Fighting Dirty
Page 35
“He’s got an edge to him,” Jude agreed.
“Cannon told me some of it.” Havoc sat back. “I don’t think he’d mind if I shared.”
“You do that,” Armie said as he took out his phone and quickly texted Rissy to let her know he was held up. Just as he was about to send the message, he heard her laugh.
What the hell? Midstory he made Havoc move to let him out, stepped from the booth and scanned the room. Merissa had just walked in with Cherry and already guys were eyeballing them. Together the ladies made an interesting contrast; Rissy was tall, slender, with long dark hair, while Cherry was much shorter with a generous rack and curly blond hair.
Damn it. Where the hell was Denver? He’d keep the knuckleheads away.
When Rissy pulled off her coat, the sight of her squeezed all the oxygen out of Armie’s chest. She wore a stretchy, black lace top that hugged her upper body enough to make his mouth water. Her jeans, superlow and long, emphasized the length of her killer legs. She’d added extra makeup and even curled the ends of her long hair.
For who?
“Problem?” Havoc asked.
Hell, he’d almost forgotten he had an audience and definitely hadn’t realized they’d stopped talking about Rowdy. Without looking at any of his companions, Armie said, “No.” Not one that he could acknowledge anyway, definitely not one he’d share with another guy.
He sent the text, saw Rissy immediately grab her phone, smile and quickly thumb in a reply. Soon as it hit his phone, Armie read, Cherry told me. Visiting w/her @ Rowdy’s. Let me know when ur done & I’ll head over. Miss you!
So it wasn’t that she’d accepted Cherry’s offer over seeing him, and it wasn’t to get with another guy. She’d dolled up extra sweet for him.
Tension uncoiled from his neck and shoulders, when damn it, tension shouldn’t have been there anyway. He missed her, too, but only texted back, Will do. Have fun. Then took his seat again.
Havoc looked at him, then toward Rissy and back again. “Should I ask?”
“No.”
Frowning in confusion, he slid into the booth seat. “Isn’t that—”
“Thought you weren’t going to ask.” Armie stared at him, hard.
Jude and Simon both looked quizzical.
With a slow grin, Havoc shrugged. “Long as it doesn’t interfere with your debut—”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Ah,” Simon said, nodding his shaved head with sage wisdom. “A woman.”
“That’s usually the only interference mentioned,” Jude agreed.
They both started to scan the room, presumably to find the woman in question, but with perfect timing, Rowdy returned with their drinks. “On the house,” he said as he served them. “It’s the least I can do, so feel free to order whatever you want.”
“Burger and fries?” Simon asked.
“I’ve had the cheeseburger,” Havoc said. “Really good.”
“My cook, who’s also a fight fan, will own eternal bragging rights,” Rowdy told them. “How about I bring a platter and some plates?”
The offer was met with enthusiastic agreement.
So they planned to do dinner? Shit. Armie stewed over that, wishing he could be elsewhere.
Like with a certain tall, adorable lady, who also happened to be scalding hot—
Just then, Cherry and Merissa took a table across the room from them. It was distracting enough thinking about her, but now he could see her, too—her every smile, how she gestured while speaking enthusiastically with Cherry, the way the ladies laughed together.
Watching Cherry go wide-eyed, a hand over her mouth, Armie wondered if they were gossiping about sex.
When Cherry fanned her face, he knew they were.
Merissa nodded, then crossed her heart, and Armie outright laughed, making the other men wonder.
“Sorry.” Clearing his throat, he folded his arms on the booth top and asked, “So, what do you need me to do?” Maybe once he gave agreement and assurances, he could get on his way.
Not so.
For the next hour they talked promo and appearances. No problem. He never minded talking with spectators.
“Usually,” Havoc said, “we ask the guys to dress it up a bit.”
“Suit and tie,” Simon said. “Take it serious. Be sincere.”
“I can do that,” Armie told them, but he already dreaded it. He was much better at just winging it, at listening to the fans and laughing with them, mugging for photos and all in all, having a good time. But he had given his word that he’d dive in, so—
Jude shook his head. “We discussed it before coming here, and part of your appeal—”
Lip curled, Armie asked, “My appeal?”
