Pushing the Limits (5 page)

She'd obviously caught his interest as he said, “What would I have to do?”

“Mostly labor-intensive work. Sanding, painting . . . that kind of thing.” She shrugged. She'd worked in the small plant for a few hours a week while in high school to help raise the money she needed for college. Her parents had set aside money for their children's education, but they'd encouraged her and her brothers to make their own. She'd liked working with her dad. He would talk for hours about the different propeller designs and the projects they were working on. She knew he'd wanted to get his pilot's license, but with his heart condition, her mother had always talked him out of it.

Dane stopped at a red light and studied her. “And he's hiring?”

She nodded.

“Can I go see him tomorrow?”

His eagerness surprised her, but she was glad he was willing to accept her help, instead of playing the I-don't-need-any-help macho role. “Tomorrow is Saturday. The shop is only open from Monday to Friday.” She rummaged around in her new purse for a pen and tore a piece of paper from her notebook. She scribbled the address to Edwards' Propellers and her father's name and handed it to him. “But you can go see him first thing Monday morning. He's usually there by seven.” She would also give her father a heads-up that Dane would be coming. Her brothers watched the MFL fights on pay-per-view sometimes, so they might recognize him, but she doubted her father would. She knew Dane's history would have no effect on his decision, but it would be better if she prepared him for the information, in case it came up. “Tell him you're a friend of Colby's.”

“A friend?”

“Sounds better than chauffeur, don't you think?” she asked with a grin.

He smiled. A real smile, one she hadn't expected, one that rocked her to her core. Her stomach gave an involuntary flutter. Shit. He was gorgeous. And he was a source. Therefore, this fluttering in her stomach needed to fuck off already.

“Friend it is,” he said, tucking the paper above the visor.

As he turned onto the busy Las Vegas Strip, she sat forward and bit her lip, wondering how to approach the subject she really wanted to discuss. She was desperate to learn more about that night a year ago, but it wasn't exactly something she could blurt out. She doubted he'd be any more eager or willing to talk about it than the other fighters at Xtreme Fight were.
Less so.

“Go ahead and ask,” he said, surprising her a second later. He shot her a glance as he switched lanes in the bumper-to-bumper traffic on the neon-lit, pedestrian-packed street.

Her eyes widened. “Ask what?”

“Whatever question is burning in your mind.”

He was perceptive. And though he was giving her the green light, something held her back. “There was nothing,” she said, not even convincing herself.

“Yeah, right. Look, you know who I am. Your expression the other night made that obvious, so go ahead. What do you want to know? Was I on anything that night? Did I intend to kick him that hard? There's nothing you can ask I haven't been asked a million times before, so what is it?”

She hesitated. Sensing a cold remorse in his aching tone, she decided now wasn't the right time. She barely knew him, and she didn't want the standard responses to the questions that he'd obviously repeated a million times. Ari was right when he said this story had been hashed to death the year before. She needed something new, a fresh angle, something painfully real to make this a good story. That was the only reason she held back, she told herself. She released a sigh. “Actually, I was wondering if you were hungry.”

He shot her a curious look. “Am I hungry?” he repeated slowly, as though it were a trick question.

“More specifically, for Chinese food.”

He smiled again and she had to sit on her hands to resist the temptation to touch a dimple in his right cheek. What the hell was wrong with her? She'd convinced him to give her a ride she didn't need to get closer to him, to ask him questions, to see if he'd let his guard down. Not to offer to help him get a job, invite him out to dinner, and start to develop an unhealthy, career-endangering crush on him.

Though, maybe that was one way to get answers.

He was staring at her as the light turned green and a horn honked behind them. “Well, are you in or not? Either way, I'm stuffing my face with eggrolls in ten minutes,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Okay, yeah,” he said finally. “I could do Chinese food.”

“Great,” she said, turning her attention out the window.

Just great.

* * *

Dane stared at Colby's plate half an hour later. There was no way her tiny body would be able to consume all of the food she'd ordered. Deep-fried lemon chicken, sweet-and-sour pork, ginger beef, and fried rice threatened to spill over the sides of her plate as she ignored the fork and opened the chopsticks.

