Dances with Monsters(121)

She wasn't really sure what one wore to an MMA tournament. She'd been so unsure, in fact, that she'd looked at clips on YouTube to gauge her options. She had been amused to see that most of the girls there were dressed pretty scantily. She assumed they were not officially affiliated with any of the fighters but had aspirations of becoming affiliated with their beds later on, if they were lucky. She saw endless amounts of cleavage, bottoms hanging out of skirts and short-shorts, figures encased in super-tight dresses. It was laughable.

She selected several outfits for the tournament. She figured she could have a little fun with her choices without going overboard or being boring. Then, she sighed to herself as she picked out a somber black skirt suit and a crisp white blouse and plain, low-heeled black pumps for the trial. She folded the items carefully and placed them in her bag, wishing she didn't have to pack them at all.

She packed a small toiletry bag but left it out of her duffel bag, knowing she'd still need it the following morning. When she felt she had everything in order, or as much in order as it was going to be, she called to Rocky softly. After a moment he came loping into her room and jumped on her bed. She followed suit and let out a long sigh as weariness settled into her the way Rocky settled into the crook of her arm, his back curving against her chest and stomach. Before she knew it, she was asleep.

***

Heath pulled up to Drew's apartment complex the next morning. He hopped out of his car and buzzed the secure-entry door. After a moment he heard a click of the door unlocking and pulled it open. He took the steps to her apartment three at a time and rapped lightly on the door when he reached it.

She opened the door and greeted him with a smile, her dimples digging into each cheek as she looked up at him. He could never resist the sight of them, and returned her smile. She was dressed in an old Clash T-shirt, expertly ripped and shredded, and she wore skinny jeans with black sequined Chuck Taylor sneakers. He thought she looked like a cute little London punk, the toughness of her outfit offset by her sweet, happy smile. She always seemed so genuinely glad to see him, and it always made him feel great.

It was a feeling he wasn't quite used to yet.

She had a couple of bags to maneuver, a large duffel bag and a tote bag, plus her purse. Heath shouldered the large duffel bag and couldn't help rolling his eyes.

"You do realize this is just a weekend thing?" he asked as she locked up behind them. "We're not going away for a week."

She gave him an odd look. "I'm aware," she replied. "Can't you tell? I'd have so much more if it were longer than three days." Her face clouded slightly. "Well, four, I guess."

Heath thought of the trial, and noticed the stress that came across her face, and leaned in to kiss it away. Her brow immediately smoothed as she focused completely on him, as he'd intended and hoped.

"Come on," he said lightly. She followed him down the stairs and out of the building. She helped him load her bags in the car and then he opened her door for her. Her face brightened at the sight of the steaming cup in her cup holder.

"Is that for me?" she asked when he got settled behind the wheel.

"That's for you," he replied, starting the engine and pulling off. "So who's taking care of Rocky? Since your family is coming to New York on Monday."

"Well, my mom is going to come by and feed him every day until Monday," she replied. "Since my dad doesn't like cats and won't let her bring him over. Then she's just going to load him up with food on Monday before they leave. He'll be okay for a day by himself." She leaned her head back against the headrest of her seat and smiled at him. "Why, you worried about him?"

Heath shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "No way. I just wanted to make sure you'd have your little buddy to come home to, that's all."

She laughed and sipped her beverage. "Sure. It's okay, Heath. You can love him."

He grunted in reply, unable to keep a smirk off his face. He made it to the interstate in due time and settled in. It would be about two and half hours to Buffalo.

Drew stretched in her seat and ran a hand through her thick dark hair, bringing it over one shoulder. He kept his eyes on the road but sensed from his peripheral vision that she was looking at him.

"You seem so focused," she commented, sipping her latte again. "Are you feeling pretty good about this? Nervous at all?"

"I don't really get nervous," he replied. "The only time I felt any nervousness was right before I fought Connor because I know what a beast he is. But even then I was just so pissed off that I just pushed it away. I'm honestly looking forward to it being over."

"Really?" she asked. "You don't enjoy it?"