Take Me On (12 page)

West

“Why are we sitting here?” Haley slams her lunch tray on the table and sinks into the chair across from me. Still pissed at our show of hand-holding during science, she stabs her fork into the chicken patty. I chuckle. I don’t need much of an imagination to guess what part of my anatomy she’d like to stick that fork into.

“Consider it a continuation of my science experiment.” I chose a solo table in the back for the two of us under the half-broken florescent light. It could be romantic, if I did romantic and we were an actual couple.

“By baiting the tiger? Really, West? Why don’t you pull out fresh meat, smack Matt on the nose a few times, then open the door to his cage? It’s like you want to cause problems.”

“Are we having our first fight as a couple?”

Her mouth twitches. “Yes.”

“Do you still have feelings for him?” I hold my breath while she answers, but try to act like I don’t care. Which I shouldn’t. We’re only faking a relationship.

“No,” she answers immediately. “Matt and I have history. I was young and stupid and now we have history. History that will never, ever be repeated.”

Satisfied, I settle into my seat. “Then why do you care if I bait him?”

“Because I like you enough that it would suck if you died.”

“I can take Matt.”

No response from Haley and I push down the urge to rattle her. What do I have to do to prove I’m capable?

I shove a forkful of corn into my mouth. Haley plays with hers and I can tell her mind is a million miles away. This morning, Jessica easily dismissed her and what has also been a shock is the way guys walk by her without noticing her existence. Haley’s gorgeous with all that sandy-brown hair and dark eyes that promise long nights full of kisses and laughter.

Maybe that’s what happens if you go to school with someone since birth and you only recognize them by their label. How many girls have I wrongfully overlooked at my old school?

Haley’s eyes meet mine. She slowly glances over her shoulder, then back at me. “What?”

“What what?”

She kicks my shin underneath the table and I laugh as I shake off the sting. “You’re hot and I like looking.”

Haley turns an adorable shade of red and she traces a make-believe line in her corn. Thinking of how Rachel hates to be embarrassed, I offer Haley an out. “What type of tournament am I facing? Knife throwing? Quilt making? Dueling pistols at sunrise?”

“Mixed martial arts.”

I scratch my chin. Now I understand why Haley didn’t want to discuss this in front of anyone else. If I had been thinking straight, I would have forced her to eat lunch at a separate table days ago, but my head’s been jacked up as I contemplated my own problem: the forecasted temperature plummet tonight.

I had hoped for boxing, but I had doubts it would be that easy. Not that boxing is easy, but MMA is a whole other animal. It’s the best of the best. The ultimate badass contest. It’s not just discovering who is the better man in boxing, but who’s the better man in boxing, jujitsu, Muay Thai, grappling and whatever the hell else combat fighting thrown in for good measure.

“Cage and all?” I ask.

“Cage and all,” she echoes. After a second, she peers at me from under those long dark eyelashes. Does she curl them or do they naturally have that sexy wave? “You don’t have to do this. You could transfer to another school.”

“How?” I snap. “My dad threw me out. I doubt he’d sign the transfer papers.”

Haley’s face falls and she drops her fork onto her plate. “That was awful of me to say—”

“Stop. I didn’t mean it that way.” I didn’t mean to upset her.

“If being stuck at this school is the reason why you’re taking this on, then I’ll figure out another way to fix this. Give me the weekend, I’ll think of something—”

“Haley, I’m in this and it’s not because I’m stuck at Eastwick.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but I cut her off. “I’m in this.”

“You never listen to reason, do you?”

“I listen to any reasoning that makes sense and yours doesn’t.”

“Impossible,” she mutters. After several beats she continues, “My grandfather owns a small gym in the industrial park. He’s given me permission to train you there. I get off at eight tonight, so I thought we could meet up at nine.”

Wow. Lots of things going on in that statement. I fork my own patty, then cut it up into pieces. “Where do you work?”

“I’m a waitress at Romeo’s Pizza. Sorry. I should have asked about your work schedule.”

“It’s all right. I didn’t have one until Tuesday.” Benefit of being a trust fund baby—work was optional. Funny, I thought of college, but I had never thought of supporting myself.

“Oh.” She lowers her gaze. Regret heats my neck. I bet every guy she knows has had a job since they were sixteen. In her eyes, that makes me the unemployed loser who lives in his mom’s basement and bums rides off friends. Worse, she’s aware I don’t have a basement to live in. And here I thought Dad was the only one I unimpressed.

“My hours are after school and flexible.” At least that’s what Denny said. “How do you get around?” That’s called changing the subject.