He'd be there all night if he tried using those. He glanced around the tiny, nearly empty Chinese restaurant she'd insisted had the best food in town. Only one other person was using chopsticks, so he stabbed a piece of broccoli from his vegetable medley with a fork and popped it into his mouth. Across from him, he watched as she swallowed a piece of lemon-flavored chicken, trying not to regret his own mainly vegetable-dish choices. “You like the fried stuff, huh?”

“Yup.” She scanned his plate. “Are you some kind of health freak?”

He used to be. He shrugged. “Just hoping to live beyond fifty, I guess,” he said, eating a mouthful of jasmine rice.

“What's the point of living a long life if you're not enjoying it?” she asked, sipping her tea.

She had a point. Reaching across the table, he stabbed a piece of her ginger beef and ate it. He closed his eyes as the garlic teased his tongue. He hadn't trained in almost a year, but he'd kept up his healthy diet and worked out at home. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten anything with real flavor.

“Good, right?” she asked with a grin.

“Best thing I've had in my mouth in far too long,” he mumbled, his mouth full.

Her cheeks turned a shade darker and he almost coughed on the meat as he swallowed. “Get your mind out of the gutter, I meant food.”

She laughed. “Sure you did.”

The casual flirtation made him uncomfortable. He hadn't dated anyone since he'd ended things with his most recent girlfriend the year before, after the fight. She hadn't walked away, insisting she would help him get through the rough ride ahead, but he'd pushed her away, knowing he wasn't fit to be with anyone. He'd refused to drag her down this dark and unsettling road with him.

He avoided situations with women that even came close to a date. So, why he'd agreed to this late-night dinner with Colby, he didn't know. Gratitude for her help? He quickly glanced at her, taking in her shoulder-length dark hair and pretty green eyes. His gaze moved to her lips as she popped a chicken ball into her mouth and the twist in the pit of his stomach told him that what might have started as a gesture of gratitude was quickly turning into an unwanted interest in her.

Setting his fork aside, he cleared his throat. “So you're one of those people who are skinny by accident, huh?” His attempt at bringing the conversation to less flirty ground failed as his eyes skimmed over her body and he realized
skinny
really didn't seem like the correct word.
Hot, attractive, curvy in all the right places, tempting as fuck.
Those were more accurate.

She laughed. “You mean, one of those people who can eat anything and not gain weight?” She shook her head. “Not at all. You should see pictures of my teenage years. What about you? You've had to work for . . .” She paused, her gaze locked on his biceps, then it drifted across his chest.

He watched her swallow hard and was the tiniest bit relieved he wasn't the only one appreciating the view. Though he knew nothing could come of any attraction between them.

“You could say that.” He picked up his fork again.

She stared at him. “So, do you still work out . . . train, I mean?”

He should have known the conversation would wind up there eventually. “Not really.”

“Is that tough? To leave it all behind?”

His chest tightened. “That life is in the past for me. I'm not a fighter anymore.”

She set the chopsticks down and studied him. “Okay,” she said, finally, after a long moment.

“Okay?” No one had ever just accepted that before. Either they tore him down for the incident inside the cage or they insisted he couldn't give up what he loved because of it. No one had ever just said “okay” before. And the odd thing was, for the first time, he had actually been willing and comfortable enough with her to say more about it. Now even more so. Her gentle, unassuming, nonpushy way made him feel comfortable around her.

She nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

Okay. “So, about this job—you're sure your father will be cool with meeting with me?”

“Yes. Are you sure you want to?” she asked.

He nodded. “My dad used to be a pilot,” he said, not knowing where the words came from. He rarely talked about his father, who'd left him and his mother when he was seven years old. But he felt as though they somehow shared a small connection with their fathers both in the flight industry and he also wanted her to know he didn't look at this opportunity as just any job, but a chance meeting that may have been meant to be.

“Used to be?”

