Kicker (DS Fight Club Book 1) (10 page)

Charlotte saw Tig before he saw her. It never ceased to amuse her that when he said he had a bike, it was an actual bicycle, not a motorcycle.

He was wearing his usual T-shirt and jeans and cowboy boots, but had traded his Stetson for a helmet. She could she him grinning at her as he coasted up.

“Hey.” Charlotte, suddenly nervous, wiped her hands on her skirt, she hoped discreetly, and took a deep breath.

“Hey, pretty lady,” Tig said with a grin and a kiss on her cheek. “Thanks for giving me a call.”

“Well, the day is nice, and I thought you might like to get out of the gym for a bit.”

“This is great.” He gave her another kiss, this time on the mouth. “Boy, you look prettier every time I see you, Charlotte.”

Her cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink, and she dipped her eyes shyly down. “You don’t look bad yourself, Tig.”

She ran the tip of her finger along the edge of his belt buckle, seriously contemplating asking him to skip the food truck and go back to her apartment to have a completely different kind of meal.

“What is going through that head of yours?” he murmured in her ear. “Something tells me I’d like it.”

Charlotte stepped into him, sighed, and rested her forehead on his chest. Tig automatically put his arms around her and pulled her close. He felt her take a deep breath and then hug him around the waist before stepping back and shaking her head as if to clear the cobwebs from it.

“Are you hungry?” She cocked her head at Tig, making the sun spark off the rhinestone clips she had in her hair.

Tig grinned at her and nodded. His eyes shot up, and he grinned again and took his helmet off. “Sure am. What’s good?”

They walked through the Food Truck Park, and Charlotte pointed out her favorite options, though Tig was not really listening. He felt giddy and not just because he took off from the fight club without having his post-workout protein. He knew he was grinning like some sort of simpleton but did not really care. He was just happy she called him.

After settling on some sort of spicy Asian thing, they sat at a table under an umbrella and talked and ate, trading small, flirtatious touches all throughout their meal.

Tig was on his second serving of shirataki noodles after wolfing down three wraps, and Charlotte was gaping at him. “What?”

She laughed. “Where in the world do you put all that food?”

“Mama always said I have hollow legs.” Tig shrugged and slurped another noodle down. “I do have two sets of britches, though: one for training and one for non-training. These are my non-training britches.” Tig winked at her.

“I bet it’s hard finding trousers that fit you, isn’t it?”

“Jeans, not so much, at least now. When I was younger, all I wore were sweatpants or athletic shorts because it was too hard to find something both long enough and small enough in the waist.” He shoved the last of the noodles in his mouth and swallowed. “I about panicked though when C said we had to wear suits to the pre-fight conferences—and like, a
suit
suit, not a pair of Dockers and a sport coat.”

“I bet you can’t just walk into the Men’s Wearhouse and pick something out, huh?”

“No. The guy actually laughed at me and was all, ‘We don’t have pants for you, son.’ It was humiliating.”

“I’ll bet.”

Charlotte looked at him with so much sympathy that he just had to lean across the table and kiss her, if only to get that sad look off her face.

“Anyway, C took me to the guy that Mick gets his suits from.”

“Mick? Like Em’s Mick?”

Tig laughed. “Yeah, Em’s Mick. Apparently he used to be very thin, like seventy-five pounds lighter than C, but he’s stopped living off cigarettes and coffee and has fattened up a bit.”

“He’s a big guy. Hell, they’re all big guys.”

“Except me.” Tig fiddled with a napkin, and it was Charlotte’s turn to kiss away his discomfort.

“You’re a perfect size,” she said. “And you eat like a big guy. When I’m ready to have you over for dinner, I’ll make sure I double everything.”

Tig chuckled and squeezed her hand. “I take it the cooking lessons are going well?”

“Yes, they are. I’ve caught just a couple of things on fire and only set off the smoke alarm once, so I’m calling it good.”

He smiled at her. “Good. That’s so great. I need to give you a congratulatory kiss.”

“Well, I’ll definitely take one of those.”

Tig leaned over the table and pressed his lips to hers. He brought his hand up to the side of her head as she leaned into the kiss. He felt her sigh as he nudged her lips open with his tongue.

“Charlotte . . . ,” he said on a breath.

Charlotte pulled back and licked her lips. “Whew. I gotta get back to the office; otherwise, we’re both going to end up in my apartment, naked and sweaty.” She blew out a breath and grinned.

“Damn.”

Tig wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her close again. “Whenever you’re ready for me to be naked and sweaty in your apartment, just say when, and I’ll be there.” He kissed her soft, long, and slow, one hand cradling the back of her neck and the other whispering the softest touches on her cheek. “Just say when, Charlotte.”

