Undisputed (10 page)

It also helps that I am a bit—okay, fine. A lot—of a control freak when it comes to these things anyway. What can I say? I like to know that everything is going to run smoothly. The thought of leaving it all up to anyone else, even my sister, gives me hives.

I think Abby recognized my micromanagerial tendencies when we were kids, and ever since, she’s left planning and decision making up to me. From the lemonade stands we used to have during the summers of our childhood, to the double dates we went on as teenagers, to the college we both attended (University of Georgia—go Dawgs), Abby has always let me take the lead. It didn’t necessarily make sense, seeing as I’m two years younger than she is, but as we got older, I realized she was too flighty to take the reins. Our mother used to say she was “free-spirited,” but I always described her as irresponsible.

There’s a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

Abby pushes my door open wide. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.” She pauses briefly when she notices I’m already up and dressed, but then she offers a steaming mug my way.

I drop my phone and greedily reach out for the cup of liquid life. “Ahhhhh,” I say after I’ve taken a drink. “I swear—the first sip goes straight to your soul.” Sitting back down on the bed, I pat the spot next to me in invitation.

Judging by the artfully crafted coffee and the look on her face, I sense there’s something she wants to discuss with me. But I’m too excited about the e-mail and the text messages I’ve just received to wait for her to start a conversation.

“He said yes!” I blurt out.

She wrinkles her brow. “Who said yes?”

“Breccan Carlisle! He said yes!” I swing my arm that’s holding the cup of coffee and some of it sloshes onto my bed. “Well, shit! Whatever, I’ll get it later,” I grumble when Abby starts looking around for something to clean it with. I swat her outstretched hand away before I continue. “I got an e-mail from the Make-A-Wish foundation and then, a couple of minutes later, a text from his agent or manager or whoever he is. Here, read them.” I pick the phone up and make sure there’s no coffee on it before thrusting it in her face.

The confused look has been replaced by excitement, and I can’t help but think about how beautiful she is.

Over the years, we were often confused as twins, our mother having blessed us with the perfect button nose and flawless complexion and our father having passed along our high cheekbones and thick, red hair. While we may bear a striking resemblance, all the way down to measuring in at the same height of five foot five, the major difference between us is that Abby looks perfect without any effort.

She’s easily able to pull off any trend. Like now—her shoulder-length hair is in a messy bun on the top of her head. It’s as if she had a team of stylists perfect her look the minute she rolled out of bed.

My hair is longer than hers, hanging to the middle of my back, and if I attempted a messy bun, it would turn out more messy and less bun. Absentmindedly, I pat my hair. It’s knotted and matted together on the back of my head.
Real glamorous.
Sighing, I give up trying to fix it and turn my attention back to Abby.

“Well, this Tripp guy is awfully proper, isn’t he?” she comments, passing my phone back to me.

I roll my eyes and nod in agreement. “I thought the same damn thing when I read that. And he called me Mrs. Isn’t that a laugh?” I ignore her ain’t-that-the-truth expression and carry on. “Anyway, October fifteenth looks good on my end. And I don’t see that you’ll be out of town for that weekend, unless there’s something new that’s come up?”

A guilty look crosses her face, and she draws a deep breath in. “Yeah. That’s what I came in to talk to you about. I’ve got another assignment. I need to leave”—she glances at my clock—“in, like, half an hour.” Her faces flashes with guilt. “It was the only flight I could get today,” she rushes out before casting her eyes downward. “But it’s just for a few days this time. I should definitely be back before next Saturday.” Peeking up, she offers me a timid smile.

Irritation overwhelms me. She’s rushing off again with no notice.

But I can see by the way she’s worrying her necklace that she feels bad about leaving, so I don’t say anything. It wouldn’t make a difference if I did anyhow. We’ve had this argument plenty of times, and nothing’s changed. There’s no point in bringing it up again. Not when we have such exciting news for Connor.

Nodding, I force a smile to my face. “It’s fine, Ab. Really. But, before you go, let’s go tell Connor about his wish.” I give her hand a quick squeeze then stand up and head towards the door to find Connor.

Walking into work later that morning, I can’t stop smiling as I remember the expression on Connor’s face when we told him that, in less than a week, he would meet his hero. Abby had barely gotten the words out of her mouth when he launched himself at us, effectively knocking us over like bowling pins. His reaction was everything I had hoped it would be, and I’m so thankful that I thought to record it so that we could laugh about it for years to come.

Distracted by my thoughts as I meander into my office, I take off my jacket and toss it on the edge of my desk. A vase full of flowers tumble to the floor, spraying water on their descent.

“Seriously?” I mutter to myself as I scramble to pick the dozen roses up from the floor and shove them back into their container.

Bleh, roses.

They are so ordinary and overused. Yeah, they are pretty, but there isn’t anything special about them. I love the complexity of a mixed bouquet. How every bud stands out and shines even though it’s surrounded by other beautiful flowers.

Shaking out of my thoughts, I turn to Mindy. “Hey lady. You know where these came from?” I ask while still mopping up the spilled water. I don’t see a card.