He shrugged. “Probably still is. I haven't seen him since I was a kid.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Yeah, me too,” he said, once again surprising himself with his honesty with her. The truth was he wasn't sure how he felt about his father's leaving. He knew how he should feel, how people would expect him to feel . . . but a part of him understood. Hell, had he been given the choice, he probably would have left their troubled household too. But he'd revealed far too much about himself already that evening. “So Monday morning at seven?”

“I'll let him know you're coming by,” she said.

“Okay,” he said, picking up a chopstick. “Now, how do I use these things?”

Dane's right knee bounced in his suit pants as he waited for his interview with Ray Edwards, Colby's father. She'd said she would give him a heads-up to expect him, but he wasn't about to assume this job was a done deal.

And he sucked at interviews.

Sweat pooled at the base of his spine beneath the white dress shirt and gray suit jacket.

Which made him that much more nervous and self-conscious.

He hadn't had a real interview since high school, when he'd applied for a job at McDonald's at sixteen. This was a lot different. This job would be a life change. A new path . . .
a
path. Unlike the disoriented way he'd been stumbling along for ten months, not going anywhere.

This was an opportunity to leave the past behind and move on. Away from the nightclub scene, away from the fighting life . . .

Ironic how he'd stopped his truck that night to help her, yet it was Colby who was helping him. His thoughts had wandered to her far more often than he'd liked over the last few days since dropping her off at her apartment Friday night.

Something about her had made him feel relaxed and less on edge than he had in a long time. She had a sincerity about her that he must have been subconsciously craving, because he'd been tempted to stop by her place more than once during the weekend. Luckily he'd realized that would be stalkerish or crazy, so he'd resisted the urge. Barely.

She would make a good friend, he thought.

Right. When was that ever possible? He didn't believe two people with the chemistry they had could be just friends. Especially not when his thoughts had traveled into unchaperoned territory more than once when he'd remembered her tiny waist, curvy hips, and full chest . . .

He shook his head. Damn it! He was about to go into an interview with the woman's father; the last thing he needed was a semi-hard-on induced by thoughts of his daughter.

He stood and scanned the display cases in the reception area. Small, model-sized propellers were showcased behind the glass along with pictures of planes the company had made the parts for.

Several older model planes in the far back reminded him of his father's plane collection. They used to sit for hours and
his dad would let him play with the model planes as long as he was careful. He'd share stories about the flights he'd been on and the places he'd visited as a commercial pilot. He'd told him one day, he would take Dane with him.

“Dane?” a male voice behind him said.

He turned and wiped his hand on the leg of his pants before extending it toward the older man, dressed in dark blue coveralls. The name Ray embroidered on the left side pocket revealed this was Colby's dad, but he hadn't expected the man to look as old as he did. Colby had mentioned her father's recent heart attack, so that helped to explain the tired-looking, yet friendly, eyes. “Hi, Mr. Edwards. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

Ray smiled. “Would you like a coffee?” he asked, pouring himself one into a mug that said “World's Greatest Dad,” the letters fading, obviously from many years of use.

“No, thank you, sir. Can't trust my hands,” he said with a nervous laugh.

“Honest. I like that. Come on out into the warehouse. I don't like formal interviews,” he said.

Dane's shoulders relaxed as he followed Ray out through the door leading to a large warehouse where propellers in different stages of construction sat on various workbenches. His eyes widened. “Wow. How many projects do you work on at a time?” He counted at least six in the space.

“As many as we get orders for. Currently, we have eight being built with delivery times fast approaching.” He stopped near a larger one on a sanding machine. “This one is for Saunders Aviation. Have you heard of them?”

Dane nodded. “Yes, sir. Biggest independently owned commercial charter in the state.” Edwards' Propellers had some top-notch clients, meaning they produced some high-quality product. His mouth went dry. “In fear of losing this opportunity, I feel that I should tell you I've never worked in a manufacturing plant before . . . and certainly not with high-value products like this.”

“Have you ever used an industrial wide-belt sanding machine?”

“No, sir, but I'm a quick learner and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get up to speed quickly.”

