Raw (5 page)

“Oh, drat,” I say, mock-scowling at him. “I’m going to have to show off my awful sparring abilities some other time.”

I’m not sure, but I think I detect a flash of disappointment in Maverick’s eyes.

Unexpected warmth floods me to the marrow of my bones.

“I’ll go get Racer early, I guess.”

I slide under the ropes and hop onto the floor, and he slides from under the ropes and smoothly stands as I shoot him a smile and start to leave.

“Hey, thanks,” he calls back at me.

Our eyes hold for the most intimate pair of seconds I’ve ever lived. Inside my sneakers, I swear my toes are curling.

“’Bye, Maverick.” I hurry away.

Then I join the day care pickup line and try to regroup, but my brain isn’t in the game. It keeps replaying our talk. Him in the park. Him piggybacking into the gym with me.

I’m so relieved when Racer is led out of day care—so I can stop thinking about Maverick now—that I drop to my knees and engulf him in a bear hug, smacking a kiss on his dimple. “How’s my favorite guy in the whole wide world?!”

“Hungwy,” he says moodily, scowling.

I laugh and take his hand in mine. “I’m hungry too.”

Maverick

I
t’s evening. On the second floor of an old extended-stay hotel, I head down the hall to 2F and knock on the door.

It opens an inch, a bloodshot eye peering at me through the slight crack the chained door allows.

Well, there he is. The great Oz.

“A word,” I say.

“Busy,” he replies.

He tries to shut the door in my face, but I’ve got some experience now, and I quickly stop the door with my foot.

“A word? Please.”

He narrows the eye. “Ease off on the foot, kid, and maybe we’ll talk.”

I clench my jaw, debate with myself silently, then ease back on the foot.

“Who are you and why are you here?” he demands.

Behind him, the place is a mess of empty bottles and pizza boxes.

“I need a trainer.”

“I need more vodka.” He slams the door in my face.

I grind my molars and raise my arm, prepared to bang, but the flat door staring me in the face really fucking bugs me. I’m so sick of staring at doors, I’d bang my fist straight through it if I thought it’d get me anywhere. I head to the stairway exit and stalk down the stairs instead, taking several at a time.

♥   ♥   ♥

THIRTY MINUTES LATER,
I knock again. He opens the door, with the same bloodshot eye at the crack.

“You,” he says in disgust.

“That’s right. Me.”

I turn around and jerk my hoodie off over my head. He might as well know now before he asks for a little private show. I wait, letting him get an eyeful of my tattoo, then I turn around to find the bloodshot eye wide open, regarding me.

“I need a trainer,” I repeat, and I lift the vodka bottle I bought.

The door shuts.

Then I hear the sound of chains. And for the first time—for
real
—the door of opportunity swings open for me.

♥   ♥   ♥

BY THE NEXT
morning I’ve figured out the love of Oz’s life—before the booze replaced all his other loves—was named Wendy. When he calls people cowards, he calls them Wendys. “They’re fucking Wendys, the whole lot of them. Wendy’s my ex-wife. She couldn’t take me.”

“Maybe she had her reasons,” I said.

“Yeah. I worked too hard, and now I don’t work at all!”

I was prepping up my gloves, but he came over and yanked them away from me.

“We’re signing you up to the Underground today. No training.”

He stalked into his bathroom to change, and now he takes a swig of vodka, straight up, and tucks the flask into the inside pocket of his blazer as he readies himself to leave.

Exasperated, I drop my head on the back of the couch I’ve been sitting on while the lady readies herself. “Oz, it’s seven in the morning,” I groan.

He hunts through the mess for his key card until he finds it and pockets that too. “I’m an all-around-the-clock kind of man. Morning’s just an extension of evening.”

Oz guzzles alcohol like a regular person breathes.

“How come you were in town?” I ask him as we head down in the rickety elevator.

“Habit dies hard. I’ve always been in the city for the Underground inaugurals; I wanted to go watch and feel sorry for myself.”

