Rough Around the Edges (6 page)

He meant every word. There was no way he could sit inside the same restaurant with her and not think of the occasion as just that. A platonic relationship – friendship, whatever – just wasn’t in the cards. The way his body responded each time she so much as glanced in his direction made that clear.

Even more pressing was the way he felt around her. He couldn’t spend time around the only person he’d wanted in such a long while if she didn’t want him back. No way. Even his breath balked at the notion, freezing inside his lungs for a second and then rushing out in an involuntary sigh. It would have to be a date or nothing.

She simply stood there for a moment, then exhaled in a misty rush, much like he just had. “I’m twenty-three. That’s a little too old to go on a date with a parental chaperone, don’t you think?”

“Ah, you’re spending the evening with your mother again?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s fine.” It was more than fine, an elated voice in the back of his head proclaimed. Maybe if her mother hadn’t been inside, they would’ve had a date that evening after all. He couldn’t help thinking it, and the way she looked at him fueled the notion. “I’d be happy to take a rain check from you. Have any nights coming up this week that you were planning to spend alone?”

She nodded without hesitating.
“Pick any night this week and it’s yours.”

“Thursday.” He didn’t hesitate either. Satisfaction drove his heart hard against his ribs. “Think about what time you want me to pick you up. Then let me know next time you see me at the gym.”

“Okay. And hey…” For the first time that night, she looked unsure of herself. “How’d you know my last name?”

He couldn’t help grinning.
“It’s written on your gym bag.” Had it really only been a few hours ago that he’d noticed the name written in the bold, black strokes of a permanent marker? That seemed far away now; the world in which Ally had agreed to a date with him seemed ages away from the world in which their exchanges had been limited to awkward conversations at Knockout.

She nodded.

Remembering that her mother was waiting for her inside, he bid her goodnight. A twinge of regret assailed him as she nodded again and said something similar, turning toward the restaurant. But the regret he was left with in the wake of her acceptance was nothing like it would’ve been otherwise. He felt strangely buoyed as he watched her disappear into the restaurant.

As he left for home, he had something besides his next fight to look forward to, and that fact was indescribably nice.

* * * * *

“Five hundred.” Ryan laid the bills down on the counter, repressing the urge to grimace. The deductible hadn’t seemed high when he’d selected his auto insurance plan, and it was only a fraction of the total repair costs. Still, on a roofer’s pay, any unexpected expense hit him where it hurt. He rarely missed having money, but as he parted with the cash that had taken him hours of back-breaking work to earn, he wouldn’t have minded a little more cushion in his bank account.

Good thing he’d raked in the past Friday night’s middleweight division prize money – that helped to offset the cost of the repair some.

The guy behind the counter handed Ryan his keys. “Got someone bringin’ it around now.”

Ryan turned to face the large glass window by the garage’s door, the pane of which was lightly blackened around the edges by the airborne grime of however many cars had been in and out of the facility since it had last seen a thorough cleaning. Despite the fact that he was now five hundred dollars poorer, a sense of familiar satisfaction welled up inside him when a sleek blue Mustang emerged from one of the garage stalls and came to a rolling stop directly in front of the window.

“Nice car, by the way,” the man behind the counter called out. “You ever race it?”

“No.” Even after a week in the shop, his car was a lot cleaner than the garage window, though he thoroughly intended to take it through a wash before he picked up Ally.

“That’s a shame. You could have some fun, maybe make a few bucks, you know? I saw that thing’s engine earlier today – about pissed myself.”

Yeah, the Shelby Super Snake was basically a street-legal monster, but funnily enough, he’d never really treated it that way. That wasn’t to say that he’d never taken it out onto a few of New York’s countryside highways and surpassed the speed limit just for fun, but that seemed like ages ago and he didn’t exactly like the idea of getting in trouble with the law for street racing. It was enough just to enjoy the car. “Seven hundred and twenty-five horses. It’s nice just to drive.”

“Damn! How much did that set you back? I know they don’t come off the dealer’s lot like that.”

“Sent it to Vegas to be modified at the official Shelby facility after I bought it.” He purposely avoided the man’s first question. He’d been estranged from his old life long enough that thinking of the cost of the car and its modifications made him feel strangely detached not only from who he’d been then, but from who he was now. The super-charged coupe was his only physical tie to his New York life, and he liked it too much to give it up, even if the insurance threatened to bankrupt him. He’d live in the car before he sold it to pay his rent.

“Damn,” the man repeated, this time in a tone of soft awe. “You’re one lucky sonofabitch.”

“Yeah, I guess I am.” He shrugged and strode out the door, the words lingering uncomfortably on his lips. Was he lucky? To be able to drive such a nice car despite his low-paying job, sure. But for a while – nearly a year – the car had been his one joy in life.

Now, approaching the vehicle with every intent of picking up Ally in less than an hour, he felt truly lucky for the first time in a long time. The feeling had become alien. Hopefully Ally would let him stick around long enough to grow used to it. Tonight would be their first date, but it wouldn’t be their last if he had anything to say about it. That was already clear; the sense of certainty that accompanied his every thought of her was a visceral thing, a want so basic it felt like a need.

As he climbed into his car and waved goodbye to the technician who’d brought it around for him, he was vaguely aware that it was strange how sure he was that he wanted her. But he was long past questioning strange. Shifting the car into gear, he pulled out of the parking lot at a moderate speed, revving the engine a little for the sake of showing off for the man behind the counter, who was probably watching him drive away.