The man looked hesitant. “Dane, I really would like to help you out. Unfortunately, right now, we are short-staffed and overpromised on delivery times.” He started walking and paused next to a hard-bearing balancing machine with a large propeller resting on it. “This one is on its final testing before going out and I need to focus on it this week, so my time is limited to train someone.”

Shit. Maybe he should have lied and claimed to have some experience. He knew he could figure out the sanding
machine quickly. It couldn't be that difficult. But his integrity wouldn't allow him to get the job by being dishonest.

“I'm sorry . . .” Ray was saying, then stopped. His eyes widened as the propeller started to tilt and he lunged toward the balancing machine.

Dane quickly dropped to his knees on the concrete floor, grabbing the bottom between the blades and holding its incredible weight while Colby's dad readjusted it on the platform, making sure it was steady before he released it. Dane's forearms felt like rubber as he shook out his arms and stood. He'd definitely torn a ligament or something. The thing had to weigh close to two hundred pounds.

As he wiped the dust from the legs of his pants, Ray resecured the propeller. Then coming back toward him, he extended a hand. “Welcome to the team.”

His jaw dropped. “But I thought . . .” Shut up. Don't argue. The man's giving you a job.

“This propeller is worth fifty thousand dollars, and it was due yesterday. You just saved my company's reputation with a new client. I'll teach you to use the sanding machine.”

Relieved and grateful, he shook the man's hand. “Thank you, sir. You won't regret it.”

“I already don't, son. Let's get you a set of coveralls.”

Son
. The word echoed in his mind, torturing his emotions. It was easy to see that compassion and caring ran in the Edwards family.

* * *

“Are you sure about this?” Dane ran a hand through his hair as he followed his new boss up the front walkway to the man's home. The moment he'd turned off the freeway, following the older man's truck into the Eagle Hills area, one of the nicest neighborhoods in Las Vegas, he'd immediately gotten nervous. Everyone he knew lived modest-to-struggling lifestyles. Luxury anything was a foreign concept to him, and he'd instantly felt like an outsider as he'd driven down the streets, taking in the beautifully manicured lawns and flower and rock gardens that probably cost more in landscaping than he'd made in his entire MMA career. “I appreciate the offer, but I don't want to intrude.”

“A friend for dinner is never an intrusion. You saved my company a lot of money today,” Ray said, tapping Dane on the back as he held the front door open for him.

The noise in the house wasn't something he was used to either. The sound of laughter and talking coming from the kitchen was a foreign one. His home was always so quiet. Never much talking, and certainly no laughter.

He ran his palms down the front of his dirty coveralls. Man, he wished he'd at least changed back into his suit first, but Ray had left in his coveralls, insisting it was fine and well, so Dane certainly hadn't been expecting . . . this. Looking around the large, beautiful home, he was afraid to touch anything and he certainly wasn't about to sit on the furniture when he was this dirty. The foyer was bigger than his apartment, and the winding staircase leading to the second floor was magnificent. A water treatment lined one wall and the sound of trickling drops had a calming, soothing effect on his nervousness.

“Mia, we have company for dinner,” Ray called down the hall as he nodded at Dane to follow him.

Dane hesitated, looking at his boots.

“Leave them on. It's fine.”

His wife, Mia, appeared in the hallway, shaking her head. “It's not fine. Off with the boots, both of you,” she chided, pushing her husband back toward the mat at the front door.

Ray shot him a look as they removed their boots.

Dane set his aside and glanced at his dirty socks. Damn. Of course. The one day he was invited to a lovely home for a meal, he had to be wearing a sock with a hole in the toe. The urge to grab the boots, thank Ray for the opportunity, and run out of the house was overwhelming.

But Mia's warm smile caused most of the tension to leave him. What the hell was it about this family that put him at ease, when there was absolutely no reason to relax? He didn't know them, so how could he trust them already? Now his new livelihood was on the line, and the possibility of disappointing the man really shouldn't be this much of a concern already.

Mia kissed her husband's cheek, then turned to Dane. “Why don't you follow me? I'll show you where you can get cleaned up,” she said, gesturing for him to follow her down the hallway.