“City bus.” Haley’s voice becomes muffled as she talks into her cup before she drinks.

City bus. Something clicks and I edge my tray away. I’ve got half a tank left in my car and the remaining cash I have, I need for food. I get paid next week, but I won’t be breaking bank. Now Haley’s supposed to be training me and I don’t have money for the gym or the equipment. My fist clenches and this overwhelming urge to hit something—someone, anything—rages through my veins.

A hand folds over mine and my eyes jerk to Haley’s.

“You okay?” she asks.

“Yeah.” I suck in a breath. “No. I’m fucked.”

“Are you running out of places to stay?”

I nod, unable to admit I lied to her earlier in the week about where I’ve been sleeping.

“There are shelters.” Her voice cracks. “But they’re downtown. The bus routes to there are a little...dangerous. If you drove, your car would be jacked in minutes.”

I figured. “How are they? The shelters?” Hell. She’s never told me she’s stayed in them. I’m tipping information from Jessica.

We stare at each other for seconds, longer. Her face is blank, but her eyes are moving. She’s thinking. Haley is always thinking and, like I did before, I offer the out. “If you let me pick you up, then we could reach the gym by eight-thirty.”

It’d be worth the last bit of gas I have to end a conversation I never should have started.

She memorizes her plate as she eats and contemplates my last statement. Who knows—maybe she’s still pondering the shelters. I’ve noticed this about Haley over the past couple of days—someone asks her a question and instead of immediately answering, she mulls it over. Possibly two minutes pass and I have a hunch she’s an overanalyzer.

“It’s a car ride, Haley. Not an invitation to stay over after we have sex.”

She chokes on her chicken patty and downs her water. “We are not having sex.”

“We could,” I say, then grin at her.

She coughs into her hand and I laugh. I laugh harder when her foot connects with my leg.

“What do you say?” I lean back and rest my arm on the back of the chair next to me. “Eight-thirty or nine?”

She sighs as if this is a huge concession. “Eight-thirty.”

“You don’t like it, do you?”

“What?”

“Accepting help.”

The fork impales the chicken again. “You honestly make it impossible to like you.”

The bell rings and I catch Haley’s tray before she has a chance to lift it. “But you do.”

A tiny smile forms and she quickly hides it.

“And after today’s conversation you’ll also be thinking about the two of us in bed.”

She straightens. “That is not going to happen.”

“The daydreaming?”

“Yes!”

“Then you’re good on the actual sex?”

A fire ignites in her eyes. “I could drop-kick you now.”

I bite back any response because the truth is, even with me being heavier in muscle and several inches taller than her, the aftermath of Conner says she could. On occasion, even I know when to stop, but damn, teasing her is fun.

Haley pauses beside me as I dump the trash and deposit the tray. In classic pissed-off girl stance, she folds her arms over her chest and pouts that beautiful bottom lip.

I should tell her I’m sorry and that I’m a jerk. That’s what boyfriends do, but I’ve never been boyfriend material and Haley and I aren’t actually dating. I give into the temptation and rub her silky hair between my thumb and forefinger.

She stares up at me with those hypnotic eyes. There’s an attraction she can try to deny, but it won’t make the tension crackling between us any less true. I would easily renounce my trust fund to fist my hand in her hair and kiss those perfect lips. God, this girl turns me on.

Knowing there are teachers and principals and students waiting for me to screw it up and kiss her in public, I flick her hair over her shoulder and run my hand down her arm. “That’s all right. You don’t have to think about it, but I’ll dream about it for the both of us.”

Haley

My grandfather thinks he’s being crafty, but the old man is obvious. Paperwork at nine at night on a Friday? He barely tolerates paperwork during the day. John stays somewhat busy as he clicks buttons on a laptop, but every thirty seconds his eyes flash to me and West.

We walked in a few minutes ago and by the way West has spun his hat backward, I can tell he needs time to soak in his evening home for the next two months. Maybe now West will see how serious this is and he’ll learn how to back down from a fight.

I sidle closer to John’s office and when he does his next scan, I catch his eye. “Do you need something?”

His jaw clenches. “He’s cocky.”

I agree, but I’m not sure girlfriends are supposed to admit such things to their grandfathers because I should be so puppy and rainbows in love I wouldn’t notice. “I’m glad you can judge sound moral character in less than a minute.”

“The way he walks—he’s cocky.”

“Name one guy who trains here who isn’t.”

John looks past me to West. With a gym bag slung over his shoulder, West curls his fingers through the caged-in Octagon and grips the metal.