He pulled into the first carwash he passed and stopped inside a concrete stall, where he pushed up his sleeves and hosed off the Mustang, washing it until in gleamed while trying not to get his clothes wet. He succeeded, for the most part, which was a good thing because he didn’t have time to go home and change before picking Ally up. He’d promised to be there at seven-thirty.

He did speed a little as he made his way toward the address she’d given him, but his slightly imprudent pace was nothing compared to what the car was capable of. It had practically flown on the occasions when he’d pressed the pedal to the floor – just remembering it gave him a rush that culminated in a slight chill. The gooseflesh had yet to fade from the back of his neck by the time he pulled up at Ally’s house, guiding the car to the curb in front of the little white ranch-style home.

As he exited the vehicle, it hit him that Ally had never seen it before. It had gone into the repair shop shortly after his accident, just before he’d joined Knockout. She’d recognize him though – he could see the outline of a female figure standing just inside the door, looking out. Was it her?

He didn’t know who she lived with, besides her mother, presumably. He didn’t know much about her at all, but was ready to change that.

When the door swung open with a soft
click
and
swish
, it was obvious that it
was
her. She stood in the modest home’s threshold wearing snug jeans and a dark-red sweater. It flattered her, the color echoing the rich, warm brown shades of her hair and eyes. Red wine and dark chocolate, she was beyond beautiful.

As he climbed the short flight of stairs that led up to the porch, his heart sped, reminding him of how he’d revved the Mustang’s engine back in the auto shop parking lot. “You look great.”

“Thanks.” She smiled, her barely-glossed lips curling into a plump curve that drew his eye like nothing else.

“Are you ready to go?” He didn’t want to rush her, but she’d met him out on the porch.

“Let me just grab my handbag.” She turned. “Here, step inside so you don’t have to stand out in the cold.”

The night air was comfortable. Seeing her had heated him from the inside out, and the slight chill helped keep him from breaking out into a decidedly unromantic sweat. He accepted her invitation anyway; he was so drawn to her, following her inside felt right. Plus, the view from behind her was incredible. Her jeans clung to the perfect curves of her ass almost as tightly as the spandex workout shorts she frequently wore to the gym.

He stopped just inside the doorway, tearing his gaze from Ally’s tempting figure and willing it to settle on a woman who stood straight ahead in the kitchen. She was Ally’s mother for sure – he could see echoes of Ally’s beauty in the shape of the older woman’s chin and cheekbones. They had the same heart shape to their faces – a flattering trait. Maybe that was what made Mrs. Rivera look a little younger than she probably was. “Good evening, Mrs. Rivera.”

“Good evening. Ryan, right?” Maria held a wooden kitchen spoon in one hand and was wearing an apron. Behind her, an array of vegetables covered the counter. If she was cooking while Ally was going out for dinner, she probably enjoyed it.

“That’s right.”

Did Ally cook too? He promptly shoved an image of Ally bustling in the kitchen wearing nothing but an apron from his mind. What the hell was wrong with him? He shouldn’t be thinking those kinds of things while making eye contact with her mother. Besides, wasn’t it chauvinistic to be turned on by the idea of Ally being skilled in the kitchen?

Maybe, but the image his imagination had conjured up wasn’t going to fade from his mind anytime soon. It had been a while since he’d wanted any woman like he wanted Ally; apparently his imagination was making up for lost time.

Mrs. Rivera beamed at him, confirming that she could not, in fact, read his thoughts, and apparently didn’t suspect their nature. Thank God.

“I’ve heard all about you from Ally and Melissa.”

“I hope they’ve been telling you good things.” He smiled back at her, feeling like a jackass as he fought to keep erotic images of Ally out of his thoughts. It was going to be a sweet sort of torture to watch her hips sway back and forth in those jeans all evening.

“After what you did for Melissa, there’s nothing they could tell me that would make me think less of you.”

There was no doubt that she’d think less of him if she had any idea how he was picturing her daughter. He clamped his jaw shut, as if his fantasy might somehow spill out in verbal form. There was nothing for it – he couldn’t stop imagining what Ally would look like perched on the edge of the counter, her knees parted enough to reveal the tender flesh beneath the skirt of her apron.

Stepping forward with her handbag slung over one shoulder, Ally saved him from having to think straight enough to make further conversation. “Ready?” she asked, looking up at him with the large, dark eyes that had been haunting his fantasies.

“Yeah.” He bid Mrs. Rivera goodbye and followed Ally out the door, still thinking about her on the kitchen counter. As if he could combat his wayward thoughts with gentlemanly behavior, he opened the passenger-side door for her and tried not to descend any further into depravity as he watched her climb inside.

Back in the driver’s seat, he inserted the key into the ignition and turned it in a familiar motion that always brought him pleasure. The Mustang’s answering purr helped to calm him a little, as if his heart – which had spent the past ten minutes supplying blood to the region below his belt – was trying to match the easy tempo of the idling engine. “I thought we could try out an Italian place I’ve heard of,” he said as he pulled away from the curb. “Does that sound good to you?”

“It sounds great.”

The sound of her voice demanded his attention, prompting him to spare a brief glance in her direction before he returned his gaze to the street. He shouldn’t have looked – now the image of the seatbelt resting low in the valley between her breasts was stuck in his head, sending his blood south again. As he exhaled as quietly as he could, realization seized him, leaving him painfully sure that his balls would be aching against the driver’s seat by the time he made the drive home. Unless…