He looked at Ray, but the older man was already headed toward the kitchen.

He cleared his throat as he followed, glancing at the family photos on the wall. He grinned, noticing one of Colby—fourth grade, maybe—missing front teeth and wearing wide-rimmed glasses, her dark hair crimped in a bushy halo around her chubby face. He'd be teasing her about that one.

He paused. What made him think he'd see her again? Just because he would be working for her father didn't mean he'd be spending time with her. This dinner thing wouldn't be happening again. He already knew he could get too attached to this family. Realizing he'd yet to speak to the woman, he cleared his throat. “You have a beautiful home,” he said awkwardly as they continued down the longest hall in history.

She turned. “Thank you. With three kids, all going through puberty at the same time, we needed the space, but now that they've all moved out on their own, I think the place is getting a little too big.”

He nodded. Growing up, his home had one bedroom, where his parents had slept and then just his mother. He'd had the couch. One that was too small to accommodate his height and size. One that provided no privacy or opportunity to drown out the sound of his mother crying every night. Living with his mother's bipolar disease had made his teen years a living hell.

Mia stopped in front of a door and opened it. “Here you are. The guest bathroom. I hope you don't mind, but Ray called from the truck and told me he was bringing you along, and I thought you might appreciate a change of clothes. Don't feel any obligation to change, I just wanted to give you the option,” she said.

Looking past her into a bathroom bigger than his apartment, he saw a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt hanging on the closet door. “Thank you,” he mumbled, a mix of embarrassment and appreciation stealing his voice. “I could have changed back into my suit . . .”

“The one we owe you for. I hear you ripped the fabric at the seams catching that propeller.”

Owe him? Was she serious? He already owed the family more than he could count. “Oh, no . . .”

“Take your time, but dinner is almost ready, and if you want to eat, you'd better hurry,” she said with a kind laugh, and she looked like Colby.

She left him to get changed, and going into the bathroom, he closed the door and leaned against the sink, studying his reflection. What was he doing in this house? With these people? Having a full-time job was enough. He didn't deserve any more than that. Their kindness and acceptance were making him feel uncomfortable. Had Colby told them everything about his past? Did the family know they were eating with a man who'd killed someone?

If they did, they were certainly experts at hiding their judgmental, curious, apprehensive, or pitying looks.

And he wasn't sure what was worse.

* * *

When she'd called her father the night before to let him know that Dane would be stopping by the shop that morning, he'd sounded tired, and, despite his attempts to convince her he was feeling great, she hadn't bought it. Therefore, she decided to wait until that evening to tell him and her brothers about her new story and plead with them to not mention her career to Dane. Honesty and integrity were important family values, and she knew she was in for some disappointed looks and possibly a lecture or two, but she hoped once she explained that this story could help Dane, they'd let it slide. It was the only
thing making her feel less guilty about deceiving him . . . or at least, not being completely honest with him.

Kicking her shoes into the hall closet, she made her way toward the kitchen. “I'm here. I'm starving. You jerks better not have eaten all the cabbage rolls . . .” Her voice died as she entered.

Dane looked as surprised to see Colby as she was to see him as he glanced up from her usual spot at the table.

What. The. Hell?

Her heart raced and her mouth went dry. She forced a deep breath and an awkward smile. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he said, looking a little embarrassed to be sitting at her table with her family.

“Colby, this is Dane,” her mother started, then stopped. “Never mind, I forgot you two already know each other.”

Oh, shit. How much did her mother know? Had Dane told her family she was working as a ring girl? Had they told
him
she was a lying asshole?

She glanced around the table. Her brothers had barely glanced up from their plates to acknowledge her and her father was sending her an odd look for continuing to stand there like an idiot, but other than that, they all seemed okay.

She pulled out a chair next to her older brother and sat. “So, the interview went well?” The one she definitely regretted getting him. He was supposed to have come away from it with a new job, not an invite to dinner at her house, with her family, where he could learn far too much about her. She wondered what he might have already learned.