Trust Me: Matty and Kayla, Book 1 of 3 (The McDaniels Brothers) (3 page)

I sat and he sat next to me and waved the bartender in our direction before taking another long pull from his glass filled with a clear liquid that had a chunk of lime perched on the rim.

The bartender looked at me expectantly, and despite the sudden craving for an icy cold beer, I decided to set a good example. "I'll take a
Diet Coke.”

While he went off to get my drink, I turned to
Matty and tapped his glass with my fingernail. “Maybe you should think about the same if we're looking to line up fights in the next month or two. Just so you know, during pre-fight training, I'm not a big proponent of alcohol."

"Good for you. But just so
you
know? I might be stuck with you as a manager, but I already have a trainer. Thanks for the tip though."

He drained his glass and then set it on the bar with a
clack
.

One step forward, one step back. It was like the world’s most frustrating line dance.

I plucked a worn menu from its metal holder with a sigh of resignation. Clearly, it was going to take a while for the two of us to work through the animosity, so I might as well keep my strength up. No point in me doing exactly what I'd accused him of and cutting off my nose to spite my face. After glancing at the list of eighties-themed selections, I called to the bartender.

"I'll take the Tide Is High Fish and Chips basket."

“Excellent choice.” Matty grinned and jerked his head toward the menu. "And here I thought you were some sort of health nut."

I wrinkled my brows at him and snorted. "What would make you think that? I'm not the one training for a fight. If I was, it would be another story."

“You don’t have to worry about me. You worry about booking the bouts, I’ll worry about making sure I’m ready, okay?"

Although the words were pointed, the tone wasn’t. In fact, he seemed to be trying to reassure me. I took it as a good sign. We seemed to have come to an uneasy truce for the time being, so I went with it.

“So this is your hangout, huh?" I asked, taking a second, now that I was feeling less ragey, to check out the kitschy decor.

A jukebox lit with jewel-toned, multi-colored lights stood in the corner with the last notes of what I was pretty sure was a Pat
Benatar song pouring through the speaker. The entire back wall was lined with old time arcade games. Everything from Frogger and Pac-Man to Asteroids and Space Invaders. I wasn't about to admit it to him, but the place was already growing on me a little. If I'd found it on my own when I was wearing a pair of jeans and my threadbare Ramones T-shirt, I'd have felt pretty at home here. “Doesn’t seem like your type of bar.”

“What would be my type of bar?” he asked, tilting his head to skewer me with that laser pointer gaze again.

I cleared my throat and took a sip of the icy beverage our bartender had dropped off. “Hooters?”

His laugh was loud and unexpected and I found myself grinning in response.

“Hooters is overrated,” he said. “The wings here are a thousand times better. I come for the food and the video games. Helps me unwind.” He motioned to the bank of arcade games. “Want to play?”

"Play what?"

"Any one you want. I have high score on those three." He gestured toward a row around the corner of what looked like fighting games. “So maybe pick something else.”

"High score, huh?"
I hadn’t grown up around a lot of video games, but I was technically inclined and a fast learner.

Might be fun.

Not that this was about fun. But still, taking a few minutes to try to connect with him a little couldn't hurt, could it?

"Sure, let's play that one."

He glanced in the direction I was pointing and grinned.
“Street Brawler 2? Bad choice. It’s my best game.”

I stood and slipped off my neat little blazer, tossing it over the back of my chair. "Oh, I’m so scared."

He paused for a second, hot gaze dropping from my face down to my camisole and back up again. A bolt of electricity arced between us and I almost snatched the jacket up again to cover myself.

Why did that keep happening? He’d warned me that being in close proximity a lot would distract him, but I was sure that would fade with time. I was also sure that, if there was any true attraction going forward, it would be one-sided. After all, how long could a girl
be attracted to a cocky, argumentative, surly pain in the ass?

Apparently, at least four
days, because my nipples went stiff under the weight of his stare and my pulse was skittering wildly.

He shook his head, seeming to collect himself and then, with
out a word, he stood. "Hey Bob, give us a yell when our food's ready," he called to the bartender as he crossed over to the arcade area.

I followed behind
as he led me to the row of games.

“You sure about this one?”

His grin was lethal and sent a shiver through me.
Nerves, because he looked so damned confident, probably.

"
So sure. In fact, loser buys dinner," I said on a whim. “One practice game so I can learn the controls.”

"You're on."

He rooted around in his pocket for some singles and inserted two into the change machine, which spit quarters back at him. He dropped them into the slot and the game beeped and rang as it came to life. He thumbed through and selected his character like it was second nature. I was already mentally kissing my money goodbye by the time we started playing.

It took two practice games before I really got the hang of it, but after that, it was on.

"Damn, nice shot,” he murmured after my ice princess Helga knocked his sorcerer on his ass. “You know if you hit the R2 button she has a special attack."

I promptly did so and his character went flying backward as Helga launched an ice-whip attack in his direction.

"Nice!” He nodded his approval, and a warm rush of happiness flowed through me. This hadn’t been my choice of venue, but I couldn’t deny I was having a good time.

When bartender Bob called
Matty's name three games later, I’d won the last two consecutively and had forgotten all about our food.

Matty
met my gaze. "Cool game, right?"

I nodded, realizing I was grinning like a fool. "Yeah, pretty fun." I pursed my lips and waved toward the bar, coming back to earth. "We should eat before it gets cold."