“—is you.”
They all waited, putting him on edge. “What the hell does that mean?”
Deliberately provoking, Simon said in an aside to Havoc, “Touchy.” Then he grinned at Armie and overly articulated, “Your fans like you ‘as-is.’ They don’t want you prettied up.”
Prettied up? Armie scratched his chin. “So no suit?”
“You might have to tone down the suggestive tees,” Havoc explained, “but otherwise, just be yourself.”
“You’ve already built this enormous fan base,” Jude said. “And they don’t want you to change.”
“Whatever you say.”
“They like your rebel attitude.”
Armie snorted. “I’m not a rebel.” That sounded insecure and annoying.
“Nonconformist then.” Jude disregarded the wording as if it didn’t matter. “The fact you’ve avoided the SBC, that you fight without the fame—”
“Or the bumped-up paycheck,” Havoc added.
“—has impressed a hell of a lot of people.”
Armie frowned. “It’s not about impressing anyone. I just like to compete.”
“And win?” Havoc asked.
He shrugged. “Prefer it to losing, sure.”
The three men grinned as if he’d just given the right answer.
“Without near the exposure most fighters in the SBC get, you’ve made a name for yourself.”
“Wasn’t trying to.”
Simon nudged Havoc. “He wasn’t even trying.”
“It’s like this organic movement, growing bigger every day.” Jude pushed aside his empty plate and leaned forward. “Talk to just about anyone competing in the sport and they’ve heard of you. Spectators who follow the sport know your name.”
“No shit?” Well hell. His intent had always been a low profile.
“They whisper about you,” Havoc said, “like you’re an urban legend.”
“Or,” Simon added, “the average man’s hero. You’re more like them, but doing what they can’t do.”
Jude gestured. “It’s as if you represent all of them.”
Frustrated, Armie rubbed both hands over his face. “Look, you want me to fight, so I’ll fight. And I’ll do my damnedest to win. But I’m not trying to represent anyone.”
“Tough,” Simon told him. “That’s how it is with hometown heroes. People admire you.”
“Cannon told me some of it.” Havoc sat back. “I don’t think he’d mind if I shared.”
“You do that,” Armie said as he took out his phone and quickly texted Rissy to let her know he was held up. Just as he was about to send the message, he heard her laugh.
What the hell? Midstory he made Havoc move to let him out, stepped from the booth and scanned the room. Merissa had just walked in with Cherry and already guys were eyeballing them. Together the ladies made an interesting contrast; Rissy was tall, slender, with long dark hair, while Cherry was much shorter with a generous rack and curly blond hair.
Damn it. Where the hell was Denver? He’d keep the knuckleheads away.
When Rissy pulled off her coat, the sight of her squeezed all the oxygen out of Armie’s chest. She wore a stretchy, black lace top that hugged her upper body enough to make his mouth water. Her jeans, superlow and long, emphasized the length of her killer legs. She’d added extra makeup and even curled the ends of her long hair.
For who?
“Problem?” Havoc asked.
Hell, he’d almost forgotten he had an audience and definitely hadn’t realized they’d stopped talking about Rowdy. Without looking at any of his companions, Armie said, “No.” Not one that he could acknowledge anyway, definitely not one he’d share with another guy.
He sent the text, saw Rissy immediately grab her phone, smile and quickly thumb in a reply. Soon as it hit his phone, Armie read, Cherry told me. Visiting w/her @ Rowdy’s. Let me know when ur done & I’ll head over. Miss you!
So it wasn’t that she’d accepted Cherry’s offer over seeing him, and it wasn’t to get with another guy. She’d dolled up extra sweet for him.
Tension uncoiled from his neck and shoulders, when damn it, tension shouldn’t have been there anyway. He missed her, too, but only texted back, Will do. Have fun. Then took his seat again.
Havoc looked at him, then toward Rissy and back again. “Should I ask?”
“No.”
Frowning in confusion, he slid into the booth seat. “Isn’t that—”
“Thought you weren’t going to ask.” Armie stared at him, hard.
Jude and Simon both looked quizzical.
