Pas de Deux: Part One (A Cross and Pointe Novel Book 1) (7 page)

“Hey.” He nodded a greeting.

Her brown eyes flared with recognition, but she gave him a polite smile in return. “Hey. What can I help you with?”

He cleared his throat, feeling uncomfortable and suddenly wondering what the hell he was doing there. “Uh, Sammi around?”

Jazz smirked and nodded, giving him a sweeping head-to-toe look. “She sure is. Do you want a drink, or something?”

“Uh…yeah. Sure.”

Jazz turned and headed for the back, and he could hear her speaking quietly to someone. A moment later, Sammi came out of the doorway, holding several canisters in her arms. She didn’t even glance his way as she bent down, disappearing behind the counter. He heard the sound of what he assumed was a storage door or maybe a refrigerator door being opened and the sound of metal against metal.

“What’ll you have?”

He glanced up at the beverage menu chalked on the board behind the bar. “Latte, please.”
Latte? Since when do you drink lattes?

There was a long pause, and then a hand appeared, gripping the edge of the counter. The hand was delicate, the neat, short nails lacquered a deep, shiny shade of dark plum. A moment later, a tousled dark head appeared, followed by a pair of large brown eyes, narrowed in suspicion.

He stared back at her impassively, studying her face. She definitely looked better than the last time he’d seen her, that deep-rooted, panic-laced fear gone from her eyes. The suspicion in them now wasn’t much better, but he’d take that over primal terror any day. Her glossy, dark espresso-colored hair was pulled into a messy, high ponytail, and she wore a hint of makeup. Her full, soft-looking pale pink lips stretched to a taut line as she appraised him. The movement of her mouth caused her dimples to appear in her cheeks, but she was definitely not smiling at him.

“What are you doing here?”

“Came to get a latte.”

“You came an awful long way for a latte.” She folded her arms over the front of her fitted V-neck black top. “Especially given the fact that there’s, like, seven coffee shops within a three-block radius of your gym.”

He sighed. “I came to apologize to you.”

One of her silky dark brows arched in skepticism. “Apologize for what, exactly?”

“For what happened last week. I would’ve come sooner but you’re a hard person to track down. That number on your gym application is out of service.” He waited to see if she’d cement his suspicions—that it had been a fake phone number.

Instead, she averted her eyes and turned away toward one of the espresso machines. He couldn’t help his eyes from taking in her small, slender frame. There was nothing remotely boyish about her curvy, athletic shape now, emphasized by her snug jeans, and he was amazed that she’d managed to conceal her sex as long as she had.

“Water under the bridge. What size you want? Medium?”

“Medium’s fine. It’s not water under the bridge to me. That type of shit ain’t acceptable, not in my establishment.”

She stopped measuring out ground espresso and glanced over her shoulder at him. “Why does it matter so much to you, anyway? I didn’t call the cops, didn’t try to press charges. It is what it is. The world is full of assholes. Even your
establishment
.”

Cillian ignored the sarcasm. “It is. But at the end of the day, I hate bullies. My mom raised me to respect women, and it pisses me off when I see men doin’ the opposite. If nothin’ else, you deserve an apology. It’s my gym, my responsibility. I’m sorry.”

“Wasn’t your fault.” She began tamping espresso. “You can’t control everyone. Skim or two-percent?”

“Two-percent, please.”

She reached for one of the mugs that lined a shelf above the espresso machine, her hand hovering over it for a brief moment. Cillian lifted a brow when she picked up a reinforced paper to-go cup instead.

Several minutes passed in silence as she steamed the milk and let the espresso drip into the cup. When the milk was hot enough, she poured it carefully and let it mix with the espresso, stirring it gently. She pressed a lid on the cup and slid it into a sleeve, then turned and placed it on the bar in front of him without looking at him.

“Two-fifty.”

He handed her a five. “Keep the change.” She nodded once in thanks, still not meeting his eyes. He turned to leave, then stopped, and she finally looked at him, lifting her brows in question. “You ever wanna come back, just know you’re always welcome. And I’ll personally guarantee that nobody bothers you.”

She nodded slowly, lifting a shoulder. “That’s nice of you. Thanks, but no thanks.”

He sighed. “You sure? I wouldn’t even charge you a membership fee.”

“Again, really nice of you. But, I’m sure.”

It is what it is. Don’t push.
“Well…all right. I’m sorry about…everything.”

She flicked her head in acknowledgment before he pushed open the door, cursing himself for the idiotic idea of coming to the café in the first place.

His own dealings with bullies as a kid had brought on the urge, the need, to speak to her. He knew well what it was like to be picked on, abused. In first-grade, he’d been the short, scrawny kid in class, and the bigger boys would gang up on him at least three times a week. In fact, that was how he and Matthews had become friends—Matthews had rescued him from a bully.

After that, he begged his father to teach him to box. His mother had been against Murphy bringing Cillian to the gym at such a young age, but finally, she relented, and Murphy began taking him to the gym. After three years of regular boxing lessons with his father, he also started taking martial arts classes—jiu jitsu, judo, and tae kwon do. By the time he started middle school, he’d gotten a rep for being tough, and no one messed with him.

Even now at the age of twenty-eight, he couldn’t help warming at the memory of the first time he’d fought back against a small horde of boys on the last day of elementary school. He’d flipped the biggest bully over his shoulder and had him in a chokehold so fast, the kid hadn’t even realized what was going on until he’d started to pass out.

