“Haley,” West says. “About tonight—”
“I don’t hook up.” I peek at him and whatever he had to say seems to have escaped him as he stares at me with a slack mouth. It’s like someone pushed fast-forward on the remote and my thoughts are skipping and racing. “I don’t know who that was, but it wasn’t me. I mean, have you done this before?”
West runs a hand over his face. “Yeah. It’s what I do. Fuck that. It’s what I’ve done, but that’s not what was happening between us.”
Oh, crap, I’ve digressed into an Octagon Bunny, bouncing from one fighter to the next. Soon I’ll be in a bikini, announcing the next round. Just when I think I can’t go lower...
“Haley, I swear to God that wasn’t a hookup. I told you that this means something to me. That you mean something to me.”
He’s saying the right words and a small voice in the back of my mind tells me to listen, but the crazy portion is winning. “Because that’s what you tell girls when you drop them off. You don’t look at them and say ‘I used you.’ You lie and say it meant something! I watch MTV!”
“You watch...what?” He shakes his head. “Don’t care. What happened between us—”
“Stop it.” There’s an ache near my heart and my hand claws at my chest. I can’t think and I can’t draw in a deep breath and I kissed West and I loved kissing him and he makes me laugh and he’s a fighter and I like him.
I like him. I more than like him and it terrifies me that I have feelings for West Young. “I can’t do this.”
“Do what?” West tosses his arms out as if he’s mad or frustrated or I don’t know what, because I don’t trust my reactions on anything anymore.
“Hook up or date a fighter or like or love or anything. I don’t want anyone close again.” Sheer terror widens my eyes with the rawness of the words. “Have you ever seen the paint sets that have multiple colors?” I’ve boarded the bus for crazy and somehow I can’t get off.
Chapter 40
West
“Have you ever seen the paint sets that have multiple colors?” Haley rushes out the words as if they’ll erase what she said before them.
“Yes,” I say slowly, trying to buy us both time. How the hell did this get all screwed up? One moment we were kissing; then it blew up in my face. This is karma biting me in the ass for every girl I said pretty things to in order to satisfy myself.
The leather seat squeaks when she faces me. At least she’s not running for the safety of the house. “When you open up the set, it’s beautiful, right? Each color is perfect and if you’re careful, you can paint and paint and paint as long as you take the time to rinse off the color you just used into the water, maybe use a towel and dry the brush before moving on.”
She shyly glances away. The tension building between us causes me to shift. I may not understand it, but Haley’s attempting to explain something. I nod, willing her to continue. “Paint, brushes, water. I’m keeping up.”
Haley inhales. “Sometimes you get too excited and dip the brush into the paint and the colors get mixed up. All of a sudden I’m no longer yellow and you’re no longer blue.”
“We become green,” I finish for her.
Haley lifts her head and she’s raw, completely open. Too open, almost bleeding. “I dated Matt and I sort of became gray and I’m over being gray and I’m not ready to be green. I’d like to try yellow again for a while.”
Haley needs time, and I can give her that. Maybe I’ll find a way to get my own shit together and figure out how to tell her about my family by then.
She sucks in air as if she swallowed too much water and I throw out a life preserver. “When will you teach me grappling? You said it would be soon.”
Haley blinks and what was meant to help her causes her to drop her head back and then forward into her hands. “Damn.”
“What?”
“Grappling’s out of my league. I’m a kickboxer, not a wrestler,” she mumbles through her fingers. “I’m going to fail you.”
Yeah, Haley needs time, but I’m not ready to give her space. I pull on her hands and, when she refuses to look at me, I place my fingers under her chin and force her eyes to mine. They’re glassy and in pain and I don’t want any of that over me. “There’s no possible way you can fail me. The fact that you believe in me enough to train me...to let me help you with your scholarship... You are not capable of failing.” That’s my arena.
She tilts her head and I brush my thumb against her cheek. Haley closes her eyes as if she enjoys my touch and when she reopens them, she struggles to smile. “This sort of feels like green.”
