"There are shelters." Her voice cracks. "But they're downtown. The bus routes to there are a little...dangerous. If you drove, your car would be jacked in minutes."

I figured. "How are they? The shelters?" h.e.l.l. She's never told me she's stayed in them. I'm tipping information from Jessica.

We stare at each other for seconds, longer. Her face is blank, but her eyes are moving. She's thinking. Haley is always thinking and, like I did before, I offer the out. "If you let me pick you up, then we could reach the gym by eight-thirty."

It'd be worth the last bit of gas I have to end a conversation I never should have started.

She memorizes her plate as she eats and contemplates my last statement. Who knows-maybe she's still pondering the shelters. I've noticed this about Haley over the past couple of days-someone asks her a question and instead of immediately answering, she mulls it over. Possibly two minutes pa.s.s and I have a hunch she's an overa.n.a.lyzer.

"It's a car ride, Haley. Not an invitation to stay over after we have s.e.x."

She chokes on her chicken patty and downs her water. "We are not having s.e.x."

"We could," I say, then grin at her.

She coughs into her hand and I laugh. I laugh harder when her foot connects with my leg.

"What do you say?" I lean back and rest my arm on the back of the chair next to me. "Eight-thirty or nine?"

She sighs as if this is a huge concession. "Eight-thirty."

"You don't like it, do you?"

"What?"

"Accepting help."

The fork impales the chicken again. "You honestly make it impossible to like you."

The bell rings and I catch Haley's tray before she has a chance to lift it. "But you do."

A tiny smile forms and she quickly hides it.

"And after today's conversation you'll also be thinking about the two of us in bed."

She straightens. "That is not going to happen."

"The daydreaming?"

"Yes!"

"Then you're good on the actual s.e.x?"

A fire ignites in her eyes. "I could drop-kick you now."

I bite back any response because the truth is, even with me being heavier in muscle and several inches taller than her, the aftermath of Conner says she could. On occasion, even I know when to stop, but d.a.m.n, teasing her is fun.

Haley pauses beside me as I dump the trash and deposit the tray. In cla.s.sic p.i.s.sed-off girl stance, she folds her arms over her chest and pouts that beautiful bottom lip.

I should tell her I'm sorry and that I'm a jerk. That's what boyfriends do, but I've never been boyfriend material and Haley and I aren't actually dating. I give into the temptation and rub her silky hair between my thumb and forefinger.

She stares up at me with those hypnotic eyes. There's an attraction she can try to deny, but it won't make the tension crackling between us any less true. I would easily renounce my trust fund to fist my hand in her hair and kiss those perfect lips. G.o.d, this girl turns me on.

Knowing there are teachers and princ.i.p.als and students waiting for me to screw it up and kiss her in public, I flick her hair over her shoulder and run my hand down her arm. "That's all right. You don't have to think about it, but I'll dream about it for the both of us."

Haley My grandfather thinks he's being crafty, but the old man is obvious. Paperwork at nine at night on a Friday? He barely tolerates paperwork during the day. John stays somewhat busy as he clicks b.u.t.tons on a laptop, but every thirty seconds his eyes flash to me and West.

We walked in a few minutes ago and by the way West has spun his hat backward, I can tell he needs time to soak in his evening home for the next two months. Maybe now West will see how serious this is and he'll learn how to back down from a fight.

I sidle closer to John's office and when he does his next scan, I catch his eye. "Do you need something?"

His jaw clenches. "He's c.o.c.ky."

I agree, but I'm not sure girlfriends are supposed to admit such things to their grandfathers because I should be so puppy and rainbows in love I wouldn't notice. "I'm glad you can judge sound moral character in less than a minute."

"The way he walks-he's c.o.c.ky."

"Name one guy who trains here who isn't."

John looks past me to West. With a gym bag slung over his shoulder, West curls his fingers through the caged-in Octagon and grips the metal.

The ring engages his entire attention and it should. This isn't a game or a television show where the good guy always wins. This is reality and the moment he steps into that cage with someone waiting for him on the other side, he can die. I hope I'll never see his blood on the caged-in floor.

"Welterweight?" John asks.

West still hasn't moved and there's tons I need to explain to him. "That's my guess. I'll find out when I weigh him."

"He doesn't look big enough for a middleweight, even if he gained muscle."

I know and I rest my temple against the doorframe. Both Conner and Matt are welterweights, meaning they weigh 170 pounds or less. Part of me is pinning my hopes that West greatly exceeds weight and can't fight them, but even if he did they'd get a middleweight fighter from Black Fire to take their place. I'm not sure I can train West in enough time to defend himself in the welterweight division, much less middleweight.

"He'll have to cut before he fights," John says.

