Pas de Deux: Part One (A Cross and Pointe Novel Book 1) (11 page)

“I hope so. Good luck.”

“He don’t need luck. He’s got a good trainer, and a great manager.” He grasped Cillian’s shoulder. “Right, champ?”

Sammi glanced at Carl. “You’re managing him?”

“That’s right.” He flashed her a smile. “I’ve got quite a few hidden talents.”

Cillian wanted to punch him in the face.

Sammi lifted a brow. “Good for you.”

“Well, Kills, I just wanted to come by for the official announcement,” Carl said. “I got a meeting to get to, so I’ll talk to you later.”

What’s up with all these meetings lately?
“I’ll be here.”

Carl clapped him hard on the shoulder once more. “Sammi.” He gave her a big smile. “You have yourself a good night.”

Sammi nodded stiffly as he walked out the door, then looked at Cillian. “So, ESPN? Kind of a big deal.”

“Nah. Embarrassing shit.”

“Why would you be embarrassed? You did an awesome thing overseas. People should know about it.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “You heard about that?”

Sammi smiled, cocking an eyebrow. “The entire eastern seaboard heard about it.”

“Hey, don’t psych him out, Carnevale,” Baz said, leaning across the counter. “Just wait until he comes back with that million-dollar purse. Then, the thirst will be real.”

She tilted her head. “You know….” She trailed off. “Basanta, is it?”

“You can call me Baz for short.”

“Gee, thanks. First of all, Baz, if you’re gonna insist on calling me by my last name, the least you could do is say it right. It’s
Carnevale
. Two As, two Es, pronounce it all. Second of all, you’re the only one who seems to be concerned about the purse. So maybe
you’re
the thirsty one.” She pushed away from the desk. “Later. Good luck, Cillian.”

“Hey,” Baz called after her. “Just lookin’ out for him,
Carrr-neh-val-ay
!” 

Cillian couldn’t help smirking and punched Baz’s shoulder. “Yeah, stop worrying about my money. Shit, it ain’t even mine. And get her name right, dickhead.”

Baz grabbed his arm and winced. “Fuck you, dude, you were sayin’ it wrong, too. And you gotta think positive. Then give me my trainer’s cut.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that gonna be, two percent?”

“I was thinkin’ more like thirty.” Baz smiled, then ducked Cillian’s next swing.

Later, he was going over some paperwork in the office when Sammi stopped by on her way out.

“Heading to Cliff’s?”

She leaned against the door. “I got the night off. Another girl wanted an extra shift so, even though it was hard, I sacrificed mine.”

“That’s big of you.” Cillian smirked.

“Jazz and I are gonna get a jumpstart on the baking for tomorrow. I’ll still be working.”

“Hope you get some sleep in there somewhere.” Cillian popped a toothpick in his mouth and stacked some papers together.

“What are you up to tonight?”

He shrugged. “Not too much. I got drill this weekend, so I’ll be working, too.”

“Drill?”

“Army stuff. One weekend a month, two weeks a year…”

“Oh, right. Cool. You gonna be able to get your training in?”

“Yeah. We’ll get off at sixteen-hundred, so I’ll be here all night.”

Sammi nodded, playing with a loose thread on her T-shirt. “I am working at Cliff’s tomorrow night, and there’s that big boxing match. We’ll probably show it—we usually do.”

Cillian nodded and waited, lifting his brows. Sammi stared back for a second and then cleared her throat.

“Uh. If you and your boys wanted to come by to watch it, I could probably hook you up with a couple freebies. If you want.” She pressed her lips together.

Whoa. What?

“Uh, sure, that sounds cool. I’ll talk to Baz. Maybe drag my Army buddies’ asses out for a change.”
Don’t drink during training, but…wanna see her.

She smiled. “Okay. No pressure. I just thought that, you know, it’s a fight. People like to watch fights. And the free drinks are a thank-you for…everything.”

“You don’t need to do that. But—that’s nice of you. I’m sure we’ll be there. Thanks.”

Sammi shrugged a little. “Okay, then. Have a good one.” She turned and walked away before he could say anything else.

He leaned back in his chair.
She’s a nice girl, doing something nice. Doesn’t mean anything.
Even so, he felt a surge of anticipation and suddenly got up from his desk.

“Baz,” he called, heading toward the door and hating himself for it. Bad as a fuckin’ teenager. “What you doin’ tomorrow night?”

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

As Sammi walked out to Jazz’s car parked across the street, she cursed herself with every step, cringing and smacking her palm to her forehead.

Over the past week, she grew to look forward to talking to Cillian each day. He was very quiet but observant, and she liked the way he paid attention to her little daily anecdotes, and she’d even made him laugh a few times. She was wary of him, but he was nice, much nicer than she expected.

She yanked open the car door and dropped into the seat. Jazz peered at her over the rim of her glasses.

“Everything okay?”

“I did it,” Sammi blurted.

“You actually listened to me?” Jazz squealed in delight. “So, is he coming?”

“Probably.”

“So, why do you sound like someone pissed on your ice cream? This is what you wanted, right?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking. It was awful timing—ESPN did this feature on all the fighters for that tournament he’s in, and he’s got all this media attention, and I offer him free drinks like a desperate groupie.”

Jazz started the car, pulling away from the curb and into traffic. “Oh, stop it. You’re not a desperate groupie.”

“I just wanted a chance to hang out with him in a no-pressure kinda way, outside the gym. But…the whole thing is so stupid to me now. Inviting him to where I work? That’s not hanging out with someone. That’s watching someone hanging out with other people.”

