I hate to admit it, but I miss him. It’s not that I miss the way he looks at me, with his head tilted and a smile tugging at his perfect mouth, a look that makes me feel like I’m being eaten alive… in a good way. And it’s not that I miss the way he swoops in when I need help. I just miss him.
“Stupid and pathetic,” I whisper to no one.
With a body like yours, no one cares that you’re stupid.
I slam my eyes shut. “Leave me alone.”
The room is quiet except for the sound of my deep breathing. The memory of Blake’s face in the back of the SUV, eyes blazing mad and his full lips locked in a hard line. I throw my forearm over my eyes.
Gee, can’t imagine why he’d be avoiding me after—oh! I jump at the sound of my phone vibrating on the faux-wood coffee table. Probably Elle texting to tell me not to wait up. Phone call from an unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Layla?” asks the perky, female caller.
“This is she.”
“It’s Raven, from Guy’s Garage… um, Raven Slade?”
“Oh, yeah. Hey, Raven.”
“Just calling to let you know your Bronco’s ready to be picked up.”
“Great. I thought it’d take forever to get the part you ordered.”
“Yeah, well, we would’ve had it to you sooner, but Blake insisted we check everything.”
I sit up straight at the mention of Blake’s name.
“He also made sure the crew down here knew it was a priority. Listen, it didn’t start because the fuel injector was thrashed. We replaced that, along with your timing belts. We checked the tires. They look pretty good, but I went ahead and rotated them. You’ve probably got a few thousand more miles before you need a new set. We changed your oil, air filter, and oil filter. I checked the battery. It could stand to be replaced, so I went ahead and did that. Oh, and your back left brake light was out. Threw in a new one.”
My mouth is hanging wide open, and I’m staring at nothing across the room.
“Layla? You there?”
“Uh…” Well, shit. I’m sure Blake thought he was doing me a favor, but there’s no way I can pay for all that, and it’s not like she can reverse the work she’s done. “I uh… don’t know what to say.”
“How about say that you’ll be here in ten to pick it up?”
“Sure. Yeah. Ten.”
“Great. See ya soon.”
The call ends, but I remain stuck in place on my couch, the phone to my ear. I contemplate calling Blake and asking him what I should do. He did say I wouldn’t have to pay for the use of a rental, which makes walking in there with not enough money even more of an insult. Besides, if his behavior over the last week is any indication, he probably won’t answer my call.
Out of options, I push off the couch and grab the Camaro keys. With less than a hundred bucks to last me until payday and zero available on my credit card, I’m going to have to beg for them to let me make payments. So humiliating.
~*~
“You look like what’s-her-face.” The silver-haired man who introduced himself as Guy of Guy’s Garage snaps his fingers, his bright blue eyes on me. “She’s the little one. On that show Nashville.” His hands brace the countertop, and he drops his head. “What in the hell is that little girl’s name?”
Raven shakes her head and rolls her striking blue-green eyes. “Don’t mind him. He could be here for hours trying to figure it out.”
“Come on, Ray. You know who I’m talking about, right? She’s got a man’s name… Harlen, er, Haman, Hayden!” He shoves his big, oil-caked finger, into my face. “Hayden Panteen-tiere or some French shit. You’re tiny, just like her.”
The smile I’d been trying to hide breaks free. “Thank you. I’ve never been compared to her before, but I’ll take it.”
“Hot damn, girl. You’re her with brown eyes.” His gruff compliment warms my cheeks.
Raven shakes her head, directing a warm smile to the older man. “You need to lay off the nighttime drama and try some documentaries or something.”
He slams his hands on the counter, making me jump. “Tell me you don’t see it, Ray.”
She squints and studies my face. “I guess. I mean, she’s tiny and blonde.”
“Ha. See, I was right.”
She hooks her arm in mine. “Let’s get you to your truck. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than talk crappy TV with Guy.”
Yeah, I wish. Sad thing is, that’s the most fun I’ve had since… Nope. Not thinking about him.
She leads me out of the small office, a little bell above the door jingling as we pass through. “Nice meeting you, Guy.” I wave to him over my shoulder.
“Hey, can you speak with a southern accent?” He tosses his question across the room and out the open door.
I shake my head and laugh along with Raven as the door closes behind us.
The bright afternoon sun hits my eyes, and I squint into the parking lot. Shining and looking better than it did when I got it, which isn’t hard to do, sits the Bronco.
“Raven, wow. It looks like a different car.”
She shrugs and looks away. “Yeah well, we had it detailed and waxed for you.”
Oh, for crying out loud. Another thing to add to my list of IOU’s. “I’m sorry, but… look, I appreciate all the work you’ve done, but I can’t afford any of this. I realize this is what you do, and you were trying to hook me up, but.” I shake my head. “Is there a payment plan I could get on, or maybe—”
“It’s been taken care of.”
My eyes dart to the Bronco and back to Raven. That had to have cost a fortune. “By who?” I ask, but something tells me I already know.