The ring engages his entire attention and it should. This isn’t a game or a television show where the good guy always wins. This is reality and the moment he steps into that cage with someone waiting for him on the other side, he can die. I hope I’ll never see his blood on the caged-in floor.

“Welterweight?” John asks.

West still hasn’t moved and there’s tons I need to explain to him. “That’s my guess. I’ll find out when I weigh him.”

“He doesn’t look big enough for a middleweight, even if he gained muscle.”

I know and I rest my temple against the doorframe. Both Conner and Matt are welterweights, meaning they weigh 170 pounds or less. Part of me is pinning my hopes that West greatly exceeds weight and can’t fight them, but even if he did they’d get a middleweight fighter from Black Fire to take their place. I’m not sure I can train West in enough time to defend himself in the welterweight division, much less middleweight.

“He’ll have to cut before he fights,” John says.

“Yeah,” I answer absently. Cutting weight before a fight is rough, necessary at times, but rough. John relaxes back in his seat and appraises me. For once every muscle isn’t tight, preparing to strangle me for my past decisions. Somehow, despite the fact he hates me, the two of us have fallen into an easy conversation.

I miss easy. I miss John. “Matt and I didn’t end well.”

John’s gray eyes shoot to mine and I immediately regret the slip. I’ve never said anything like that to anyone. I’ve never even hinted at it, but somehow being at the only place that has felt like home in months has broken through a wall that shouldn’t be breached.

“Kaden and Jax...they came to me...” His pauses are so awkward that the contents of my stomach swirl like a whirlpool. “They were concerned...but you wouldn’t talk—”

“Can you register West for the fight? The one in two months?” I made a mistake by speaking the words aloud and now John’s too near a subject that causes absolute panic.

“Haley—”

“I just need you to register him.” My chest constricts and my throat swells. “Please.”

He sighs, then flicks a pen across the desk. “Jax said your new boyfriend has a problem with Matt. Is that the reason for this? Are you training him so they can take out their differences in the cage?”

That sounded pathetic out loud, but it’s better than the previous conversation. “West and Conner have issues.” John’s been around Black Fire fighters long enough to understand that means West has a problem with that entire gym, Matt included.

He gestures with his chin toward West. “Should I be worried about you and him?”

“He’s harmless.”

“You said the other one was harmless, too.”

It would have been less painful if John had taken a railroad spike and driven it into my skull. I do only what I can do: change the subject. “Take West on. You can train him a million times better than I can.”

“You know the old saying about teaching a man how to fish?”

That he can feed himself. “Yeah.”

He motions with his hand that I have my answer, but I don’t. Instead I have a raised brow. Maybe Grandpa’s drinking again. “Does that mean you’re training him?”

“It means if you agree to spar, like we negotiated earlier, then I’ll help you train him.”

Whaaaat? “But if you train him, he can fight all the fish he wants.” Or something like that.

John scratches the back of his head. “Hays, I need you to learn how to fight.”

“I know how to fight.” Each word comes out slowly, as if I don’t believe it myself.

“No, you don’t.”

I want to ask him what he means—what he’s hoping for—but there are things so dark and dirty and hopeless inside me that I’d prefer everyone, like me, continue to ignore they exist.

“The fight,” I say. “Will you register him?”

“Is he eighteen?” John asks. “If not, no. Even better, if he’s a minor, I want his parents’ permission to be standing in my gym and if he’s eighteen, then he’s got a shitload of forms to fill out. I’m not looking for anyone to sue my ass when he dies.”

I roll my eyes at his last statement if only because he’s putting my worst fear for West into words. “West! Are you eighteen?”

Say no. Say no. Say no. Legal age to fight MMA in Kentucky is eighteen.

“You don’t know your boyfriend’s age?” asks John. I ignore him because...well...really? If West and I were a for real couple, his birthday would be hearted in red on my calendar. Okay, maybe not my style, but still...

From across the room, West nods and I mumble, “Damn.” So much for an easy way out. West struts in my direction and I push off the wall. If John isn’t training him, then I’d like to permanently avoid introductions.

“Will you do it?” I ask John as I back away. “Will you register him?”

“If he’s got the money for the fees, then I’ll get him in.” He holds his fingers up in the air and rubs them together. “And for that you stay in my gym until the end of summer.”

My hands slam onto my hips. “Summer?”

“Take it or leave it.” John focuses on the computer again.

“Fine.” I’ve become an indentured servant teaching myself how to fish in the desert without a net or a pole.

The word
fees
eventually sinks in, and, as I stroll up next to West, I say, “I hope you make good money.”