“This is me being blue. Don’t worry—you’re still yellow.”
Her eyes laugh for a brief second and I burn the sight into my memory. I withdraw my hand and Haley opens the passenger-side door, steps out and closes it behind her.
I roll down the passenger-side window. “Haley.”
She raises her eyebrows.
I lean my shoulder against my door and grip the steering wheel. “You need time, that’s fine, but we’re no longer pretend dating. Not sure what it is, but we’re more than that. Thought it’d be simpler if I made that clear.”
With lines bunched around her eyes, she nods once but won’t look at me. She turns for the house, takes two steps, then rushes back to the car. Haley swings the door open, grabs the roses, then blushes when our eyes meet. “You’re right. I like guys that bring me flowers, but just so you know I am so still yellow. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Haley slams the door shut and bolts for the house. I pull away feeling like a man who’s flying.
Chapter 41
Haley
The door to the bathroom rattles, followed by three knocks. “Occupied!”
I undo the strings of my red half apron and wash my hands in the sink. The scent of pizza and pasta smothers me and my hair is horrifically frizzed from waltzing in and out of the steamy kitchen. This is not how I want to look or smell when I hop into West’s SUV. I comb my fingers through my hair and it does nothing to tame the wild monstrosity.
The door rattles again. There’s one bathroom each for men and women and someone obviously has to pee. The outfit isn’t so bad: my best jeans and a dark blue button-down shirt, but the hair...the lack of makeup...the fact I’m pathetic enough to care...
It’s not like West and I won’t be sweating, sweltering messes in an hour. But still, the past couple of weeks with West have been...well...nice. Last Friday night, West backed me up against the cage, he kissed me, made my body come alive, and now...he’s letting me be yellow.
I barely recognize the silly grin sliding across my lips. Somehow West is reducing me to giggles and grins and butterflies. There’s hope for me being a girly-girl yet.
With a deep breath, I leave the bathroom and ignore the long line of angry-faced women doing the I-gotta-pee dance. It’s not my fault they sucked down gallons of Diet Coke. It’s Friday and the restaurant is packed.
I walk out into the cool late March night and glance around the parking lot for West’s SUV. My sigh materializes into a white mist and quickly evaporates. He’s not here. I’m a few minutes early, but my tables paid and were out the door. If I stayed inside, my boss would have stuck me with more tables and then I would have been trapped for a minimum of thirty minutes, maybe longer.
To my right, a girl’s shrill laughter echoes from the back of the building. A crowd lingers there and my stomach sinks. It’s been months since they’ve hung out here—honestly since our breakup—but I have no doubt the back-alley loiterers are Matt and his crew.
I pivot on my heels, willing to take my chances on another table, when Matt emerges from the shadows.
Chapter 42
West
I finished the last item on my thin to-do list for Denny a half hour ago, but for the fourth time today, I sweep the stockroom. Guess with moving home, I could have quit, but I’ve stayed on as Denny’s monkey for multiple reasons.
One, I need the money in case Dad changes his mind and throws me out again. Two, oddly enough, I like what I do here. I fix things. I’m useful. For once in my life I actually do something right. But the last reason, the most important reason, deals with Mom.
It’s the fourth Friday of the month and six-fifty in the evening. Rachel had surgery last Friday and Mom was chained to her side. If life goes on as normal, I’m betting Mom pushed back the visit by a week, and all I want for my birthday is to discover why she visits.
My cell buzzes and I ignore it. My mother whispered a happy birthday to me this morning from the door of my bedroom when she left at five to see Rachel. Dad mumbled something as he left for work that sounded like an acknowledgment of my existence while I ate breakfast in the kitchen. My brothers and friends have texted their birthday wishes and the continuing texts have been from my closer friends—friends from my old life.
Most of the messages say the same things. Where have you been? There’s a party tomorrow night. You’ve gotta come. It’s been too long. Weeks ago, I would have, but with the fight looming a month away, my nights belong to Haley.