With a slow grin, Havoc shrugged. “Long as it doesn’t interfere with your debut—”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Ah,” Simon said, nodding his shaved head with sage wisdom. “A woman.”
“That’s usually the only interference mentioned,” Jude agreed.
They both started to scan the room, presumably to find the woman in question, but with perfect timing, Rowdy returned with their drinks. “On the house,” he said as he served them. “It’s the least I can do, so feel free to order whatever you want.”
“Burger and fries?” Simon asked.
“I’ve had the cheeseburger,” Havoc said. “Really good.”
“My cook, who’s also a fight fan, will own eternal bragging rights,” Rowdy told them. “How about I bring a platter and some plates?”
The offer was met with enthusiastic agreement.
So they planned to do dinner? Shit. Armie stewed over that, wishing he could be elsewhere.
Like with a certain tall, adorable lady, who also happened to be scalding hot—
Just then, Cherry and Merissa took a table across the room from them. It was distracting enough thinking about her, but now he could see her, too—her every smile, how she gestured while speaking enthusiastically with Cherry, the way the ladies laughed together.
Watching Cherry go wide-eyed, a hand over her mouth, Armie wondered if they were gossiping about sex.
When Cherry fanned her face, he knew they were.
Merissa nodded, then crossed her heart, and Armie outright laughed, making the other men wonder.
“Sorry.” Clearing his throat, he folded his arms on the booth top and asked, “So, what do you need me to do?” Maybe once he gave agreement and assurances, he could get on his way.
Not so.
For the next hour they talked promo and appearances. No problem. He never minded talking with spectators.
“Usually,” Havoc said, “we ask the guys to dress it up a bit.”
“Suit and tie,” Simon said. “Take it serious. Be sincere.”
“I can do that,” Armie told them, but he already dreaded it. He was much better at just winging it, at listening to the fans and laughing with them, mugging for photos and all in all, having a good time. But he had given his word that he’d dive in, so—
Jude shook his head. “We discussed it before coming here, and part of your appeal—”
Lip curled, Armie asked, “My appeal?”
“—is you.”
They all waited, putting him on edge. “What the hell does that mean?”
Deliberately provoking, Simon said in an aside to Havoc, “Touchy.” Then he grinned at Armie and overly articulated, “Your fans like you ‘as-is.’ They don’t want you prettied up.”
Prettied up? Armie scratched his chin. “So no suit?”
“You might have to tone down the suggestive tees,” Havoc explained, “but otherwise, just be yourself.”
“You’ve already built this enormous fan base,” Jude said. “And they don’t want you to change.”
“Whatever you say.”
“They like your rebel attitude.”
Armie snorted. “I’m not a rebel.” That sounded insecure and annoying.
“Nonconformist then.” Jude disregarded the wording as if it didn’t matter. “The fact you’ve avoided the SBC, that you fight without the fame—”
“Or the bumped-up paycheck,” Havoc added.
“—has impressed a hell of a lot of people.”
Armie frowned. “It’s not about impressing anyone. I just like to compete.”
“And win?” Havoc asked.
He shrugged. “Prefer it to losing, sure.”
The three men grinned as if he’d just given the right answer.
“Without near the exposure most fighters in the SBC get, you’ve made a name for yourself.”
“Wasn’t trying to.”
Simon nudged Havoc. “He wasn’t even trying.”
“It’s like this organic movement, growing bigger every day.” Jude pushed aside his empty plate and leaned forward. “Talk to just about anyone competing in the sport and they’ve heard of you. Spectators who follow the sport know your name.”
“No shit?” Well hell. His intent had always been a low profile.
“They whisper about you,” Havoc said, “like you’re an urban legend.”
“Or,” Simon added, “the average man’s hero. You’re more like them, but doing what they can’t do.”
Jude gestured. “It’s as if you represent all of them.”
Frustrated, Armie rubbed both hands over his face. “Look, you want me to fight, so I’ll fight. And I’ll do my damnedest to win. But I’m not trying to represent anyone.”
“Tough,” Simon told him. “That’s how it is with hometown heroes. People admire you.”
