Текст книги "Fighting the Fall"

Автор книги: Jennifer Snow

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Chapter 7

“What’s in the bag?” Connor asked as Tyson entered his office later the next day.

“A Halloween costume,” he grumbled, not in the mood for his brother’s thoughts on the subject. “Better question—what are you doing in here?” He hung the garment bag behind the door.

“The delivery guys showed up with the new display case, and they said they required a Reed’s signature . . .” Connor said. “So, I thought the least I could do was install it.”

Tyson turned, finally noticing the new case on the wall. It was bigger than the old one and all of the trophies and belts fit perfectly displayed behind the glass. “You did this?”

Connor nodded.

He cleared his throat. “Great, thanks . . .”

“I better go . . .” Connor said in the strained silence that followed.

The night before had been awkward to say the least, as Tyson had tried to help his brother battle through the withdrawal symptoms he’d expected to have started to go away by now. Connor had finally fallen asleep after midnight, his head on Tyson’s lap. He hadn’t known what to do and he hadn’t wanted to wake him for fear of having to deal with more anguish, so he’d slept sitting up on the couch.

“I’ll see ya later,” Connor said, leaving the office.

Tyson sighed. He was going to regret this. “Hey, Connor, if you want some work . . . um, you could clean or something . . .” He shrugged. There was little to clean. He always kept the gym in perfect condition and his guys knew to take care of the equipment, but if it would help to keep his brother off his couch all day long, every day? He refused to think there was more to his offer than that.

Connor nodded eagerly as he stuffed his shaking hands into the pockets of his jeans. In the two weeks of detoxing, he’d gained a bit of weight and his eyes looked clearer. “Yeah, I can do that. Whatever you need . . .”

His eagerness made Tyson feel uneasy and he almost wished he hadn’t said anything. “Go grab a broom or something,” he said distractedly, seeing Parker enter the gym.

His heart was a base drum deep in his chest as the memory of the day before returned. His mouth went dry as he watched her remove her hoodie to reveal her lime green sports bra. He really should implement a full T-shirt dress code in the gym. It hadn’t mattered before Parker’s beautiful, full chest had arrived, driving everyone, himself included—maybe him most of all—to distraction. But now the guys might appreciate it . . . or hate him for it.

When she caught his stare, she smiled. A soft, knowing smile as though they shared a secret from the rest of the world.

Damn it. He was in trouble. The best thing to do would be to try to put some distance there. Train her like he said he would, but not get too friendly, too close . . .

Too fucking late for that, he thought as she came into the office. The day before they’d gotten really friendly and really close. “Hi.”

“Hey . . . hi,” he mumbled, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever had to see a woman again after a one-night stand . . . Trying to form a coherent thought was proving challenging, especially with the recurring flashbacks from the night before on repeat in his mind.

She studied him. “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah . . . great . . .”

“So . . .”

Oh great. Here it was—the morning-after conversation. There would be no getting through that in one piece, so he quickly cut her off, “Hey, are you doing anything tonight?” he asked, immediately regretting it when her eyes lit up.

“Um . . . I was planning to visit my grandmother, help her give out Halloween candy . . .”

Right. She had a life. Her world didn’t revolve around training the way his did. “Yeah, okay.”

“Were you wanting to train? Because I can . . .”

He shook his head quickly. “No. No . . . It . . . There’s just a stupid Halloween thing tonight.”

“You’re asking me to go to a Halloween party with you?” She looked more than a little surprised.

“No. I mean you have plans . . .”

She stepped forward. “I’d rather go to the party with you.”

Man, he felt like a tongue-tied teenager asking a pretty girl to prom. What the hell was wrong with him?

“But I have to admit, I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Halloween kind of guy.” She sat on the edge of his desk and trailed a hand along his.

He laughed. “I’m not. I’m going as a favor to Walker’s fiancée, Grace. She just started her own publicity firm and this Halloween event is her first big job. She’s calling in all sorts of favors for a great turnout. She helped me with promotion with the gym when it first opened. It seems I sort of have an open-ended debt to her.” He’d thought he was off the hook after agreeing to let Walker train with his camp. Obviously not.

“That makes more sense.” Parker paused. “So . . . Halloween party. Should I wear a costume?”