Guess Oz is as unwanted as I am.

When we reach the Underground sign-up location—an old warehouse building set up with a pair of tables—he notices the silence. It catches like wildfire the moment we step into the room.

I start toward the lines for the sign-up tables when Oz’s voice stops me. “Hang back. We don’t know if there are any nukes hidden anywhere.”

Giving everyone in the line a lethal look, I lean against the wall and watch as Oz dutifully stands in the back. I’ve seen most of these fighters in videos, though the big ones—like Tate—sign up later in the day. Their spots are guaranteed anyway.

We’re the early birds, so we manage to get signed up in a half hour.

“If it isn’t the Wizard of Oz, this kid’s ticket
home
,” a group of three older fighters cackles.

I walk next to Oz, toward the exit, ignoring them. “They’re not making fun of you, they’re making fun of me.”

“Oh, they’re making fun of me all right.” He eyes me sideways. “I know who you are. Some of my competition might be looking for their golden boy. But my golden boy found
me
’cause those dickheads were too scared to take him on.”

“Why did you?” He was drunk and I could see that. But still. I
did
let him get a fucking eyeful of my tattoo.

“Nothing to lose. Nothing left to lose.” He slaps my back and gives me my schedule. “That’s your first night. How do you feel about that?”

I scan the paper, verify that I fight at the inaugural. And I see what he’s dubbed me.

I laugh. “You’re so fucking dramatic,” I say, smacking him on the back of the head.

He smacks me back. “Really. Now live up to the name. Let’s bring some excitement around here. Show them what happens when two nobodies pair up—two nobodies against the world.”

“Hey,” I growl, taking exception, “we’re not nobodies. We’re somebodies. Everybody’s somebody.”

He takes a long swig from his flask as we step out into the sun. “Somebody’s not enough. Let’s be the champions.”

Reese

I
t’s midweek already, and I’m halfway through my workout when I get a text from Brooke:

Hey! Huge line at the Underground registration, might pick up lunch on our way back home. Don’t wait for us - lunch home w/Diane

Got it
Will take Racer to park and meet you home ltr

I set my phone aside and scan the gym again. Some otherworldly impulse has me walking past the weights section. I cross the treadmills, bicycles, toward the mats at the end and the boxing bags. I scan the area where Maverick always works out. There are several guys at the bags now. None of them are as big, or mysterious. Or hot.

He’s gone.

Disappointment washes over me. I wait a bit, checking the time. Five minutes to leave for Racer.

Reese, you’re acting stupid.

“You’re looking for your friend? The one you come in with?”

“I . . . ah . . . yeah.”

“He hasn’t come in.”

“Right. Thanks.”

I head to pick up Racer from day care, meet Pete there with the stroller and our snacks, then sit Racer inside and push him to the park. There’s this spot I like under the shadow of a tree. I head there. “How was day care, Racer?”

“Okay.”

He’s scanning the park for dogs, I know.

“This is nice, isn’t it?”

I pull out his fruit bears and open them. He dives in.

“Racer, I ran extra hard today and I’m suddenly hungry. If I tell you an extra story tonight, would you give me one of your fruit bears?”

“Two stowies,” he negotiates.

“Okay, two stories, for two bears?” I shoot back.

He hesitates, then nods and lets me pull out two bears, examining my hand thoroughly. I let him open my palm.

“See? Two?”

He grins a dimpled grin that I could eat up, and then continues eating.

I shove them in my mouth and start to set up my blanket and stop in my tracks when I spot the figure doing pull-ups on the tree.

His T-shirt is riding upward due to the lifted position of his arms, and I can see the concrete-like squares of his abs perfectly.

His extraordinary eyes blaze and glow when he spots me a few feet away, not far from the tree. He drops himself to the ground, lithe as a cat and surprisingly quiet, and as he stretches to his feet from the crouched position he landed in, his eyes are direct and interested and warm. No, not warm.
More.

