howls of laughter echoed from a
dressing room. He followed the sound.

“Stop it, you guys. You’re being
jerks.”

It was Sandy’s voice. He’d
recognize it anywhere.

“Oh, shoot, girl. This is
hilarious,” a man said.

“It is not,” she protested.

“I’ve never seen anything like ...
that!” A man burst out laughing.

“It’s awful. Stop it,” Sandy
protested.

“I haven’t laughed this hard in
weeks!” a woman cried.

Good, J could use a good laugh. He
turned the corner and froze.

There, on the TV screen, was his
audition tape for BAM. Jason, with no stripping experience whatsoever, a man
who hated being exposed, out of control or vulnerable, was making an ass out of
himself for an audience of a dozen wrestlers crowding the locker room. He’d
made the tape for BAM’s official files in case investors started asking
questions. That son of a bitch Cosmo should have destroyed it.

“Uh-oh,” Rey Risque said.

Sandy stepped in front of the TV.
The room fell silent except for the faint music of “Sexy Man Moves.”

“Cosmo brought it down to show
us,” Rey said. “He thought you might need help with the, you know, dancing?”

A few of the guys snickered.

Jason could flatten them in two
seconds: unconscious, out cold. Why was he taking this abuse? Because he needed
to finish his assignment and move on to meth labs and drug trafficking in
schools. And he couldn’t move on until he’d finished here.

“It’s really not that bad,” Sandy
offered, punching the off button with her knuckle. “You seem a little ...” She
paused. “Stiff.”

Skipper McGee spit coffee across
the room in a fit of laughter.

“Shut up,” Sandy said. “I didn’t
mean it like that.”

Her eyes automatically went to J’s
crotch.

He would not get hard. He would
not get hard.

“I can’t deal with this.” He
walked into the hallway and leaned against the cement wall. Meek was getting
his revenge all right. This was humiliating as hell.

But he couldn’t let the jerk win.
He’d make something good come from this ridiculous assignment.

“Hey.”

He glanced down and there she was,
sweet Sandy, sympathy coloring her green eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he
said.

“I’m sorry, okay? Cosmo shouldn’t
have let the boys see that video.”

“Damn right.”

“That’s like showing someone’s
resume to the rest of the staff.”

“Yep.”

“It’s personal stuff.”

“Agreed.”

A few seconds passed.

“Cosmo thought maybe ...” She
hesitated, and her eyebrows curled into a frown.

“Maybe what?”

“That we could help.”

“What, you want to take off my
clothes for me in the ring?”

She glanced at her purple tennis
shoes, her face flushing bright red. He hadn’t expected that reaction. Was she
embarrassed? Or turned on?

Truth be told, his mind wandered off
a half dozen times since he met this spirited little thing, wandered right into
fantasies of her lying beneath him writhing and moaning, begging him to come inside
of her.

Hell, it had been way too long
since he’d gotten laid, but it sure as hell wasn’t happening with this mark. He
needed to keep his distance and his secrets. This sweet thing could peel away
his protective shield as easily as peeling skin off a banana.

“Hey, you two! Exactly the people
I have to see,” said Cosmo, shuffling up to them, hands in his trouser pockets.
“How’s it going?”

“Good,” Sandy said.

“Fine,” J added.

“Wonderful. Well, you ready, son—I
mean, Stripper?”

“Ready for what?”

“You’re going on in an hour. Glad
you got with Sandy to help you polish up your moves.”

His brain completely shut down. They
were expecting him to parade in front of thousands of people and strip?
Tonight?

“But I’m not on the card for a few
more weeks.”

“First rule of wrestling: the card
can change at any time. It’s going to be a great show,” Cosmo said. “And you’re
falling down for our West Coast champ. That is, after you take it all off for
the ladies.” He winked. “But don’t take it
all
off. We need to keep it
clean for the kids.”