Dances with Monsters(22)

She had a sarcastic, dry sense of humor that made him laugh out loud on occasion. That in and of itself was totally unheard of—it was rare for anyone to see him smile, let alone hear him laugh. After all the pain of the last year, he hadn't even be sure he remembered how to do that anymore. And yet, without even trying, Drew could have him barking with laughter involuntarily at some story of a ridiculous customer at either the café or the lounge, or something that one of her crazy family members had said.

There was something about her, though, that caught his attention even more than her looks or her wit. There was an oppressive heaviness that clung to her. Somewhere in the depths of her warm brown eyes was an unbearable sadness, almost a hopelessness, a despair. He could see it, but he couldn't understand it. And he wanted to understand it.

Whatever it was, whatever caused that torment and pain to linger in her eyes, she never spoke of it. She never came off as anything other than laid back, except for when he caught her off guard. The nights he would go let her know he was closing up, or if he went to say hello first, and she didn't see him coming, she would always start and recoil from him like he'd tried to brand her with a hot iron. The despair and sadness would leave her eyes and be replaced with sheer, unadulterated terror. He could never understand that—was it the fear of being attacked in the gym again? He wanted to ask her; he wanted to ask so badly but he knew he'd be way out of line. So, he stuck to basic conversation. Besides, that was a huge stretch for him anyway. In fact, everything he'd done since the night she'd been attacked had been a huge stretch for him. He couldn't make sense of it, and that always brought him back to his annoyance with himself. And then, he'd see her, and the cycle would start all over again.

On Friday, he was at the front desk with Rex, watching the small TV mounted on the wall behind the desk. It was an ESPN report about Smackdown, and it was a formal announcement of all the fighters. There were to be eight fighters total. A few of the names, Heath shrugged at. He knew who they were; they had reps for being bad-asses. He wasn't particularly concerned with them. Two names he outright didn't recognize which meant more than likely they were amateurs who happened to be really, really good—much like how he got started. Then there was him—all of the clientele who happened to be within earshot of the TV erupted into whoops and cheers as Rex grabbed his shoulders. Heath didn't crack a smile, shaking his head. The final two fighters that were announced made him cringe inwardly. Both had been fighting professionally for a long time, and it just so happened that both had had previous engagements that made them unavailable for Ultimate Warrior. But now…they were in, and Heath couldn't help feeling a pang of nervousness. He quickly shook it off. Good—he was glad there were going to be some hotshots there. It would only make him that much hungrier, work that much harder.

"Oh, wow. Look at that. You're on the TV."

The unenthusiastic voice drew his attention and he glanced over his shoulder, smirking when he saw Drew leaning against the counter. He didn't know how long she'd been there but she looked positively underwhelmed and unimpressed even as the guys nearby and Rex were still carrying on.

"Yeah," he replied, mocking her tone. "How 'bout that."

"Hey, don't be a hater, Carnevale," Rex said, pointing a finger at her. "Just wait until he comes back with that two milli purse. Then you'll want to be his best friend."

She stood listening to him, her face unmoved. When he was done, she tilted her head. "You know…." She trailed off. "Rex, is it?"

He nodded. "You can call me Rex for short."

"How sweet of you," she said smoothly. "You know, Rex, if you're going to insist on calling me by my last name, the least you could do is pronounce it right."

Rex made a face. "Carnevale," he said. "What's so hard about that?" Heath noticed he pronounced it car-neh-vahl.

"It's car-neh-val-ay," Drew said, rolling her r's and gesturing dramatically with her hand. "Two a's, two e's, and pronounce it all. I'm Italian. C'mon, now." She flicked her hand dismissively and sauntered past the desk toward her usual spot.

"My bad," Rex called after her. "Don't be mad at me, Carnevale." Heath couldn't help snickering quietly at Rex's discomfit. He punched Rex's shoulder.

"Get it right next time," he said.

Rex grabbed his arm and winced. "Ow. Hey, fuck you, man. You weren't saying it right either."

"I didn't have to after a while," Heath replied, enjoying busting Rex's balls. "We're on a first name basis now."

"And that's about it," Rex finished up, then ducked Heath's next swing.