Grace for Drowning(8)

I swallowed heavily. "Hey. Charlie asked me to bring you this."

He nodded and stepped toward me to take the food, and I couldn't help but draw in the scent of him. It wasn't what I was expecting. Despite the sweat, he smelled clean, earthy, sweet; perfectly masculine. My lungs hitched, suddenly struggling to draw breath. My cells were rioting.

"Thanks," he said.

Like last time, he let the silence dangle. I hated being close to him like this, hated the adrenaline rushing through my veins. I was about to excuse myself, when I happened to glance around once more, and everything clicked into place. "You're a fighter."

His lips quirked up further. "You think?"

Good work, Captain Obvious. "I mean, you fight at Charlie's," I said quickly. It made sense. Those rough knuckles, the dangerous aura and now the gym.

"I do," he replied.

"I've never seen a fight before," I said, my voice pathetically airy. Jesus, when did I turn into one of those girls?

"Ah, a virgin. It's not as scary as it sounds."

"I don't know. It looked pretty intense," I said, nodding to the bag he'd been kicking.

He let out a little laugh. "Let me rephrase that. It's not as scary as it sounds if you're not in the ring."

"I'll be sure to keep clear."

Another few seconds passed. "I should go," I said, desperate to be anywhere but in his presence. "I'm still on the clock, you know?"

"Sure thing. Thanks for this," he held up the bag. "I'll see you there later."

The next few hours were an exercise in frustration. I tried to forget about my visit to the gym, but whenever my mind was idle, I found it wandering back there. I'd never seen anything so raw, so powerful before. It obviously wasn't a sexual act, but something about seeing him that way triggered an almost irresistible longing inside me. I didn't understand how my hormones could be so at odds with the rest of me.

"You didn't tell me Logan is a fighter," I said to Joy, as we were cleaning up.

"I didn't?" She grinned. "Oh, well, Logan is a fighter."

I rolled my eyes. "Really? Thanks." I hesitated. Part of me was annoyed that I was buying into the whole dark and mysterious thing he had going on, but I had to admit I was curious now. "Is he any good?"

She shot me a "you know nothing" look. "You could say that. He hasn't lost a single bout. He's half the reason the league is growing so fast. Fans want to see the hottest new fighter on the block, and other fighters want to test him out and see if he's as good as they say. It's a perfect combo." A twinkle appeared in her eyes. "You know what they call him?"

I shook my head.

"Blackjack."

"Why?"

"Hit, hit, hit, bust."

I rolled my eyes. "That's terrible."

"Indeed it is." She gave a sly smile. "Anyway, why are you so curious all of a sudden, Miss 'I'm not interested?'"

My cheeks reddened. It was a good question, and one I wasn't sure I knew the answer to. "Just want to know my colleagues a little better."

"If you say so," she replied, in a way that made it very clear she didn't believe me.

"I thought you didn't approve of getting involved with coworkers?"

"I don't. I just like watching you get all flustered."

I laughed and threw a friendly punch at her shoulder. "Some friendship this is turning out to be."

She rubbed the spot in mock pain. "You see, you're even starting to act like him."

A tightness began to form in my chest. "Can we talk about something else?"

She sighed dramatically. "Fine. So, New York, hey? What's that like?"

I did a double take. "I never said anything about New York." I'd always thought my Manhattan accent was pretty soft, but apparently not.

"I picked it the minute I met you. Accents are kind of my thing." She cleared her throat. "Get da fuck outta hea, da bot a' yous," she said, in a hilariously corny Sopranos-style voice.

I laughed. "Nailed it. Especially the part about us all being gangsters."

"What can I say? It's a gift. So, why'd you leave?"

I licked my lips. Now we were venturing into ugly-crying territory again. My survival instincts were kicking in, telling me to turtle up and brush her off, but there was something so refreshing about her optimism. I felt like we'd known each other a lot longer than just a week. Besides, I'd been bottling up my pain for so long, just letting it fester. There wasn't anyone else here I wanted to talk to. My social circle had been all tied to Tom, poker players and their friends. They were nice enough to me, but I always felt peripheral, like I was just visiting. Besides, I couldn't be around them anymore, much less talk to them. I'd tried, but it hurt too much. That was the world that had swallowed him, and I wanted nothing more to do with it. Maybe it was time to open up just a little. Maybe it would help.