He kissed her once more.

“Do you need a ride?”

Tig threw his head back and laughed at the, probably unintended, innuendo. “Oh, no. No, no, no. I have my bike, remember? Whew.” He kissed her cheek and winked. “Thank you for a lovely lunch, pretty lady. I’ll talk to you soon?”

“Yeah, very soon. Bye, Tig.”

“Bye, Charlotte.”

Charlotte leaned with her elbow on the table, wistful, as she watched him walk away. He turned around and gave her a little wave before he got on his bicycle and rode away.

Every time they got together, it was a little harder for her to say goodbye.

She was sitting at the little table, staring out into space, when her phone’s chiming jolted her out of her daydream.

She huffed a little laugh at Em’s message confirming that they were still on for their cooking lesson in the evening. She grinned and texted her confirmation as she walked back to her car.

And then ran smack into someone.

“Oh, I’m so sorry . . . Nick?”

“Whoops! Hey there, Charlotte. I was just going to grab a bite. How are you?”

Her father’s personal assistant smiled blandly at her. She liked him but did not trust him. He seemed to pop up unexpectedly at events that Charlotte would never guess that he was interested in—almost like he was following her or spying on her.

“I’m fine. I was just finishing up lunch myself. I’ve got to get back to the office now. Bye, Nick, it was good to see you.”

“Likewise. Take care, Charlotte.”

*****

Em was trying not to laugh, and failing, as Charlotte stood by the stove, near tears.

“I burned water, Em. Who the hell burns
water
?” She slapped her hands over her face and sucked in a shuddering sob. “I’m hopeless, absolutely hopeless.”

“Charlotte, honey, you did not burn the water. You simply scorched the pan, and there’s not a cook on the planet that hasn’t done that.”

Em pulled the other woman’s hands away from her face and gave them a squeeze.

“Besides, that was mostly my fault. We shouldn’t have gotten into the wine so early on during meal prep. This is just a tiny setback. You’ve been doing really well, Charlotte.”

“I
did
remember to put the marinade in a glass bowl,” Charlotte sniffed.

“Yes, you did. Half the time I don’t remember to do that.” Charlotte leveled a look at Em’s fib, and she grinned. “Okay, every once in a while I won’t, and dinner will be ruined.”

“It
does
smell really good, doesn’t it? I mean, over the smell of scorched Revere Ware.” Charlotte sniffed the air. The scent of roast beef made her mouth water.

“It does. You did a great job, honey. And we’ll do the mashed potatoes another day. Tig’s going to be so impressed.”

“You know I’m not doing this just for him, right? I had resolved to do this—actually
cook
, not just warm stuff up in the microwave—before I ever laid eyes on the man. It was part of the ‘Charlotte Louisa Needs to Grow the Hell Up’ resolutions that I do every year. I was just lucky to get a new friend that is an awesome cook.” Charlotte swiped at an unexpected tear.

“Oh, sweetie.” Em hugged Charlotte. “It’ll be fine.”

“So what do I do for a side? How do you know what to pair with what?” Charlotte could feel anxiety bubbling to the surface. She mentally chastised herself, which only served to intensify the panic.

“Take a deep breath, Charlotte.” Em waited while Charlotte did as she asked. “Okay, better? Now what do
you
think you should prepare?”

“I usually have french fries with roast, honestly. I know that’s lame.”

Em blew a raspberry at her. “Do you do anything to them?”

“Well . . . I sometimes do this thing that I saw on one of those cooking shows. . . .”

“Show me.”

Charlotte spread the frozen french fries on a cookie sheet and misted them with olive oil before sprinkling garlic salt, onion salt, black pepper, and oregano. She popped them in the oven and set the timer.

“Okay, I am totally stealing that from you, Charlotte. I never thought about coating frozen fries with oil, but it makes so much sense. I bet they’re really crispy when they come out, huh?”

“Yeah, they are. They taste just like restaurant fries.”

Charlotte could not help but grin at Em’s supposed awe over the french fries, but she would definitely take it.

“Do you have any of that roasted garlic left?”

“Yes, I made way too much of it.” Charlotte pulled a ramekin from the refrigerator. “I was going to try to make compound butter this weekend with it.”

“You are getting fancy-fancy, Miss Charlotte,” Em said with a laugh. “Let’s use some of it to jazz up that ketchup.”

Twenty minutes later, Em and Charlotte sat down to a dinner of seasoned fries with garlic ketchup, Crock-Pot roast beef, and soft yeast rolls.

Em hummed with pleasure. “Charlotte,
this
is a grade A meal. No one could say they weren’t impressed with it. So yum.”

“You really think so?”