Wagging her eyebrows, she grins. “Yeah. Jake left them for you.”

Rolling my eyes, I finish cleaning my mess up. “I wish he would give it a rest already.”

Her eyes widen in surprise. “What do you mean?” She whisper-yells, “Jake is freaking hot. Why wouldn’t you want him giving you flowers?”

Everyone in the office knows about what happened the night of my birthday, but apparently, Mindy’s memory is short.

“Have you forgotten about the debacle at that club we went to on my birthday?” I ask.

Embarrassment washes over her face. “Shit. I did forget. Although it’s kinda hot, if you ask me.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I question, “What exactly is hot about grown men fist-fighting over you like we’re back in the Dark Age? Seriously, I was waiting for one of them to pick me up and throw me over their shoulder at any minute.”

Laughing, she nods. “Yes! That’s so freaking hot!”

I shake my head at her before grumbling, “If you say so.”

She winks at me before returning to her desk. Sitting down to get started, I close my eyes and allow myself a brief moment to daydream that these flowers are from Brock. I’m in the midst of imagining him taking me to a candlelit dinner and then a walk along the beach when I catch sight of Jake sauntering up the hall, in my direction. Shaking my head to clear it, I brace myself for whatever is about to come.

A smug smile on his face, Jake boasts, “Hey, Sidney. I see you got my flowers. Roses. Your favorite, I bet.”

Not wanting to be rude, I plaster a fake smile on my face and nod. “They’re beautiful. Thank you. But, uhm, what are they for?”

“No reason. Just thought you deserved some. Hey, I know you were busy this last weekend, which is why we couldn’t go out, but what about next weekend?”

Relieved, I shake my head, “Oh, I’m sorry. I have something going on this weekend, actually. My nephew’s meeting his hero, and I want to be there for that.”

Undeterred by my refusal, he rocks back on his heels. “Okay, no problem. I’m leaving to go out of town that Saturday anyway, but I’ll be back Friday. The following weekend, then.” He says it as a statement and not a request.

Pressing my lips together, I mull it over. What’s the harm in one date with him? As long as he keeps his hands to himself, it may not be so bad.

He’s no Brock.

Regardless of the fact that he’ll be a poor substitute for the man I really want to see again, it’s been so long since I’ve been on a date.

Even longer since you’ve had sex.

At this point, I am almost a born-again virgin. Laughing to myself at the thought, I look back up to where Jake’s leaning against my cubicle wall. Reminding myself that he is good-looking and, at the very least, I’ll get a free dinner out of it, I nod my head once in acceptance. “Sure, I don’t think I have anything going on that weekend. I’ll have to double check, but I should be available.” I give him a shy smile and hope that I’m not setting myself up for the evening from hell.

Clapping his hands together and then rubbing them, he says, “Great. I’ve got your number. I’ll call you when I get back from my vacation that weekend.” He winks at me, again confirming that he’ll call me soon, before heading back the direction from which he came.

I stare at the flowers, which look pitiful after their tumble to the floor, before turning my computer on to get started on my workload. With Abby leaving again, I am going to have to fly through it to get Connor to his appointment on time.

I’ll have to worry about my date with the office man candy later.

M
y next title fight was finally announced. I’ll be meeting Ryker “The Stryker” Hawke.

What a douche.

The UFC just acquired him from another organization, and while he fights in my weight class, he’s usually about twenty pounds heavier. Bottom line: He’s a fucking beast and I can’t take him lightly.

I’m determined to have a good showing. I’ve refused to admit to anyone but Mark the humiliation I felt after my last fight, but it has me itching for a shot to redeem myself.

Hawke’s been talking a lot of shit to anyone that will listen, and it’s been killing me not to respond. But Mark’s still trying to clean my last mess up, so he’s keeping me on a short leash.

Ultimately, two of the bars I got kicked out of decided to sue me for damages. Not Raw though. At least I still have somewhere I can decompress on the weekends. Tripp insisted that I was lucky they didn’t press criminal charges, so I sucked it up and paid the clubs off to avoid dragging the shit out. Tripp and Mark have been trying to make me get my shit together for a while. I think they’re both hoping that this is the kick in the pants I needed to finally do it.

They keep calling this meeting with the kid “the redemption of KO.”

I’d be lying if I said that I’m not nervous as fuck, so I beg Tripp to go with me.

“Come on, dude. Just go with me. You don’t have shit else to do today.”

Shaking his head, he shoves another piece of bacon in his mouth, “This kid doesn’t want to meet me. Hell, he won’t even know who I am. Why are you so hell-bent on me going with you?”

I can barely understand half of what he says as crumbs tumble from his mouth.

Since I’m in the middle of a training camp, my second breakfast of the day consists of half a dozen eggs and two grapefruits. Tripp’s idea of a good time while I’m in camp is to rub it in that he can eat whatever the fuck he wants. This morning, it’s sausage-gravy biscuits and about half a pig’s worth of bacon.