Fighting Dirty. Lori Foster
Читать онлайн книгу.
engine and pulled away.
Going the opposite direction of her. Always.
And damn it, it cut so deep she couldn’t stop the tears. Because this time she knew it was over—when it had never really begun.
MID-FEBRUARY TURNED INTO early March and Armie didn’t see Rissy at all. Not at the rec center, not at Rowdy’s bar where everyone usually hung out on Friday and Saturday night, and not at her brother’s house. He wanted to ask about her but knew he didn’t have the right.
Sitting alone at the bar, drinking a freaking lemon water, he only half listened as Miles and Brand talked about upcoming fights at the table opposite him. Women tried to get his attention but he didn’t have any interest. He’d put up a good front, given it a shot several times, and he’d probably convinced everyone with his bullshit, but the truth was that he hadn’t had any real interest in a good long while.
Not since that day he’d finally tasted Rissy.
His gaze went to the small hallway in Rowdy’s bar. Dim and narrow, it led to an office and the johns. Months ago he’d caught Rissy there and for a few minutes he’d lost the fight. Mouth on mouth, tongues playing, damp heat and a firestorm of sensation. Remembering, he closed his eyes and gave in to the surge of molten lust. God Almighty, she’d tasted good. Felt good. Fit against him perfectly.
An elbow to his ribs got his eyes open again. Instead of one of the guys, it was Vanity, Stack’s wife, who slid onto a stool beside him. “What?” he asked.
“You tell me,” she said, her gaze unwavering, her nails tapping on the bar counter.
Gorgeous beyond words with long blond hair, a killer body and an angel’s face, Vanity was still one of the most down-to-earth, kindhearted people he knew. “Is that supposed to make sense to me, Vee?”
“Yes. You’re moping and I want to know why.”
Stack stood behind his wife and braced an arm on the bar. “It’s the upcoming fight,” Stack predicted. “He’s getting cold feet.”
“No way,” Justice said, taking a seat behind Armie.
Armie looked back and forth between them. “Sure, join me. Make yourselves comfortable.”
Vanity patted his arm in a pitying way. “We don’t stand on formality, not when we see a friend moping.”
“I’m not moping,” he denied. God, he was so moping.
Justice laughed. “I’ve watched five different women hit on you. All fuckable—excuse me, Vanity—and you made excuses to all of them.”
“No offense taken,” Vanity said, and then to Armie, “Seriously? Are you off the market?”
She looked way too pleased by that notion.
Stack laughed. “That’s even more ridiculous than my gibe about him having cold feet.”
A brunette approached the bar and Armie swallowed a groan. Of course he remembered her, but he pretended he didn’t.
Because he was a dick like that.
“Armie?” Ignoring the others, she trailed a finger up his arm and over his shoulder. “I’m free tonight.”
“Yeah?” Armie looked at Justice. “So is he. You two should hook up.”
Justice straightened. “Gospel truth, ma’am.”
The brunette’s eyes narrowed. “I was talking to you, Armie.”
“And I handed you off. Take it or leave it.”
Vanity slugged him.
Stack coughed.
Justice just looked hopeful.
The brunette asked expectantly, “Will you join us?”
“No!” Justice said quickly. “He won’t.”
Armie looked at the lady’s pout, Vanity’s disapproving expression, Justice’s appalled frown, and he had to laugh. “If you’ll all excuse me?”
Paying no attention to questions, he threw some bills on the bar and took off. Halfway toward the door, Miles called out to him.
Armie kept going.
Two women tried to waylay him, but he pretended not to notice. Once outside, he sucked in the cold evening air, but it did nothing to clear his head. And suddenly, without looking behind him, he knew Cannon was there. “Shit.”
Cannon laughed. “You’re okay to drive?”
Working to clear all emotion from his face, Armie turned to his friend. “Can’t get drunk on nasty lemon water, now can I?”
“Is that what you wanted to do? Get drunk?”
No, he wanted to drag Merissa to bed and keep her there until his blood no longer burned and lurid thoughts of her cleared out of his brain. He popped his neck, shook his head and said, “I don’t know.”
“It’s not the fight.” Folding his arms, Cannon leaned back on the outside wall of Rowdy’s bar. “I know you too well to think you’re concerned about Carter.”
“I’ll either win the fight or not. I’m prepared.” Armie shrugged, showing his indifference. He never thought in terms of winning or losing. Just winning. And to that end he did what he needed to do to ensure success.
“Everyone assumes there’s added pressure because you’ll be in the SBC now. But again,” Cannon stated, “I know you better than that.”
“A fight is a fight,” Armie confirmed. “The size of the crowd—”
“Or the size of the paycheck?”
“—doesn’t matter to me.”
“I know.” Cannon lifted a brow. “So you want to tell me what’s eating at you?”
A bad case of desperate lust for your little sister. Not something he’d ever share. Rather than deny the problem, Armie shook his head. “I’ll deal with it.”
“By avoiding sex?”
He jutted his chin. “Who says I am?”
Cannon didn’t blink. “Man, I know you. Better than anyone. You thought I wouldn’t notice when you went cold turkey?”
That so shocked Armie that he took a step back. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say. If he tried to blame it on fight preparation, Cannon would just laugh at him again. “I don’t suppose you’d butt out?”
“Sure. If that’s what you really want.” Cannon straightened away from the wall. “But if you want to talk, if you need anything—”
“I know.” Once, a lifetime ago, Cannon had been the only person to back him. Against all odds and ugly accusations, he’d stood with Armie and never, not once, showed a single shadow of doubt. Uncomfortable with the idea of ever again being that needy, Armie flexed his shoulders and said, “Thanks, but it’s fine.”
“I know that.” Cannon squeezed his shoulder. “You just need to start believing it.”
Armie glared at his friend as he went back into the bar. He didn’t need that melodramatic crap heaped on him. Breathing hard, he looked around at the moon-washed blacktop, the frost-covered bus bench, then up at the inky, star-studded sky.
What was Merissa doing right now? Was she with another man—as he’d suggested?
It’s what he wanted, what would be best—for her—but at the same time... Jesus, it tortured him.
After the life he’d led, the background he’d overcome and the physical ability he’d gained,