We slow as we enter a neighborhood I’m not familiar with. I’ve never been to a restaurant in this area. William and I tend to stick to the same restaurants, exploring new ones occasionally that he finds when a new Zagat comes out each year. We crawl almost to a stop in front of what looks like a warehouse and I watch as a metal garage door opens. It looks like a delivery entrance, but Nico steers the motorcycle under the slow rising door and it begins to close behind us.
He turns the motorcycle off and takes off his helmet. I follow his lead. “Where are we?” I look around the unfamiliar surroundings as I speak. We’re in a garage, there is a large, dark colored SUV parked next to us and a few bicycles hang on the walls to the side.
“My house. Well, technically we’re in the gym down here, but I live in the loft upstairs.”
I look at the SUV next to me as I do my best to unstraddle the bike in a ladylike manner. It’s not an easy task to accomplish. “Is that your SUV?”
The sides of Nico’s mouth turn upwards in a hint of his devilish grin. “Yes.”
He takes my helmet, hands me my purse, and motions to the door. “Come on, I’ll give you a quick tour before we go up. Dinner is in the oven, but we have a little time.”
I’m still absorbing that he is cooking me dinner and we are not going to a restaurant when I feel his hand on the small of my back as he begins to lead me into the main part of the building. His large hand takes up half of my lower back and I can feel my skin underneath his hand sizzle. The hair on the back of my neck stands up of its own accord, my body buzzing from a simple touch. I don’t even think he notices my reaction.
Nico flips a switch and the enormity of the room we entered comes into focus. It’s the entire bottom floor of what was likely once a warehouse. But now it’s a state of the art gym. There is exercise equipment in one half of the space and the other half has what looks like two large boxing rings set up.
“Wow. This is really nice. It doesn’t look anything like my gym.”
Nico chuckles. “I doubt any of my clientele look anything like the people at your gym either.”
I look at Nico confused and he explains. “It’s a fighter’s gym, Elle. It’s filled with men with tattoos and raging testosterone. I’d hate to see what would happen in here if you walked into this place dressed how you probably look for the gym.” Nico shakes his head and chuckles.
Oh. I’m not sure if I should be offended or take his words as a compliment, so I choose the latter.
After a few more minutes, we walk into a freight elevator and Nico pulls down a metal gate. He inserts a key into the control panel and the elevator slowly ascends. Nico lifts the gate and his hand is back on my lower back, as he steers me out of the elevator and into his loft. It’s enormous, almost as wide as the downstairs.
At least half of the floor is a huge open space. Off to one side is a sleek modern kitchen with stainless steel appliances. There’s an oversized island and gleaming granite countertops that modernize the dark wood cabinetry beneath them. The living area takes up the other half of the floor and has the largest sectional couch that I have ever seen. I bet the couch can hold ten men. I notice it’s strategically positioned in front of a large flat screen TV and I envision a bunch of guys sitting around watching fights. A complete bachelor pad, but a very nice one at that.
My nose catches a scent and I’m surprised. “Chicken Franchese?”
Nico smiles at me as he walks into the kitchen. “Very good.”
“I’m impressed. You can cook?” I never gave it any thought before, but in the years that I have been seeing William, he has never once cooked for me. I’m not even sure if he even can cook.
“Don’t look so surprised. I’m pretty good at it, if I may say so myself.” Nico walks to the oven and checks on dinner.
“Do you cook often?” I’m so curious about this man.
“I have to, it’s part of the sport. You can’t keep in shape and eat crap, so you learn to cook healthy pretty fast if you’re serious about fighting.”
I nod, it makes sense. It’s next to impossible to maintain a good diet when you live off restaurants and takeout. I should know. The only choice is salad, which is how I have been able to keep thin, but a man that looks like Nico needs an intake of way more calories than a salad could supply. “Do you still fight?” I don’t even think before the words come out of my mouth. Maybe he doesn’t like to talk about fighting. I remember the newspaper saying he had retired after what had happened, but he was definitely younger than whatever the normal age is for fighters to retire.