Fighter's Heart

Scene 8

Jase

After the tripping incident, I manage not to embarrass myself in front of Lena again. The guys have seen me hit the mat more times than I can count, but when a gorgeous girl is watching, it's different. Maybe it's stupid, but I want to impress her.

When we finish, I grab a kettlebell and start a set of reps. Swings, squats, overhead raises, repeat. And repeat again. For fighting, it's important to strengthen my body using functional movements. Back when I first started, I spent hours benching and deadlifting as much as I could without killing myself, and all I ended up with was shitty cardio and a bulky body that seized up midway through sparring.

Yeah, maybe I'd looked like a gladiator, but it hadn't been worth it. I'm older now, and my ability to win ranks higher in my priorities than how shredded I look on weigh-in day. I'm into my third set of reps when Lena leaves her seat in the corner and pads across the mats toward me. Her feet are bare, and they're as white as the rest of her, with delicate toes and manicured nails. Why the hell am I noticing her feet?

"Can we talk more?" she asks, kneeling beside me so she can rest her notepad on her thigh. Having her on her knees is not helping my concentration.

I grunt. "I'm kinda busy." Training is the important thing now. Beating Karson is all that matters.

She taps her pen against the paper, impatient. "Come on, Jase. Seth told me you didn't assault Erin, but you have to give me something to work with or you're feeding yourself to the piranhas."

Of all days, Seth chooses this one to open his mouth? The fucker. Most days, trying to get anything out of him is like prying secrets from a CIA agent. "I need to train."

"I get that." She shifts onto her butt and tucks her legs to the side. "And I don't want to interfere, just give me something."

I finish a set of swings and move to squats again. Her eyes track my movements, and her pupils dilate when they reach my thighs and ass. Yeah, she's into me. Maybe she doesn't like it, but there's no denying the fact. I bet right now she's wondering how big my cock is, and whether it's proportionate to the rest of me. Good news, cutie pie: it is.

Not. Helping.

I need to think with my brain rather than my dick. And my brain knows that whatever motherhood-and-apple-pie story Seth sold her about me, she doesn't completely believe it. It will take more than sentimental words from a semi-retired fighter with the charm of a mountain lion to convince her of my innocence.

"Why should I tell you anything?" I demand, feeling sweat trickle down the back of my neck and soak into my top. The whole damn thing is drenched. Typical for me, but I'm beyond grateful I'm not one of those guys who stink when they sweat. I don't think I could handle her turning her perfect little nose up. "You've already made up your mind about me."

She sighs, and one of her hands goes to the edge of her skirt, toying with the hem. It's unconscious—she's not trying to tease me—but man, I want to peel it up and see what's beneath.

"My opinion doesn't matter."

"Yeah, actually, it does." Where did that confession come from? Her gaze snaps to mine, a gasp passing between her ruby red lips. Oh well, I'm the type to go big or go home. "It matters to me, Lena."

She holds my gaze for a long time, emotions warring in her eyes. I think I've gotten through to her, but then she shores up her defenses and says, "As if you care what I think. You're just messing with me."

Then she gets up and stalks off, her spine straight, shoulders stiff. Jeez, this girl really has issues, but for the first time, it occurs to me that maybe she's prickly for a reason. Maybe someone did a number on her. Someone like me. Perhaps that's why I rub her the wrong way. The thought makes me feel like a bastard for being hard on her.

"Bro," Devon calls as she slips on her shoes and makes for the door. "You gonna go after her, or what?"

I probably should. I lower the kettlebell to the mat and follow her out the exit, catching her just outside. "Hey, wait up."

She doesn't stop, although her step falters. I don't want to grab her and cause a scene—or give her a reason to join Erin in condemning me in the court of public opinion—so I jog around and block her path.

"Stop," I puff, holding up a hand. "I'm not trying to mess with you."

She quirks her brow in an 'are you for real' expression.

"Seriously. I just..." I sigh. "I get the feeling you don't like me, and it pisses me off because you don't even know me." She starts to interrupt, but I gesture for her to hold off. "I'm not finished yet. I don't want you to think I'm making excuses for myself, but my upcoming fight is a really big deal. I've been working toward it for years, and I need to keep my head in the game. If I let Erin mind-fuck me, then I'm a goner, and that's what she wants. She wants me to suffer because she tried to get me back and I turned her down. That's all this is. Revenge. I can't let her get to me. She won't press charges, she just wants to make me squirm."

Lena backs up a step, increasing the distance between us, but her eyes have softened and I think perhaps I see a glimmer of something other than dislike. "Jase."

I shiver. Fuck, I love my name in her mouth. I want to hear it when I'm driving into her. Unfortunately, that's unlikely to happen, and please God don't let her look down.

"You're right, I don't know you, or Erin, but even if you're being honest, I think you're underestimating the problem. Have you ever heard that saying about a woman scorned?"

I shake my head. "Doesn't count. There was never anything serious between us."

"Maybe Erin sees it differently."

That makes me pause and think. I picked Erin up at one of Devon's fights and knew from the outset that she wasn't interested in my heart or personality. Despite that, it was possible I'd read her intentions wrong and she'd wanted more than a casual fling—not because of any deep feelings but because of my money and pseudo-celebrity status. Some women like being able to lay claim to the biggest, baddest fighter available. Perhaps she wanted to be the one standing by my side, basking in the glory when I kick Karson's ass and win the championship belt.

I shrug. "It's possible."

She smiles, and it hits me like a liver punch. She's so damn radiant when she smiles, like the sun's shining out of her face. "I'm glad you're open to the idea."

"I'm not a total fuckwit."

"Never said you were."

She thought it though; she's crap at hiding her emotions. Slowly, so as not to scare her off, I take her by the shoulders and step closer, gazing into her eyes. Flecks of gold sparkle in their depths, and one day I plan to count them and figure out if they change depending on her mood. But not now.

"I meant what I said in there, Lena. For some godforsaken reason, your opinion matters to me. Do you believe I hit her?"

She sucks her lower lip into her mouth and glances down. "What I believe is irrelevant."

Bitter disappointment settles over me and I lether go, resisting the urge to kick the ground. I can't risk injuring my foot ata time like this. "Fine, then. Go."