He sighed. Going to the door, he reached for the garment bag from Spooktacular—the costume rental place around the corner from the gym. He unzipped the bag to reveal a white suit, splattered in blood, one sleeve ripped off and the tie covered in what was supposed to look like brain matter. “The theme is Zombie Burlesque.”

Her eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” He zipped the bag shut before the other guys training near the office could see the ridiculous costume. Grace would owe him one after that evening.

“Zombie Burlesque . . .” she repeated slowly. “So basically bloodstained lingerie and a feather boa?”

His dick hardened instantly. In her training gear she was a walking poster girl for any athletic apparel company . . . naked, she was mind-blowing. In lingerie, she just might kill him. He quickly busied himself with his computer. “Yeah, that sounds fine,” he croaked.

She smiled. “Great. It’s a date then.”

Shit. Did she have to go and label it? “Okay . . . why don’t you go warm up and I’ll be there in a bit.” Once his hard-on disappeared.

When she left the office, he closed the door and collapsed in his chair, readjusting himself in his shorts. She’d have to have been blind not to see the effect she’d had on him by just the mention of her in lingerie. Already he was regretting asking her to go with him. If he couldn’t trust his body not to react so boldly to her when it was just his own imagination fucking with him, how was he supposed to spend the evening standing next to her in a crowded bar full of half-naked women?

He hoped those rented suit pants had extra room in the crotch.

*   *   *

“So, who is this guy?”

Parker tried to keep her face from twitching as she answered. “No one you’d know.”

Ally, her friend and makeup artist stood back to admire the zombie makeup she was applying to Parker’s face. “Is he an actor?”

“No. He’s an MMA fighter,” she said quietly. “Do you think my face is pale enough?” she asked, glancing in the mirror, hoping to change the subject. She was trying to keep her upcoming role hush-hush, especially from anyone involved in the movie industry. Everyone talked to everyone else. Ally may be in Las Vegas working on set, but news of Parker’s new role would spread quicker than wildfire through Tinsel Town.

“I’ll be adding blue undertones,” Ally said, turning her face back toward her. “An MMA fighter?” Her eyebrows shot up. “How did you meet him?”

“Ah . . . well, this is Vegas. There are MMA clubs everywhere. I, uh, was looking for a gym to start working out more.” That much was true at least. As a rule, she tried not to lie as much as possible. It was the one value her parents had managed to instill in her before they’d died. One even Grandma Abigail’s insistence that little white lies were okay hadn’t shaken.

“Right, because the home gym complete with sauna and yoga studio downstairs isn’t good enough?” Ally laughed.

“I don’t know how to use any of that equipment; you know that. It’s only there for show.”

“That’s probably true,” Ally said. “So how long have you been seeing him?”

She’d been seeing him every day for almost a month, they’d had sex and a real conversation once . . . but she still wouldn’t classify them as “seeing one another.”

“Just a little while.”

“Does he have those gross cauliflower ears?” She wrinkled her nose. “I had to apply a prosthetic for them once on a boxing movie set.” She shuddered, reaching for the blue makeup from her kit.

“Um . . . yeah, I guess he does.” They didn’t bother her though. In fact, they seemed to suit him and make him seem that much more real and vulnerable. His unbreakable spirit and amazing body made him seem intimidating and indestructible. The damaged cartilage around his ears was a sign he wasn’t as bulletproof as he appeared. Or wanted to believe he was.

Ally applied the blue undertone makeup and several drips of red bloodlike paste around Parker’s mouth and turned her around to face the mirror. “Ta-da! The undead.”

“Wow!” Parker smiled at her ghoulish face. “This is amazing.”

“That’s why I get paid the big bucks,” Ally said with a grin, admiring her work over Parker’s shoulder. “This is airbrushed on, so it should last throughout the evening as long as you don’t make out too much.” She winked. “I haven’t tested its ability to withstand club bathroom sex.”

Parker’s smile faded as her pulse soared. Club bathroom sex. The memory of the bulge in Tyson’s shorts earlier that day at the mere mention of lingerie made her smile return. Huh, maybe it was time to find out just how good this makeup really was. “I’ll let you know,” she said, dropping her robe to reveal the red and black bustier and stockings she wore. “What do you think?”

Ally grabbed the silver and black feather boa that funny enough she’d found in the back of her closet and draped it around Parker’s neck and over one shoulder. “Perfect.”

