Not. A. Date.
But it’s hard to remember that when the sparks have been flying between us all week. Every time we touch—which is often, since we’re training buddies—I lose a few more of my brain cells and feel like a hormonal teenage girl. The other day, he cracked a joke, and I giggled. I fuckinggiggledin a gym full of muscle-bound men.
It’s shocking that Seth hasn’t noticed. My poker face might be decent, but Devon’s is appalling. Several times a day, I catch him undressing me with his eyes, and perhaps I could ignore it if he was less charming and outrageously hot, but for some reason, he gets to me.
In a fit of defiance, I yank open a drawer, grab a pair of yoga pants and a Crown MMA zip-up hoodie, and change into them. There’s no way he can possibly interpret it as a date now. Except, you know, I leave my belly bare, with only a sports bra beneath the hoodie because I’m still a woman and I’m allowed to be a little vain. I zip the hoodie, slip my purse and phone into my pocket, and stride through the apartment, hoping Seth will be in his bedroom. No such luck.
“Bye,” I say, waving as I pass him on the sofa as I head for the door.
“Where are you going?” he asks, glancing over.
“Just out with some people from the gym.”
“Oh, yeah?” He frowns, and it occurs to me that he might be disappointed he wasn’t invited. “Who?”
“Just a couple of the guys. We’re going to watch Steel Angels.” I add that last part because I know it will distract him from exactly who I’m spending time with.
“You’re scoping out the competition.” He smiles wryly. “Guess it was too much to hope that you not look into them.”
“Does it bother you that I’m going?” I’ll do it whether he likes it or not, because I’m the sort of person who needs to know exactly what I’m facing, but I’d prefer not to have him unhappy with me.
He shrugs. “You’re a good judge of your own process. I trust that you won’t do anything to fuck things up for yourself.”
A cold finger runs down my spine. I know he’s talking about the fights and not my love life, but his words strike a little too close to home.
“I won’t.” I stride to his side and drop a kiss on his cheek, which is rough with reddish-blond stubble. His eyes—a shade of blue-green he must have inherited from his father—scan my face as though checking for some kind of tell. I squeeze his shoulder. “See you later.”
“Debrief me,” he says as I leave. “I want your take on the other girls.”
I grin. “You got it.”
Outside, I find an Uber waiting and take it to the venue—a club that’s been transformed for the night. As I climb out, I fish my phone from my pocket and message Devon because I’m not sure who else he’s invited to come with us.
Harley:I’m here. Where are you?
His response is quick.
Devon:Wait at the entrance. I’ll come find you.
Doing as he says, I study the other people arriving. There are teenagers, men in ball caps, and women in cocktail dresses and stilettos. There are, however, very few dressed like me. I guess they’re all out the back, waiting to step into the cage. The atmosphere buzzes with excitement. I love smaller venues like this because they’re more intimate and the vibes are energizing. Everyone is pumped.
“Harley!”
I turn at the sound of my name. Devon is threading his way through the crowd toward me, and attraction punches me in the gut. I swipe my lip to make sure I’m not drooling. He looksthat good. His dark jeans cling to his thighs like a second skin, showing off how muscular they are, and the royal blue shirt tucked into them sets off his lively eyes and perfect teeth even more than usual. The top two buttons are undone, and even though I’ve spent plenty of time staring at his chest, my eyes are drawn to the flash of dark skin behind the V of fabric.
“Hey,” he says breathlessly, and wraps an arm around my back. “We’re over here.”
The seats he’s claimed are in the second-to-front row. I spot four familiar people occupying them and grit my teeth. Jase and Lena. Gabe and Sydney. He’s turned this into a triple date. Before we reach them, I come to a stop. He swings to face me and I narrow my eyes.
“This isn’t a date,” I tell him. “I don’t care if you invite every guy at the gym and his plus-one. We are not on a date.”
“I know.” He shoots me his most wicked grin. “We’re just a group of friends that happen to include three men and three women.” He cocks his head. “You’re not one of those people who thinks men and women can’t be friends, are you?”
Damn him. He’s putting words into my mouth, and I don’t like it. But I also can’t argue that he broke the terms of our agreement, because he didn’t, and we both know it.
“Do you want to go home?” he asks, tugging at the collar of his shirt with one hand. “Have I upset you?”
“No,” I sigh, because as much as I want to be annoyed, it’s actually pretty sweet that he wants to spend time with me enough to orchestrate this whole thing. Maybe he does want more than sex. He’s going to a lot of effort when he could easily pick up almost any other woman here. Instead of them, he’s pursuing me, the queen of mixed messages.