That was why his gut clenched the way it did when he’d seen Sammi sprawled on the floor, looking like she’d just gotten shot. That was why he’d felt helpless after kicking those assholes out of his gym, why he’d offered to call someone for her, do something to help her—no one had helped him out when he was a kid. No one had defended him. He’d be damned if he didn’t do the same thing for someone else.

But it seemed to be for nothing, because Sammi was through with Ronan’s Gym and everyone involved.

“So, when are you going back?”

Sammi looked up from the sink where she was washing the milk steaming pitcher and spoon she’d just used to make Cillian’s latte.

“Back where?”

“To the gym,” Jazz said slowly, as if she were speaking to a child.

Sammi frowned. “Ah, never. If you recall, I was assaulted there a week ago.”

“But he’s gonna make sure nobody messes with you,” Jazz implored.

Sammi glared at Jazz. “First of all—you were eavesdropping? And second of all, I don’t need or want a bodyguard. I don’t need to work out at Ronan’s Gym that bad.”

“Maybe not. And I don’t think he was suggesting that he would be your bodyguard—which, c’mon. Would that
really
be so bad?”

“Jazz.”

“But he made a promise to ensure your safety. That’s pretty damn nice of him.”

Sammi whirled around. “He’s a hometown hero, Jay. He’s probably just trying to protect his image. And since when do you care what Cillian Ronan says or does?”

“I don’t. I care about you. And you seemed to like going to the gym. I don’t think you should let one bad experience prevent you from doing something you enjoy, especially when the owner himself came all the way up to Little Italy to apologize to you in person and tell you he has your back.”

“It’s really not that big of a deal.” Sammi ripped open a fresh bag of coffee beans and poured them into the grinder.

“Plus,” Jazz added, “seeing him on TV is totally different than seeing him in person. The man is
fine
.”

Sammi rolled her eyes. “That’s what this is really about. I see.”

“He is. C’mon, Sam. Admit it.”

Sammi said nothing, but flushed a little. “Maybe you should be the one going to the gym.”

“I ain’t scared. Maybe I will.”

“You finished? I got work to do here.” Without waiting for an answer, Sammi hit the button to grind the beans, the loud noise effectively ending the conversation.

Maybe I’m being too hard on him.

He’d been nice to her when she’d gotten attacked, and he’d voluntarily parted with a couple hundred bucks a month by kicking three members out of his gym. And it was sort of sweet he’d come up to the café just to apologize to her and invite her back.

“That wasn’t very fuckin’ nice…you do look wicked good though…”

Phantom fingers gripped her arm like a vise as the memory of hot breath fanned her face. Large bodies, bigger and stronger than hers, boxed her in. Her stomach coiled and twisted, her skin going hot and cold. She could never go back there without feeling the memory of the assault

Too little, too late, Cillian Ronan.

To Cillian’s supreme annoyance, the drama with Sammi spread like wildfire through the gym, despite his best efforts to keep it quiet.

A week passed since he’d gone to the café, and he still hadn’t seen Sammi, so he assumed it was history. He’d done his best to make the situation right, and was ready to wash his hands of it. But when almost everyone around him constantly talked about it, it made letting it go difficult, if not altogether impossible.

There were more women coming to the gym, but not to work out—apparently, the guys had taken Sammi’s infiltration as a sign that women were accepted at the gym. There had never been any sort of rule that Ronan’s was men-only, but three decades of women steering clear of the place had just made it that way, and it stayed that way.

Cillian had always wanted Ronan’s to be less of a boxing gym, and more of a general place of fitness, to open up and diversify the membership. So when women began trickling in, Cillian was hopeful. But it quickly became clear that the women were there only to pick up their boyfriends, drop off food, equipment, gym bags, payments, or stand by the ring and cheer them on while they sparred against each other. He tried to use the opportunity to strike up conversations with them and find out if they would be interested in working out there, especially once the renovations were complete, but none of them seemed interested. Either they weren’t into working out at all, or they belonged to other gyms.

Despite the fact that it seemed he wasn’t going to get their business, he didn’t mind them hanging around, until one evening when a couple of the guys’ girlfriends showed up with a group of friends.

“Hey,” said a pretty blonde, strolling over to him. “You’re Killy Ronan, right? I’m Karen.”

“Nice to meet you.” He shook her hand, and she tilted her head, smiling.

“I’ve seen you all over the news. You’re so brave for what you did over there. And you look great in uniform.” Her eyes skimmed down his body as she nipped her bottom lip. “And out of uniform.”

“Ah. Thank you.”

“You wanna grab a drink?”

Cillian blinked, caught off guard, and cleared his throat. “I work pretty late.”
And…just no.

“Well, lucky for you I’m a night owl.”

Jesus
. He smiled politely. “I’m not a big drinker, anyway. Thanks, though.”

“I’ve also been known to make a mean breakfast. In bed.” She winked.

“That’s…great. Listen, it was nice meeting you. I got a ton of paperwork waitin’ on me in the office. Have a good night.”

He made a beeline for his office and shut the door. About five minutes later, Baz poked his head in.

“Killy. What the hell is your problem, kid? That’s, like, every guy’s fantasy out there.”

“Not mine.” Cillian shrugged. “Sorry.”

“I think you need to relieve some stress. It’d be good for you. If you’re not into her, I met a girl out there who wants to go have drinks, and her friend is single. If you know what I mean.” He lifted his brows meaningfully at Cillian.