“You have to baby-step into this, Sam. You can’t go from staring at the gym to a coffee date.”

“I do not stare. And what am I baby-stepping into?”

“The fun part is not knowing, and just going with the flow.”

“Oh, this is supposed to be fun?” Sammi furrowed her brow.

“Yeah.” Jazz chuckled. “Besides, you have to play hard to get. I mean, you’re basically impossible to get. But he doesn’t know that. And you like him, just admit it. Seriously. You do.”

“I—he’s just nice,” Sammi mumbled, toying with the thread on her T-shirt. “I thought that hometown hero stuff would’ve gone to his head, but from what I can tell, it hasn’t. Of course, he could just be putting on an act. How would I really know? You don’t really know anyone. You can’t trust anyone.”

“First off, I totally resent that. And second, your instincts can only get sharper from something like what you went through. I know that you’re still recovering from it, and you’re right not to trust anyone right away. But ask yourself—do you really get the creepy vibe from him? I mean, really.”

“No, I don’t. But how would I know? People are fucked up, Jay.”

“They can be, but they’re not all like that. Which is why my idea of inviting him to Cliff’s is perfect—low-key, you pick and choose the interactions, and you go home at the end of the night with no pressure.”

Sammi shrugged. “I guess.”

“I know. So just chill. Do you wanna get some food before we bake?”

Sammi nodded, and as the car eased into Friday night traffic, she tried to relax. There was logic in Jazz’s idea. But if it went badly—
which, it’s you. Of course it could go badly
—she might have to consider finding another gym, after all.

“You know you ain’t drinkin’ shit that’s not water, right, bro?”

Cillian ducked as Baz playfully threw an arm around his neck, slapping his arm away. “I’m aware, Coach, thanks.”

“And because I love you like a brother, my brother,” Baz went on, getting his arm around Cillian’s neck anyway, “I will do my best to drink your share.”

“All yours, dude.”

Cillian disentangled himself and shoved Baz forward, following him and Matthews as they walked into Cliff’s. Meyer’s wife had just had their first baby, and he was one hundred percent in doting new daddy-mode, so Cillian hadn’t even bothered to invite him.
Family comes first. Always.

True to Sammi’s promise, Cliff’s was pretty quiet at nine on a Saturday night, except for the Top 40 and hip-hop pouring from the speakers. The first co-featured boxing match of the night was underway on the sixty-four-inch flatscreen mounted on the wall. There were only a few groups of patrons in the place, including a rowdy table of late-twenty-somethings in the corner.

They claimed a tall table with stools midway between the door and the bar. He leaned his elbows on the table as he surveyed the room; the four servers on the floor were earning their money tonight—the table of guys was loud, obnoxious, and demanding.

Out of the corner of his eye, Cillian noticed a shapely brunette moving toward their table. He did a double-take, realizing it was Sammi. Baz let out a low, playful wolf-whistle, and Cillian kicked him under the table.

“Hey, guys.” She stood at Cillian’s side. “I barely recognized you. I’ve never seen you clean-shaven before.”

He swiped a hand over his smooth, recently shaved face. “Oh, yeah. Army says no facial hair on drill weekends.”

She smiled. “I like it.”

Cillian normally thought no beard or stubble made him look like a twelve-year-old, but he reconsidered as her sparkling dark eyes moved over his face.
Thank you for having drill this weekend, Army
. Sammi dropped her gaze after an extended moment. She turned to the group, raising her voice to be heard over the music.

“Sorry for the slow service—that bachelor party is really demanding, and it’s taking all the servers to keep them happy. I’ll take your order for now.”

There was something different about her. Compared to the other waitresses, wearing shorts or skirts with strapless tops, or short dresses, she wore her black ensemble modestly—snug jeans, a fitted scoop-neck tee, heeled boots. But it was the way her hair was tousled and shimmery under the low lights, the way her eyes were smoky and dark, the way her lips were glossy and enticing, that made her look totally different than any other time he’d seen her.

Baz kicked his foot under the table, and Cillian realized he’d been staring. He cleared his throat and glanced down at his hands.

“Wow, Carnevale, you look great,” Baz said loudly, winking subtly at Cillian.

Sammi lifted a brow, looking from Baz to Cillian and back again. “Thanks.” She smirked. “And look at you saying my name right, Baz. Way to go.” Her eyes lit on Matthews. “You must be Cillian’s friend.” She extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Matthews reached out to shake her hand. “I’m Josh. Nice to meet you, too. You must be Sammi. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh?”

Now Cillian wanted to kick Matthews under the table. He shifted in his seat. “Yeah. I, uh, mentioned that you come to the gym, that you’re a—” He faltered for a moment.
What do I call her
? It had been on the tip of his tongue to say customer, client, or something like that, but it didn’t quite seem right.

“A friend,” Sammi finished.

Matthews gave Cillian a quick smile of approval. “Well, any friend of Killy’s is a friend of mine.”

She smiled. “I did promise a round of free drinks, so what’ll you guys have?”

“You got Bin 14?” Baz asked.

“Yep. I’ll bring out a round for you.” With another smile, she turned and walked back to the bar. As she did, Cillian couldn’t help his eyes from following.

“Good job, Killy.”

He turned back just as Matthews’ hand clapped down on his shoulder. Cillian frowned at him in confusion.

“Good job on what?”

Matthews cocked his head curiously and nodded in the general direction Sammi had gone off in. “Isn’t that you?”

It took Cillian a moment to realize Matthews was asking if he and Sammi were together. “No. I hardly know her. She just comes to the gym.”