Fighting Dirty
Page 59
“Got it.”
Simon stepped in. “We’ll get him sparring more with a leftie, just to bone up on it.”
When they finally called it quits, the guy holding the mic was waiting for him.
And Merissa was now surrounded by Leese, Miles, Brand and Justice.
Rather than make him jealous, Armie appreciated the fact that she’d always been family to the guys. In their own ways, they each loved her—and why not? Rissy was pretty damned lovable. For years now she’d cooked for them, fed them the desserts they knew they shouldn’t have, laughed with them and generally just loved them all back.
Speaking of desserts, if Simon knew that Rissy indulged him once a week—brownies, pie, cupcakes—he probably wouldn’t like it. But diet or no, she was such a great baker, he couldn’t resist her weekly treats.
Hell, he couldn’t resist her—ever.
“What do you say?” the interviewer asked. “You ready to do this?”
“Sure.” He let Simon open his fingerless gloves. “Here, or somewhere else?”
Looking shrewd, the guy asked, “You want privacy?”
“Doesn’t matter to me. Just asking for your preference.”
“Then let’s do it here.”
Great. Everyone was back to paying attention, gathering around for the spectacle, and damned if he didn’t see a few of the women he used to know hanging around. That didn’t bode well. Especially when one of them, Kizzie, wiggled her fingers at him in a teasing wave.
After drying the sweat on his face, Armie said, “Let’s get to it, then.”
It took just a few minutes of setup, and then the interview started with questions about his training methods, the rec center, his new coach, manager and the contract with the SBC. Some of it was the usual BS questions about whether or not he’d win—like any guy would say, “No, I’ll lose for sure”—and then he was asked about his long-term plans.
“I don’t make long-term plans. I mean, ideally I’ll do well and advance. And to the extent that I can, I’ll do my best to make that happen.”
“What about your personal life? Any special ladies?”
Without faltering, Armie said, “All ladies are special, each in her own unique way.”
The females in the audience wolf whistled and cheered.
The guy grinned, especially when Kizzie drew attention to herself by throwing him a kiss.
Shit. The last thing he needed was anyone interviewing her, since Kizzie’s kink tended to be pretty far out there.
He’d said it to keep the focus off Merissa; his relationship with her wasn’t anybody’s business, and given the looming threats, he didn’t want to toss her name around anyway.
When Rissy went all stiff and pissed off and the guys formed a protective barricade around her, he realized his mistake.
Should have just called her up front with him.
“Let’s talk about that,” the interviewer said with barely banked glee. “You’re known as a ladies’ man.”
“Who’ve you been talking to—besides me?”
Loving it, the man laughed. “So you boast?”
“I don’t hide from who I am.” Or rather, who he’d been—because now he was a one-woman man, at least for as long as Rissy would have him.
“You’ve got one hell of a rep as a fighter, but an even bigger rep for—”
Letting his irritation be known, Armie cut the guy off, saying, “Look, how about we agree to keep this about the fight?”
“But your hedonist rep is so interesting.”
“Yeah? To you? Sorry, dude, I’m only into chicks.”
The interviewer went red-faced.
Kizzie, always outrageous, yelled, “It’s the truth, because I tried.” When everyone laughed, she added, “He agreed to three women, but guys were not invited.”
Shit, shit, shit.
Just beyond Kizzie were the other two women, already high-fiving each other. He didn’t dare look at Rissy, or hell, Cannon.
Next to him, Simon started grumbling something about idiot boys who put no limits on gluttony. Then, bless him for being a terrific manager, he stepped in and took over.
“Tell you what, Fred, you don’t ask my fighter any more personal questions, and I won’t start sharing your personal business.”
Armie had no idea what Simon knew about the interviewer, but that shut him up real quick. He did a wrap-up by asking Armie two more fight-related questions, then closed it down.
Thank God.
Kizzie started toward him, so he made a strategic retreat for the showers. With any luck the ladies would be gone by the time he finished and was ready to go.