“Blake. He insisted we get it in tip-top shape, no matter the cost.” Her smile is warm and a little too knowing.
I pull at the ends of my hair and flip them around my finger. “You’re not kidding.”
She shakes her head, the knowing grin getting even bigger. “No. I’m dead serious.”
“Why would he do that?” Granted, he must have agreed to this before he started avoiding me, but that makes all this even more ridiculous. Who takes care of the repair costs for a woman he doesn’t even know, or speak to?
A quick laugh bursts from her mouth. “I was just as shocked as you are, trust me.”
“Blake doesn’t strike me as a philanthropist.”
Her expression turns thoughtful. “Not usually. But, I think if you got to know him, he’d surprise you.”
Hard to get to know someone who won’t talk to me. Anymore.
I thank Raven and hand over the keys to her Camaro. We laugh and fall into easy conversation over our mutual love of classic hot rods. I thought she’d explode out of her skin when I told her about my old Trans-Am.
“I better let you get back to work.” I hop into the Bronco. “Thanks again, for everything.”
“We should grab a drink sometime,” Raven says as I reach to close the door.
That would eliminate another weekend without plans. “Sure. I’d like that.”
“Perfect. How about Friday night? I’ll bring my friend Eve.” Her bright eyes twinkle at the mention of her friend. “You two would get along great.”
Being invited into the inner circle between girlfriends is a huge honor. How could I say no?
“Awesome! Friday it is.”
Driving away, my heart feels full. Between Raven’s offer of friendship and Blake’s generosity—even if it happened before he decided to hate me—I feel hopeful about my future here. I groan when I’m hit with what I’m going to have to do on Monday. I can’t imagine how much all this work cost, but I’ll have to chase Blake down to thank him and of course offer to pay him back. The thought of talking to him again sends butterflies throughout my body.
Guess I’m not ready for the weekend to end after all.
Blake
Shirt off, face down, shorts and boxer briefs tugged low on my hips, Doc Z administers another round of cortisone to my back. Seems I must be immune or something. The shots only buy me a few days relief.
“I’m upping the dose here.”
A sharp pinch and then a burn forces my eyes to clench shut. My mind takes me to her.
It’s been over a week since she was at my house. Five days at the training center trying to stay away, avoiding her when she’s around. It’s not easy when she’s everywhere I look.
And is it just me, or is there a sudden f**king influx of blondes in Vegas? Shit, they’re everywhere I turn. I’ve had to limit my exposure, going from training to home, with one outing to Red Betty’s to see Ataxia play.
Lucky me, Rex doesn’t have a show at The Blackout until this weekend. I’ll be skipping out on that face-to-face. Now that Layla’s buddy-buddy with Mac, I’m taking a pass on those shows. Sure as shit, she’ll be there, dressed like a rock goddess in all her casual hotness that no girl can pull off like she can.
Fuck. I rein in my thoughts to avoid an uncomfortable situation with my dick and the good doc.
“It’s a guessing game with the doses. You keep up on the pills and the shakes. Those should help.” The doctor’s murmured instructions are the same he’s been drilling into me for the past two weeks. At least it takes my mind off her.
“I’m on it. Shakes and pills.”
“Done here.” Doc Z crosses the room. The sound of him shuffling medical shit followed by the snap of his latex gloves signals I’m good to go.
I right myself and pull on my T-shirt. “Thanks for staying late to hook me up.”
The shot takes time to kick in, but already I feel amped. Other than the annoyance of my back, my training has been spot on. Even after hours of sparring, I’m breathing well and have energy to spare. Most days I have to spend an hour on the treadmill to burn the shit off. Wade’s a jackass if he thinks he can take me. I’m in the best shape of my life.
I wave off Doc Z then head into the locker room. It’s seven thirty at night. The place is deserted. I grab my iPod from my locker and decide to hit some weights before I crash for the night.
Walking across the training room, I take in the posters on the walls. The fighters, both past and present, who’ve left their mark on the sport—the warriors who dedicated their lives to the advancement of MMA. To think how far it’s come—from the world of underground fighting to cable television, and now mainstream. Fuck, if Gibbs gets his way we’ll all be made into dolls to be sold next to those boy band dolls—what the hell?
The light in the weight room is on. I thought I was the only one here. Cool, I’ll have a spotter.
I push through the doors and—holy shit—I’m met with a sight that sucks the oxygen from my lungs.
Facing away from me, she’s at the bench. One knee on, one hand on, the other foot on the floor. Her back is arched, and her black spandex-covered ass is pushed out in a dick-throbbing invitation.
Her elbow set firmly at her hip, she rocks her arm up and down in perfectly executed triceps curls. Her form-fitting tank top displays the long, lean muscles of her upper arm with each rep. Sweat glistens on her creamy skin, and the tiny grunts that seep from her pouty lips have me shifting in my shorts.