Turning toward the full-length mirror in the corner of her bedroom, Parker studied the risqué costume, momentarily nervous. Sure, she’d worn less than this on sets, but out in public at a Las Vegas nightclub full of people? Suddenly, she wasn’t sure it was such a great idea. She was trying to recharge her career with this serious indie film . . .

She shook it off. It was Halloween. The one night every year women are allowed to dress like whores and with all this makeup, she doubted anyone would even recognize her.

Besides, now that the seed had been planted, she was really desperate to find out if club bathroom sex was really all that.

*   *   *

“Where are your costumes?”

Walker and Grace stared at him, mouths open, wearing matching shocked expressions but definitely no zombie burlesque attire.

“Um . . .” Grace started but as a laugh escaped her, she turned and buried her face in Walker’s shoulder.

Tyson glared at his fighter. “What the fuck, Walker?” He glanced around the crowded new nightclub, decorated in black, red, and silver, illuminated only by thousands of battery-powered flameless candles. No one else was dressed like the undead or in burlesque clothing.

“Sorry, man. When I said it was Zombie Burlesque themed, I thought you knew it was just the entertainment that would be wearing it.” Walker suppressed a laugh as he took in the costume. “Wow, you really went all-out.”

His hands clenched at his sides. “I could kill you right now.”

Walker held up his hands. “Hey, it could be worse. You could be dressed like one of the women.”

Shit.

Grabbing his phone, he texted Parker. He’d offered to pick her up but she said she had something to do first and she’d meet him there.

Have you left your house yet?

After hitting send, he waited, praying she was running late. Otherwise, she was going to want to hurt him more than he wanted to hurt Walker at that moment.

Just getting out of a taxi outside the hotel entrance. Be there in five. came her reply a second later.

Damn. Well, there was no saving her from the embarrassment now. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said.

Rushing out of the club, he sprinted toward the front of the hotel, catching her just as she reached the revolving door.

His mouth gaped at the sight of her in a short silk shiny robe that did little to hide the sexy red-and – black lingerie beneath. His eyes slid the length of her body taking in everything but air as he scanned the six inch platform heels, the fishnet stockings that rose to meet a silver garter belt on her right leg and the sexy-as-all-hell lingerie.

She looked drop-dead gorgeous.

At least from the neck down. Once his gaze reached her made up zombie-fied face, he snapped out of the trance and rushed forward. “Hi,” he said removing the tattered, fake bloodstained suit jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders.

“What are you doing?”

“Uh . . . okay . . . Wow, that makeup is insane,” he said, losing his train of thought and courage as he stared at her.

“Tyson.”

“Right. Don’t freak out,” he said, holding her shoulders.

Her eyes widened. “In other words, freak out,” she said, her dark eyes still pulling him in and making him want to kiss her, despite the seriously ugly makeup. “What is it?”

“When Walker told me about this, he didn’t mention it was only the entertainment dressing up for the party,” he said quickly.

Realization dawned on her face. “You mean we are the only two people dressed up?” She scanned him. “And you barely look dressed up . . . Oh my God.” She pulled his jacket tighter around herself.

“I’m sorry. Trust me, I am going to beat the shit out of Walker.” He ran a hand over his head. “Anyway, let’s get out of here.” Grace would understand. He couldn’t ask Parker to go inside the club dressed like that. And he couldn’t hide the fact part of him also wanted to get her alone—a big part of him.

But as he led her toward the doors, she let out a deep breath and hesitated. “Wait.”

“Huh?”

“Does it really matter? It is Halloween, and at least the entertainment will be dressed like this. I think we should just go for it,” she said with a shrug.

The fact that she was being so incredibly cool about it made him want to drag her out of there even more . . . take her someplace quiet, dark where he could get a better look at that costume.

Suddenly, he didn’t want to share the view with all of the guests inside the nightclub. He moved toward her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “How good is this makeup? Can I kiss you without eating it?”

Her cheeks flushed despite the paled-out face and she glanced downward.

He titled her chin back up. “What was that?”

She swallowed. “Nothing.” Standing on tiptoes, she pressed her body into him and whispered, “I had been planning on testing it out in the bathroom.”

Fuck me. His grip tightened on her and he was sure she could feel his cock pressing against the constraints of the polyester fabric, but she freed herself and headed toward the nightclub entrance. “Let’s go.”