When he stepped out of the shower, Leese was there, arms crossed, one shoulder propped against the lockers.
Armie eyed him as he dried off. “Okay, let’s hear it.”
“You embarrassed her.”
“Was trying not to.”
“You failed.”
Armie shook his head. “You’re lucky I’m not a possessive ape like Denver or I’d flatten you.”
“I’d almost welcome you trying.” When Armie glanced up at him in disbelief—because they both knew he’d wipe up the floor with Leese—Leese said, “I’d get in a hit or two. And that’d make me feel a whole hell of a lot better.”
“Yeah, I get that.” He stepped around Leese and headed for his clothes. “So you and Rissy are good friends, right?”
“Why does that feel like a loaded question?”
“Because it is.” As Armie dressed, he explained about her house, the break-in, and how he knew Leese was looking for a new place to stay.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Why not?” Armie watched him. “You’re not afraid to be there.”
“No.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“For one thing,” Leese said, his anger really starting to show, “if things don’t work out between the two of you, she’ll be moving back home. And that would be awkward as shit. Before today, I figured you’d wise up and make a go of it, but given the display you just put on, I’m now having my doubts.”
“Don’t,” Armie said quietly. “Don’t doubt me, and don’t ever think there’ll be an open field.”
“Friends,” Leese stressed again. “Only friends.”
“Because you know she wants me! Otherwise you’d be all over it and you know it!”
Leese looked at him, smirked and settled himself comfortably against the lockers again.
“Admit it.”
“Maybe. So? She is hung up on you. End of story.”
“Damn right it’s the end of the story.”
“I thought you weren’t a jealous ape.” When Armie started to fume, Leese casually added, “And you’re pissed at yourself for that idiotic reaction out front, so stop taking it out on me.”
“You,” Armie growled, “followed me.”
“Only to tell you that Rissy wanted to storm off, but I dissuaded her. You can thank me.”
Armie paused, then nodded. “Thanks.”
“And also to tell you that you have a gaggle of women out front hoping to get a drop of fame thanks to their—” Leese coughed theatrically “—association with you.”
Simon stepped in. “We’ll get him sparring more with a leftie, just to bone up on it.”
When they finally called it quits, the guy holding the mic was waiting for him.
And Merissa was now surrounded by Leese, Miles, Brand and Justice.
Rather than make him jealous, Armie appreciated the fact that she’d always been family to the guys. In their own ways, they each loved her—and why not? Rissy was pretty damned lovable. For years now she’d cooked for them, fed them the desserts they knew they shouldn’t have, laughed with them and generally just loved them all back.
Speaking of desserts, if Simon knew that Rissy indulged him once a week—brownies, pie, cupcakes—he probably wouldn’t like it. But diet or no, she was such a great baker, he couldn’t resist her weekly treats.
Hell, he couldn’t resist her—ever.
“What do you say?” the interviewer asked. “You ready to do this?”
“Sure.” He let Simon open his fingerless gloves. “Here, or somewhere else?”
Looking shrewd, the guy asked, “You want privacy?”
“Doesn’t matter to me. Just asking for your preference.”
“Then let’s do it here.”
Great. Everyone was back to paying attention, gathering around for the spectacle, and damned if he didn’t see a few of the women he used to know hanging around. That didn’t bode well. Especially when one of them, Kizzie, wiggled her fingers at him in a teasing wave.
After drying the sweat on his face, Armie said, “Let’s get to it, then.”
It took just a few minutes of setup, and then the interview started with questions about his training methods, the rec center, his new coach, manager and the contract with the SBC. Some of it was the usual BS questions about whether or not he’d win—like any guy would say, “No, I’ll lose for sure”—and then he was asked about his long-term plans.
“I don’t make long-term plans. I mean, ideally I’ll do well and advance. And to the extent that I can, I’ll do my best to make that happen.”
“What about your personal life? Any special ladies?”
Without faltering, Armie said, “All ladies are special, each in her own unique way.”
The females in the audience wolf whistled and cheered.
The guy grinned, especially when Kizzie drew attention to herself by throwing him a kiss.