There’s a flip in my stomach when his lips curl a little. He ambles over and I have the oddest sensation that he was waiting for me. But . . . was he?

“Maverick,” I say softly to myself.

“Mavewick!” Racer repeats—embarrassingly loudly—and puts out his fist.

He bumps fists with Racer. “Dude. Cool cap.”

He taps Racer’s Yankees baseball cap. Then his eyes lift to meet mine.

My stomach feels unsettled, but it’s not from hunger, more like from nerves or something like . . . anticipation.

“Didn’t see you at the gym today,” I say.

He shakes his head. “I talked to Oz.”

“You did?”

He gives me this quiet, perfect smile and simply nods.

“That’s great.”

“Yeah.”

We smile for the most delicious few seconds.

“So you’re fighting during the inaugural?” I ask excitedly.

He pulls out a page from his jeans back pocket. “That’s me.”

I take and scan the page. It indicates his accepting the Underground terms and rules of engagement, states his coach’s name, and then his name. A dangerous little chill runs down my spine when I read:

Maverick “the Avenger” Cage

And Maverick “the Avenger” Cage is watching me read this paper, studying my reaction.

My palms are sweaty all of a sudden. “Well . . . wow.”

My stomach is quaking upon seeing his name; I don’t know why. Maverick Cage. His name is a conundrum. Maverick means “rebel,” and cage . . . But it looks like this maverick is coming out of his cage.

He tucks the page back into his jeans. “I had to tell someone.”

“And you came to tell me?” If I sound bewildered, it’s because I
am.

He stares into me, a liquid look coming to his eyes. “It wouldn’t be happening if it weren’t for you.”

“That’s totally not true.”

He glances down at the stroller. “I wouldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t tell my buddy here.” He fist-bumps Racer again and Racer giggles at the attention.

“Mom and Dad are busy, so I get to keep him for an extra while,” I tell Maverick.

He stares at me. He has a very stubborn, arrogant face, but when he smiles, pleasure softens his granitelike features. And he’s smiling right now.
Dear me
. “So he’s not yours,” he says.

“God, no. I wish!”

I can’t think straight when he looks at me. I feel naked. As if he knows that I’ve missed him. As if he knows that just looking at him makes me feel odd. Odd and oddly sensual inside. Responding to
him.

I open my blanket and bend over to smooth it on the ground. Then I realize my butt is sticking out, the Himalayas of butts out there for him to see. In tight exercise gear. Fuck.

He sits on his haunches at the edge of the blanket and opens his hand. “Share the blanket with me?”

His knuckles are still scarred. I can’t decide why I keep looking at them. I get a gut squeeze of empathy every time I see the bruises. His hands are
huge
. He plants them on the blanket, then shifts to lean back on his arms, stretching out his legs before him. Other couples are nearby on blankets. It feels intimate when I set my stuff down, and I feel myself go hot when I sense him watching me settle down next to it.

He spreads out just a little more and squints up at the tree, then looks at me in silence.

I search the picnic bag. “Want some . . . kid food? Or I’ve got . . .” I pull out my emergency Snickers bar, which I’m proud not to have touched yet, and I hand it over. “Plus one water and a drinking cup with a lid.”

I pass the drinking cup to Racer and hand Maverick the water. He takes it. “I’m good.” He opens the water bottle and hands it to me.

I shake my head. I’m not hungry, really. Or thirsty. My stomach feels full of butterflies again and it makes no sense, since I don’t even
know
him.

He shifts up higher on his arms, the flex of his torso’s muscles visible through the cotton of his shirt.

“I almost thought you’d arrived to the gym and got yourself kicked out,” I try.

“Not yet. There’s still tomorrow.” He smirks.

And there’s a tinge of merriment in his eyes.

“Wee, and the ducks?”

I jerk my attention back to Racer and my pending business with him. “Right. I promised we’d feed the ducks today.” I quickly pack our stuff and then push the stroller toward the lake. Maverick walks beside me.