And then, we could leave this place that seemed to be seducing me the same way Matthias McDaniels was. It surely wasn't intentional on his part. As irritating as he was, there was this pull...a force field around him that drew me closer. My emotions around him seemed to run so high, they were almost manic. I was either rip-roaring mad, or stupid-giddy, and both states made me majorly uncomfortable. I liked to be on an even keel and in control at all times. There was no question that being around him took me right out of my comfort zone.

I settled into my bar stool and peered down at the plate in front of me. The pieces of fish were golden brown pillows and smelled like heaven, and the fries looked like crispy spears of perfection. Pity this was
Matty's place, because I was definitely starting to think I could get comfortable here.

I hunkered down and jammed a fry into my mouth, groaning as the flavor exploded on my tongue.
Salty, greasy and sooo good.

"Right?"
Matty said with a short laugh before plucking up one of his wings and tearing into it.

"I apologize for calling this place a dump, Bob,” I
said to the bartender who was milling nearby. “I was so wrong. This place is utopia."

I bit into a filet and groaned. I'd regret it later when I had to work it off on the treadmill
, but for right now, I was on cloud nine. Maybe it was a remnant of growing up poor and hungry for a lot of years, but I was a sucker for tasty food.

We ate in silence, and I managed to bite my tongue when
Matty held up a finger for another drink. We’d made some serious headway and I wasn’t about to screw it up. He said it wouldn’t be a problem going forward, and for now, I’d give him the benefit of the doubt. I’d been around enough junkies to know that, if it was an issue, it wasn’t a secret he could hide for long.

When
Matty finished his wings and went to the bathroom to wash up, I motioned to bartender Bob for the check. I’d won our Street Brawler 2 match, but only because Matty had taken it easy on me. Paying felt like the right thing to do. Plus, it was another leaf on the olive branch.

Bob printed it out and handed it to me in a leather billfold. I looked it over and waved him over again.

"Sorry, but I think this check's wrong,” I said with a smile. “Matty's drinks aren't on here." I wasn't flush with cash or anything, but I was a firm believer in karma and I wasn't about to rip this nice guy off because he'd added up the bill wrong.

"Nope, that's right.
Matty drinks seltzer water with lime. No charge for that."

I let that sink in for a second and frowned. How strange. Why wouldn’t he just have told me that? "Tonight he drank seltzer water, or you mean he never drinks at all?"

Bob looked away and made himself busy by moving some glasses around in a rack. "I’m not...probably shouldn't have said anything. It's really none of my business. The bill's right though." He snatched up a towel and smiled apologetically before making his way to the other end of the bar, that he’d apparently just realized was filthy.

"You ready?"
Matty asked, rolling up next to me, wallet in hand.

I nodded and forced a smile as I tossed a twenty on the bar and then added another ten for
Bob. "Sure thing."

"You don'
t have to buy. I lost," Matty protested, and made to grab for the check, which I pushed out of his reach.

"You went easy on me and then told me how to do all the advanced moves. I can't take the win like that. Next time, though, watch your ass,
cuz I'm coming for you."

He looked like he wanted to argue more, but I'd already started for the door.

"Thanks, everything was delicious," I said to Bob on the way out.

Matty
caught up in a few long strides. "Thanks for the wings. Next time, though, I buy.”

I didn’t respond, too preoccupied with the thought of a next time.

“My gym is just a few blocks from here,” he said. “You can follow me."

He was parked a few spaces down from me and climbed into his car. He pulled out and I pulled out behind him, still processing what the ba
rtender had told me, and what Matty hadn't.

Bob had
said “Matty drinks seltzer water”, not “He only had seltzer water tonight.” A fine distinction, maybe, but one that made me think this was more than just a one off.

So was he a recovering alcoholic? He was young, but that didn't mean anything. There were plenty of people in my old neighborhood that had substance abuse issues as early as thirteen. It was great that he'd identified it and was treating it early, if that was the case. Or maybe I was reading into it too much. Maybe he just didn't like the taste of booze. Although, if that was the reason, it seemed strange that Bob would have clammed up and ran off the way he did.

It was none of my business, really, except that, as his manager, if this sobriety was a new thing it could very much affect his fights. It was a delicate matter and so often, people with addiction issues slid back into old habits under stressful conditions. I didn't want to add to that, but we were expected to get some bouts scheduled. If this was a new development I’d let him get his legs under him some before we really dug in with some big matches. On the other hand, if he'd been sober for a while, we could go balls to the wall right off.

Those were the thoughts that occupied my mind on the ride over to
Matty's gym, and when we pulled up, I’d decided on a wait and see approach.

Better to
take advantage of the next couple minutes fine-tuning my pitch. I’d spent the last two days going over video footage of Matty’s recent fights and had some very definite opinions on where we needed to go from here.

And it was a pretty good bet he
wasn’t going to like any of them.

Matty

“Not going to happen.”

I crossed my arms over my chest to keep from swiping the papers she’d laid on the desk between us straight into the trash, because something told me Kayla would think that was rude.

Yet another pitfall of having a female manager.
I felt compelled to watch my manners.

Kayla shifted in her seat and blew out a sigh that stirred a copper lock of hair h
anging over one eye. “You’re not even listening to what I’m saying, though.”

Not true. I listened. I just knew she was talking out of her ass, so I disregarded what she said.
Two totally different things.

“Look, it’s clear as day that the only competition in town
who is also in the same weight class is Claus Nicholson. It’s a no brainer.”