Do you think saying it in Italian makes it more true?
He looks at me askance. “I guess I should have known you’d share my heritage with a last name like Caruso.” His expression turns mournful. “If I can’t whisper sexy Italian nothings, then I have no way of charming you. You’ll see right through all my moves.”
I roll my eyes, even though I secretly enjoy his teasing. It’s far better than the strain of a few moments ago. I take his hand—the right one because I don’t want to jostle the left. “Come on, Casanova. I’ll make coffee and we can sit on the deck and enjoy the view.”
Chapter Four
Tony
By the time a week has passed since my injury, I’m beginning to feel more in control of the surges of emotion that have been coming and going. Frustration has become a constant companion, but I’ve managed to temper it and not take it out on Lucia. She was right to call me on my douchey behavior, and I’m trying to be better. We’ve had a truce of sorts since that afternoon on the beach. She doesn’t fuss over me or pry for details about how my shoulder is healing, and I ignore any urge to protect myself by being a jerk.
Instead, I distract myself with useful tasks like getting in the laundry. That’s what I’m currently doing. I knew it would be tricky when I started, but I won’t let it get the better of me. I use my right arm to retrieve a pair of shorts that are hanging on the wire strung along the side of the cottage. I remove a peg from a T-shirt with that same hand and then remove the other peg. I’m not bothering to use my left arm because I can’t raise it above my shoulder yet, so it would be another exercise in frustration.
Unfortunately, one-handed, I’m making slow progress.
I curse as I fumble with a peg and drop it. I want to stomp on the damn thing, but I close my eyes and draw in a long, even breath.
It’s okay. My body needs time to recover. I’m taking care of myself so I can return to fighting sooner.
I’ve begun mentally reframing the situation when I sense myself getting angry. It’s something I’ve picked up from Lucia, who seems to see the bright side in everything. While I don’t need her acting like my therapist, I can acknowledge there are a few things I could learn from the way she approaches life.
I collect the peg from the ground and move on to a skirt of Lucia’s. It feels oddly domestic, the way we’re sharing everyday things like laundry duty. It’s not something I ever expected. After another fifteen minutes, I’ve finished, and I awkwardly tuck the washing basket under my right arm and head inside. I drop it on the living room floor and decide to fold it later. For now, it’s time to prepare to watch Devon’s fight, which will be streamed live from the arena.
Devon is another of my training buddies. I’m feeling antsy because I won’t get close to the action today, but it’s probably just as well. Seeing him in the cage would only make me want to go a few rounds too. Devon loves fighting. It’s obvious to anyone who sees him doing his thing, and that kind of enthusiasm is contagious. Especially for someone like me, who doesn’t need any encouragement.
I connect my laptop to the TV and find the right channel. A pair of commentators are discussing the bouts ahead, and I sink onto the sofa to listen. Devon won’t be competing for a few hours yet. He’s the big event of the night, and there are a dozen or so undercard bouts ahead of him. I tune out the aching of my shoulder and settle in, ready to enjoy myself vicariously through my friend.
Lucia
By the time I give up on writing for the evening and venture out of my bedroom, Tony is ensconced on the sofa with a collection of healthy snacks on the coffee table and the TV on high volume.
“Who’s fighting tonight?” I ask, knowing that someone from the gym is probably competing if he’s making the effort to watch it live.
“Devon,” he replies, not taking his eyes from the screen as he pats the empty cushion beside him. “You want to join me?”
I think on it for a moment. I’ve resolved not to get too close to him because it makes it more difficult to ignore our attraction, but I would like to see how Devon goes. “How long before he’s on?”
Tony checks his phone. I assume he’s looking at the fight card. “Another five fights to go.”
“Great. Time to cook.” I head to the kitchen, noting I can still see the screen from here. “I’m going to make something quick and easy for dinner. Maybe a burger. Have you eaten?”
“Not yet.” He glances over. “Would it be asking too much for you to make me one too?”
“Of course not.” I get to work, assembling what we need, and after checking with him, I cook lean chicken for my burger and beef for his. It’s nice doing this for him. It feels like I’ve dropped into the kind of life I’ve always envisioned for myself, where there’s someone to share the mundane parts of my day with. Someone to cook for, and with whom I can debrief after finishing work. I smile at the thought.
Tony and I don’t talk while I’m busy in the kitchen. He’s engrossed in the event, and I’m listening to the commentators as they dissect each fight. When dinner is ready, I plate both burgers, pass him one, and take the other for myself. I prop it on my lap as I sit beside him.
“Two more before Dev is on,” he says, biting into his burger. “This is really fucking good.” He speaks around a mouthful of food. I grin, pleased my efforts are being appreciated. “How’s the book?”
I grunt because there really aren’t any words at this stage. “I’m hoping Devon’s fight inspires me.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you writing a historical romance? How is MMA supposed to inspire you?”
I sneak a peek at him. “Because Devon and Harley are couple goals. My couple just isn’t meshing, and maybe seeing a real-life example will be what I need to work through it.”
He looks at me like I’m nuts. “Let me get this straight. You, the woman who gets all mushy for romance, thinks that the relationship between my teammates is perfect?”
I can hear his disbelief, and I’m not surprised. From the outside, there’s nothing obviously romantic about Harley and Devon. They’re not cutesy, and they don’t always get along, but they’re the dream for me because they’re real. Harley is a no-nonsense athlete, and Devon is a chronic flirt who doesn’t take anything seriously, but together, they work.
