Part 4 (1/2)
”Longer than it should have, but I could only drive so many hours without getting sleepy. I stopped twice to rent a room for the night.” And then with a cheeky grin, she added, ”I'm not a hotshot fighter, so no fancy hotels for me.”
He had no idea what she did for a living, who she lived with in California, or if the travel had cut into her budget. But they could cover all that later.
He was about to recommend they call it a night, thinking he could take her to her hotel room and, being n.o.ble, make a date to see her in the morning.
She spoke before he could make the suggestion. ”You look a little tired yourself. I know you just got back from j.a.pan.”
”I'm sorry I missed the funeral.”
”Grandpa would have understood.” She studied his face.
”Pay no attention to the bruises. They look worse than they are.”
”If you say so.” Her gaze went to his jaw, and then to his chin.
Her intimate inspection almost consumed him before her eyes s.h.i.+fted away.
”The fights seem different on TV. Less violent. I'm really glad I was able to see one live, but I don't know that I'll be going again anytime soon.”
”It's a charged atmosphere,” he agreed. ”The music, the lights. Everyone is pretty hyped.”
”I liked all that, actually. And it gave me a good reason to wear my SBC T-s.h.i.+rt.” She nudged him with her shoulder. ”Don't let this go to your head, but the T-s.h.i.+rt has you on it.”
He liked it when she relaxed enough to be familiar. ”Which s.h.i.+rt?” No matter what she wore, guys would have noticed her. But he liked that she'd worn him.
”The one with you in a fighting stance.”
He remembered the sponsor for that s.h.i.+rt-one of his first. Did that mean she'd been paying attention to his career all along?
”What?” she asked when he couldn't contain the smile.
”I was just imagining you in the s.h.i.+rt...with me all over your chest.”
Dismissing any real interest on his part, she laughed.
She'd gotten good at deflecting attention, treating it as a joke. ”Seriously, I'm flattered.” And, d.a.m.n it, more than a little turned on, even though she seemed oblivious to it.
”Let me tell you, it wasn't real flattering when the guy dumped his beer down my back.” Eyes bright, smiling, she leaned in as if to share a secret. ”I had to drive home like that. I was so afraid I'd get pulled over for something, and the cop would think I was smashed based on the smell of beer alone.”
The urge to kiss her pulled at him-but she settled back in her seat.
”You didn't stick around to meet any of the fighters?”
”No. There was such a huge, noisy crowd, and I had a three-hour drive, so it seemed smarter to just go home.”
Several men emerged from playing pool and headed toward them. ”Well, you're about to meet some now.”
She looked up in surprise-and transformed.
CHAPTER THREE.
*a s Cannon watChed, Yvette forced an expression of polite regard, adjusted her posture and smoothed her hair. To make a good impression? With his group of friends, she shouldn't have bothered. With her looks and bod, she only needed to sit there and they would all swarm to her, talk her up, and if he didn't set some boundaries, they'd probably hit on her, too.
Standing again, his body blocking her, Cannon asked, ”So who won?”
Armie Jacobson, a good friend and partner of sorts who'd taken over the day-to-day running of the rec center Cannon had founded after Cannon had signed on with the SBC, took a dramatic bow. ”That'd be yours truly.”
”I should have guessed.” Armie was good at everything he did-which included drawing women. ”I think you owe me for bowing out.”
Armie's dark gaze, a contrast to his very fair hair, jumped to Yvette with appreciation.
And now it begins, Cannon thought.
Moving around Cannon, Armie murmured, ”I'd say you've been rewarded enough for that.” He extended his hand to Yvette. ”Cannon won't introduce us because I'm better at seduction than he is.”
Cannon snorted, but as Yvette took Armie's hand, he said, ”Yvette Sweeny, meet Armie Jacobson.”
”It's nice to meet you, Mr. Jacobson.”
At the formality, Armie's brow went up. He held her hand gently. ”Pleasure's all mine. You have to drop the mister, though. Just call me Armie-or something more wicked.”
”Wicked?”
”Yeah, like stud, or stallion, or-”
Cannon shoved him. ”Stop being an a.s.s.”
The handshake broken, Armie righted himself with a grumble. ”Why they call you Saint I'll never understand.”
”Because I have to be a saint to put up with you.”
”Yeah, maybe.” Armie grinned. ”We'll see you at the rec center tomorrow?”
”I'll be there.” Cannon pointed back and forth from Armie to himself. ”Plan to spar.”
Groaning, Armie grabbed his chest as if wounded and turned to Yvette. ”You see, darlin', that means I'm about to get an old-fas.h.i.+oned a.s.s-whoopin'.”
Yvette laughed at him.
”Not funny!” And then, his voice still too smooth, Armie said, ”You should come by and visit us. Pretty the place up a little-and maybe soften old Saint so he'll go easy on me.”
Her gaze shot over to Cannon's as if she expected him to protest. But h.e.l.l, he liked the idea. ”Yeah, you should. I can show you around.”
”I was there...once.”
Ignoring all the others, Cannon nodded. ”I remember.” It was the night she'd come to tell him goodbye before she'd moved across the country.