He watched her hips sway as she strode away from him.

And he followed. Because honestly, he would follow that ass anywhere.

*   *   *

“I can’t believe she stayed,” Grace said when they joined them back in the club a few minutes later, a look of admiration and respect on her face as Parker disappeared through the crowd toward the bathroom.

Seeing the unconcealed looks of interest of the men watching her as she passed, Tyson resisted the urge to follow and punch a few guys out. He kept watching to make sure no one laid a finger on her—otherwise all bets were off. “Yeah, me neither,” he said distractedly.

“I can’t believe you invited her,” Walker said, sipping his drink.

Tyson pointed at him. “Don’t start, man. You’re already on my shit list.”

Walker shrugged. “I’m just wondering what’s going on with you two. Since you started training her, we are all just waiting for the day you two start doing more than just grappling inside the cage.”

Was their attraction to each other that obvious? He’d been hoping to keep whatever was happening out of the gym and away from nosy eyes. “Nothing’s going on. We’re just hanging out.”

“Right . . . because the last time you hung out with a woman, you hadn’t reached puberty yet,” Walker said.

Tyson turned to Grace. “Help me out here before your fiancé gets knocked out.”

She shook her head, her gaze glued to the event happening around them, making sure everything was going according to plan. “Sorry, Tys, I’m just as shocked as Walker. I thought I was the only woman you could successfully keep in the friend zone.”

He looked away. He hadn’t said anything about a friend zone.

“Ah, there’s the look,” Walker said.

“What look?”

“That guilty-as-shit look. She’s not in the friend zone. You already had sex with her.”

“So? I’ve had sex with a lot of women. Sorry, Grace,” he said, but she was barely listening anymore.

Walker grinned. “Yes, but the difference is, this time you’ve had sex with her and now you’re hanging out with her . . .”

His cell phone chimed with a text message in his pocket and, retrieving it, he grinned as he read it. He was being summoned to the women’s restroom.

*   *   *

Parker woke to the sound of her cell phone ringing far too early the next morning. Struggling to see through tired eyes, she rolled across the bed and glanced at the call display. Her grandmother. She looked at the time. Seven thirty-eight.

She answered quickly, sitting up and shaking off the sleep. “Grandma?”

Abigail sighed. “Okay, I guess we’re going with Grandma . . .”

“Are you okay?”

“My face is still swollen and wrapped in bandages and I’m sure I terrified the life out of all of the children who came to my door last night . . .”

Parker cringed, feeling guilty for bailing on the older woman the night before, but seriously—three face-lifts? Enough was enough. She was almost eighty; it was time to look old.

“But actually I was calling to ask if you were okay.”

Parker frowned, collapsing back against her pillows, streaked with the airbrush makeup she’d been too tired to wash off the night before. Her grandmother would throw a fit if she knew Parker didn’t always wash her makeup off before bed. “I’m fine.” Exhausted, not having made it to bed until midnight . . . and not getting to sleep until hours after that, once Tyson slipped away in the night. She pushed the annoying thought of his late-night exit aside. “Why do you ask?”

“I take it you haven’t seen today’s paper yet.”

She bolted upright. “No . . .” she said slowly, getting out of bed, tossing on her robe and hurrying down the stairs to the front door.

Her cell chimed with an incoming call and she glanced at it quickly. Her agent? It was six thirty on the coast. What did he want so early? Her stomach knotted—she suspected it had to be the same reason her grandmother was calling. “Can you hang on just a sec, Grandma?” she said before clicking over. “Ian?”

“Are you trying to sink your career?” he asked.

Shit. What the hell was in that paper? “I have no idea what you’re talking about . . . Give me a minute to catch up. I’m going to get my paper now,” she mumbled, opening the door and retrieving that day’s paper from her step.

“Let me know when you see it,” he grumbled.

Laying it on her kitchen table, she was relieved to see whatever it was hadn’t made the front page at least. “Help me out here. What section?”

“Entertainment.”

She quickly flipped to it. Her stomach took a dive. First page news of that section was the headline “Is Parker Hamilton’s career that bad?” above a picture of her in the Zombie Burlesque costume inside the nightclub. She groaned and buried her face in her hand. “Damn it!” She should have known press would be there—a new club opening in Vegas was a big deal. She just hadn’t expected this spin to be put on her good-natured attempt at making the best of last night’s costume mixup. So much for people not recognizing her.