“Totally yum.” Em did a little dance in her chair. “I can’t wait to try some of this out with Mick and Emily.” She took a sip of wine. “So. The big question: what are you going to prepare for Mr. Mashburn, and when?”

“Well, I was thinking that beer-can chicken thing and tomorrow night since it’s a Friday and a long weekend.”

“Excellent—plenty of time to have after-dinner celebrations.” Em winked at Charlotte. “I always say, ‘The way to into a man’s pants is through his stomach.’ Wait. That sounded so much cleverer in my head than the way it came out.”

Charlotte blushed but mentally added condoms to her shopping list.

“Ooh, you are planning some shenanigans, Charlotte Markham. Tig isn’t going to know what hit him tomorrow night. Good for you.”

“Now you see why I never come over for card games? I know I broadcast every single thing that’s going through my head on my face.”

“That’s not such a bad thing. Keeps you honest. The world could use a lot more honesty.”

“Yeah.”

The two women finished their meal and then chatted about the menu for Tig’s dinner as they cleaned up the kitchen. When all was spic-and-span and leftovers were divvied up, Em hugged Charlotte tightly before she left, whispering, “Have fun tomorrow,” in her ear.

Charlotte shut the door to her apartment and leaned her face against the cool surface.

“Okay, Charlotte, you can totally do this,” she said out loud to her empty apartment.

She blew out a breath and reached down to scratch her leg.

“But first, you have got to shave your legs. Good grief.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you got some in the past week or so.” Dig squinted at Tig, who wiggled his eyebrows at the much bigger fighter, but did not reveal anything. Not that there was anything to reveal. “Little Miss Pink Suit? Really?”

“We had dinner over at her place. We’ve gone to lunch a few times. . . .”

“That’s why you took out of here like a rocket yesterday, huh?”

“Maybe.” Tig winked.

Dig laughed at Tig’s coyness. Whatever was happening with that prissy woman, Tig seemed to be happy.

Tig’s phone buzzed with a text, and he hurriedly swiped the lock screen off.

“Whoa, look at him go. She must be sending dirty pictures. . . .”

“Fuck you, Dig,” Tig said with a good-natured laugh, but that got him thinking about the possibility of receiving dirty pictures from Charlotte.
Damn.
He might just have to figure out how to broach this subject.
Hmm . . .

And his grin froze on his face. “Goddammit,” he muttered. Not at all who he wanted to hear from. He read the text message from his mother, telling him to check his email.

He was reading his mother’s electronic babble about the state of the peanut fields and other farm concerns when his father called him. Dig laughed at Tig’s pained expression, and Tig flipped his friend off even as he answered the phone.

“Hey, Neil. What’s up?”

Tig listened to his father talk about horses that were ready to be worked and concerns about his mother and her stress levels.

Tig scrubbed his hand over his face and took a deep breath before promising that he would be down that weekend to check on, well, everything: horses, pecans, peanuts, and parents. Tig hung up the phone and flopped down on his back on a mat while Dig laughed at him.

“Fuck you, man. I swear I talk to them more now than I did when I was living in the same county. Damn.” He laughed. He knew he was lucky to have as good of a relationship with his parents, all things considered, but damn, he wanted to see Charlotte this weekend and maybe, just maybe, take things a little further than feeling her up in the kitchen, though he’d settle for that right about now. Hell, he just wanted to sniff whatever that scent was that she wore. He loved that. He wanted to bathe in her scent, wanted to submerge himself in it, to taste and consume it.

His phone rang again, and Dig guffawed loudly, not even trying to be discreet.

“Goddammit. What?” Tig almost yelled. “Oh, man. Oh, no, sweetheart. You didn’t catch me at a bad time. Actually, you caught me at a great time because I was just getting really tired of talking to people that I didn’t want to talk to. Hold on, baby.”

“‘Baby’? Really? You have got it bad, Mashburn.”

“Dig, go and fuck off somewhere else, okay? Give me some privacy.”

Dig snorted and with a muttered retort about this being a public workout room, wandered off down the hall.

“Okay, Charlotte, what’s up?”

Tig began grinning as soon she uttered the stammered invitation to come over for dinner, a dinner that
she
was going to cook, all by herself. He hated the uncertainty she had in her voice, but he loved the excitement that he heard as well.

“I’d love to, baby. What time? What do you want me to bring?”

They negotiated for a few moments, but she finally relented to letting him bring dessert, and after they hung up, Tig made a note to include a box of condoms, along with a cake, on his shopping list.

He lay on his back on the mat, looking at the exposed guts of the gym ceiling and grinning like an idiot. Then he rolled backward into a plank and hopped up, whistling as he left the room.