Shit. The last thing he needed was anyone interviewing her, since Kizzie’s kink tended to be pretty far out there.
He’d said it to keep the focus off Merissa; his relationship with her wasn’t anybody’s business, and given the looming threats, he didn’t want to toss her name around anyway.
When Rissy went all stiff and pissed off and the guys formed a protective barricade around her, he realized his mistake.
Should have just called her up front with him.
“Let’s talk about that,” the interviewer said with barely banked glee. “You’re known as a ladies’ man.”
“Who’ve you been talking to—besides me?”
Loving it, the man laughed. “So you boast?”
“I don’t hide from who I am.” Or rather, who he’d been—because now he was a one-woman man, at least for as long as Rissy would have him.
“You’ve got one hell of a rep as a fighter, but an even bigger rep for—”
Letting his irritation be known, Armie cut the guy off, saying, “Look, how about we agree to keep this about the fight?”
“But your hedonist rep is so interesting.”
“Yeah? To you? Sorry, dude, I’m only into chicks.”
The interviewer went red-faced.
Kizzie, always outrageous, yelled, “It’s the truth, because I tried.” When everyone laughed, she added, “He agreed to three women, but guys were not invited.”
Shit, shit, shit.
Just beyond Kizzie were the other two women, already high-fiving each other. He didn’t dare look at Rissy, or hell, Cannon.
Next to him, Simon started grumbling something about idiot boys who put no limits on gluttony. Then, bless him for being a terrific manager, he stepped in and took over.
“Tell you what, Fred, you don’t ask my fighter any more personal questions, and I won’t start sharing your personal business.”
Armie had no idea what Simon knew about the interviewer, but that shut him up real quick. He did a wrap-up by asking Armie two more fight-related questions, then closed it down.
Thank God.
Kizzie started toward him, so he made a strategic retreat for the showers. With any luck the ladies would be gone by the time he finished and was ready to go.
When he stepped out of the shower, Leese was there, arms crossed, one shoulder propped against the lockers.
Armie eyed him as he dried off. “Okay, let’s hear it.”
“You embarrassed her.”
“Was trying not to.”
“You failed.”
Armie shook his head. “You’re lucky I’m not a possessive ape like Denver or I’d flatten you.”
“I’d almost welcome you trying.” When Armie glanced up at him in disbelief—because they both knew he’d wipe up the floor with Leese—Leese said, “I’d get in a hit or two. And that’d make me feel a whole hell of a lot better.”
“Yeah, I get that.” He stepped around Leese and headed for his clothes. “So you and Rissy are good friends, right?”
“Why does that feel like a loaded question?”
“Because it is.” As Armie dressed, he explained about her house, the break-in, and how he knew Leese was looking for a new place to stay.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Why not?” Armie watched him. “You’re not afraid to be there.”
“No.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“For one thing,” Leese said, his anger really starting to show, “if things don’t work out between the two of you, she’ll be moving back home. And that would be awkward as shit. Before today, I figured you’d wise up and make a go of it, but given the display you just put on, I’m now having my doubts.”
“Don’t,” Armie said quietly. “Don’t doubt me, and don’t ever think there’ll be an open field.”
“Friends,” Leese stressed again. “Only friends.”
“Because you know she wants me! Otherwise you’d be all over it and you know it!”
Leese looked at him, smirked and settled himself comfortably against the lockers again.
“Admit it.”
“Maybe. So? She is hung up on you. End of story.”
“Damn right it’s the end of the story.”
“I thought you weren’t a jealous ape.” When Armie started to fume, Leese casually added, “And you’re pissed at yourself for that idiotic reaction out front, so stop taking it out on me.”
“You,” Armie growled, “followed me.”
“Only to tell you that Rissy wanted to storm off, but I dissuaded her. You can thank me.”
Armie paused, then nodded. “Thanks.”
“And also to tell you that you have a gaggle of women out front hoping to get a drop of fame thanks to their—” Leese coughed theatrically “—association with you.”
