Strike to the Heart(2)

I’d been down that road before and now I’ve put up roadblocks. No test pilots. No more race car drivers—especially race car drivers. I was looking for settled, mature, responsible, and Zane was clearly none of those things.

Sensing my reluctance, he said, “We’ll just get coffee. Talk. No pressure.”

His voice made me tremble, and my resolve weakened. Just coffee, right? There was no harm in going to a public place with a hot guy. I didn’t have to sleep with him or start doing his laundry.

I nodded my head. “I need to tell my friend I’m leaving or she’ll worry.”

He released me. “I’ll meet you at the elevator.”

It took a few minutes for me to find Darcy in the crowd. I sidled up to her casually and whispered, “I’m going for coffee.”

Darcy jerked her attention from tall, dark, and handsome. “What? Now?”

“Um, yeah.”

With a regretful look at her flirting partner, Darcy said, “Do you want me to come with you?”

“Nooo,” I drew out the “o” in such a way that Darcy knew that something was up.

Her eyebrow arched. “Are you leaving with someone?”

I made a face and said, “Yeah.”

“Who?” Darcy craned her head around, looking. “Who is it?”

“Zane.”

“Zane? Zane who?”

“Zane. Tall, well-built guy. Tattoo on his arm. Short hair.”

Darcy’s eyes widened. “Oh! I saw him.” She leaned toward me and whispered under her breath, “I don’t blame you. My panties melted off when I spotted him.” She flashed a smile at her admirer, who was still patiently waiting.

I slipped back through the crowd and out the door. Zane was right there at the elevator, looking more hot and dangerous under the fluorescent lights in the hallway than he had inside the darkened apartment.

He held out his hand. “Want to change your mind?”

I clasped his hand. “No, I don’t want to change my mind.”

~ * ~ * ~

Zane

The party was noisy and I didn’t feel up to it, but I owed the host. His company had a box at the US Open, a suite really. He’d arranged for my invitation to view the matches. Though tennis wasn’t my sport, I admired the skill. The players at the highest level made it look easy, but I knew it wasn’t.

“Dude, people aren’t bothering you, are they?”

I shook my head. “Nope. It’s dark and I doubt there’s much crossover between fans of tennis and MMA.”

My acquaintance smiled. “You’re so wrong, man. I had most of these people over for your last fight. We made a party of it. I think people are just afraid to approach you. Maybe they think you’ll take ‘em down.” He laughed.

I didn’t laugh. I took a swig of my beer, but it was the tiniest of sips. I’d been watching my intake and ramping up my workouts for months. I didn’t expect to have a problem making weight. In a couple weeks, I’d be focusing on specialized training. “All these people are going to the tournament?”

“Most of them. Course, they’re not all in the company suite. They have their own tickets. Some people take time off work. Some go for the weekend. Most everyone’s a fan, but I’ll admit I invited everyone, fan or not. I said it was a US Open kickoff thing, but it’s just an excuse to party.”

I nodded. He was probably right about people approaching me. I knew I didn’t exactly look friendly at first glance. I tended to be reserved and I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. More than one guy had gotten it in his head to throw a punch after one too many beers. Liquor sure brings out the stupid in people.

“There should be a few players here even. It’s the last night they can really get out.”

“Cool.”

“Ah, well, my girlfriend is giving me the beady eye. Let me know if you need anything.” He hurried off.

“Sure. Thanks.” I scanned the crowd. A lot of corporate types. Then a flash of blonde hair caught my eye. A stunner. Was she a model? She could be. She was tall enough. Then I noticed the muscles in her arms. Okay, a player then. She stood by herself, looking none too comfortable.

I moved toward her and I recognized her. Jo ... something. Something snooty sounding. She was a tennis player all right—one of the top-ranked players on the women’s tour. I didn’t follow tennis that closely, but even I knew who she was.

Someone stepped in front of me, blocking my view. I scowled and he moved past. She had one of those thin noses that rich women paid good money for, but it looked good on her. She probably came by it naturally. Cool and classy.

She looked up, catching my stare, but she didn’t look away. Her chin lifted with a hint of challenge. I loved a woman with attitude—maybe because I had so much of my own.