Remembering her grandmother on the other line, she said, “Hold a sec, Ian.” She switched to the other line. “Grandma, I see the article and it was all just a misunderstanding. I thought it was a costume party.” She shook her head as her eyes skimmed the article. Career over . . . washed-up child actress . . . Oh, crap.

“Not exactly a great way to keep a low profile until your new movie is announced,” Abigail said.

“I know . . .” Damn Tyson! Or Walker or whoever was to blame for this.

Herself.

Tyson had suggested they leave. She’d been the one who’d offered to stay. This was her own fault. “I wasn’t expecting any media attention. I haven’t had any in so long,” she mumbled. Of course the paparazzi preferred to strike when the story could be twisted to stir up drama and controversy.

“They always find you on your worst days, sweetheart. Chin up. It will blow over,” Abigail said.

She doubted she would get the same reaction from her agent. “Thanks, Grandma . . . I’ll talk to you later.” Clicking back over to Ian, she said, “Look, this was supposed to be a costume party, that’s all. I’m not the newest member of the . . .” She scanned the article. “Sexy Zombie Squad.” She slumped in her chair. “How do we fix this?” Her head hurt. It was too early and she was just a little too hung-over to be dealing with this right now.

“I’ll call Marsha.”

Her publicist. If anyone could fix this, she could.

“We’ll release a statement. Unfortunately, I think we will have to announce the movie role in an attempt to try to steal the focus away from this.”

She frowned, taking another look at the picture she barely remembered posing for with the sexy zombie squad. She was laughing and she looked relaxed. “Do you think it’s really that bad?” Maybe her grandmother was right—it would all just blow over in a few days. Who really cared about this stuff anyway? she thought, but her stomach was queasy.

“Let me quote—‘Ms. Hamilton’s desperate attempt to remain in the spotlight and out of her grandmother’s shadow knows no bounds.’ What do you think?” Ian said.

Shit. “Okay. Release a statement about the new movie.”

*   *   *

Is MFL Light-Heavyweight champ, Tyson Reed headed for Hollywood or heartbreak?

Fuck.

Tyson leaned closer to the screen as he read the article on the MMA Fanatics website—one of the biggest and most popular Mixed Martial Arts online news center. He always started his morning reading the latest MMA news on the site, and he’d been the hot topic before, but not like this.

He groaned as he scrolled through the article about him and Parker at the Zombie Burlesque party the evening before. Whoever had taken these shots of them together had been pretty close. Pictures of them laughing, dancing, kissing . . . filled the screen and his gut tightened.

Should we expect to see the champ in Parker Hamilton’s next movie or has the playboy of the MFL finally fallen in love?

No. And no. Fuck me, he thought, leaning back in his chair. This was the last thing he needed. Press about his upcoming fight was great, but not when it was framed like this.

He stared at the picture of the two of them in the hallway outside the club’s restrooms. She was leaning against the wall and he had his hands on her hips, his lips just inches from hers. She was smiling . . . but it was the look on his own face that made him ill—the intensely intimate way he was staring at her.

He sighed, resting his head against the seat and closing his eyes, though the attempt to block out the image was unsuccessful. He’d never looked at a woman like that before. He knew it, the press knew it . . . he wondered if Parker knew it?

He couldn’t let this get out of hand any more than it already had. Relationships were not his thing. Getting hurt inside the cage he could handle. Getting his heart broken was a different story. He’d never let himself get close enough to a woman to find out the damage it could have on his heart and he wasn’t about to. Not this close to a fight that mattered more to him than anything.

His cell phone chimed with a new message and, picking his phone up, he hesitated, seeing Parker’s name on the screen. He was getting in over his head with this woman and it had to stop. Telling her they’d have to cool things wasn’t going to be easy and he couldn’t help but think it might be harder on him than it would be on her . . .

Opening the message, he saw a link to a TMZ article and below it, he read.

Paparazzi strikes again. My publicist advises that we cool things . . . at least for now, until the movie starts filming . . .

He blinked. Good. This was good. They were on the same page. And her publicist had done the dirty work for them. One less complication he needed to deal with. He should be relieved.

He wasn’t.