"Yeah," I answer absently. Cutting weight before a fight is rough, necessary at times, but rough. John relaxes back in his seat and appraises me. For once every muscle isn't tight, preparing to strangle me for my past decisions. Somehow, despite the fact he hates me, the two of us have fallen into an easy conversation.

I miss easy. I miss John. "Matt and I didn't end well."

John's gray eyes shoot to mine and I immediately regret the slip. I've never said anything like that to anyone. I've never even hinted at it, but somehow being at the only place that has felt like home in months has broken through a wall that shouldn't be breached.

"Kaden and Jax...they came to me..." His pauses are so awkward that the contents of my stomach swirl like a whirlpool. "They were concerned...but you wouldn't talk-"

"Can you register West for the fight? The one in two months?" I made a mistake by speaking the words aloud and now John's too near a subject that causes absolute panic.

"Haley-"

"I just need you to register him." My chest constricts and my throat swells. "Please."

He sighs, then flicks a pen across the desk. "Jax said your new boyfriend has a problem with Matt. Is that the reason for this? Are you training him so they can take out their differences in the cage?"

That sounded pathetic out loud, but it's better than the previous conversation. "West and Conner have issues." John's been around Black Fire fighters long enough to understand that means West has a problem with that entire gym, Matt included.

He gestures with his chin toward West. "Should I be worried about you and him?"

"He's harmless."

"You said the other one was harmless, too."

It would have been less painful if John had taken a railroad spike and driven it into my skull. I do only what I can do: change the subject. "Take West on. You can train him a million times better than I can."

"You know the old saying about teaching a man how to fish?"

That he can feed himself. "Yeah."

He motions with his hand that I have my answer, but I don't. Instead I have a raised brow. Maybe Grandpa's drinking again. "Does that mean you're training him?"

"It means if you agree to spar, like we negotiated earlier, then I'll help you train him."

Whaaaat? "But if you train him, he can fight all the fish he wants." Or something like that.

John scratches the back of his head. "Hays, I need you to learn how to fight."

"I know how to fight." Each word comes out slowly, as if I don't believe it myself.

"No, you don't."

I want to ask him what he means-what he's hoping for-but there are things so dark and dirty and hopeless inside me that I'd prefer everyone, like me, continue to ignore they exist.

"The fight," I say. "Will you register him?"

"Is he eighteen?" John asks. "If not, no. Even better, if he's a minor, I want his parents' permission to be standing in my gym and if he's eighteen, then he's got a s.h.i.tload of forms to fill out. I'm not looking for anyone to sue my a.s.s when he dies."

I roll my eyes at his last statement if only because he's putting my worst fear for West into words. "West! Are you eighteen?"

Say no. Say no. Say no. Legal age to fight MMA in Kentucky is eighteen.

"You don't know your boyfriend's age?" asks John. I ignore him because...well...really? If West and I were a for real couple, his birthday would be hearted in red on my calendar. Okay, maybe not my style, but still...

From across the room, West nods and I mumble, "d.a.m.n." So much for an easy way out. West struts in my direction and I push off the wall. If John isn't training him, then I'd like to permanently avoid introductions.

"Will you do it?" I ask John as I back away. "Will you register him?"

"If he's got the money for the fees, then I'll get him in." He holds his fingers up in the air and rubs them together. "And for that you stay in my gym until the end of summer."

My hands slam onto my hips. "Summer?"

"Take it or leave it." John focuses on the computer again.

"Fine." I've become an indentured servant teaching myself how to fish in the desert without a net or a pole.

The word fees eventually sinks in, and, as I stroll up next to West, I say, "I hope you make good money."

West Haley rakes a hand through her hair, then grips it at the base of her neck like she's going to tear it out. "Shirt off."

"Yes, ma'am." I've already lost the shoes and socks. "I'll take the shorts off, too, if you'd like."

I thumb the edge of my waistband and Haley shakes her head too quickly. "That won't be necessary."

"You know you want me to," I say and enjoy every second of watching her skin blotch red and the slight tilt of her lips. In typical Haley fashion, she chooses to ignore me. One day, I'll climb into that head she constantly withdraws into.

Her grandfather left for the night and Haley is s.e.xy as h.e.l.l in her sports bra and shorts. Her flat stomach looks so soft, so smooth. My fingers twitch with the need to caress it.

A rush of air escapes her lips. "c.r.a.p."

"Want to fill me in?"

She blinks as if she's noticing me for the first time, which does nothing for my ego. Girls usually pay attention to me when I have my shirt off.

"You weigh 177 pounds."

"Yeah." Not news.

"I need you to weigh 170." Her eyes roam my body. "And there is not an ounce of fat on you." Haley bites her lower lip as she stares at my abs and I grin. Now I've got the girl's attention.

I step off the scale and the lever clanks against the metal. "You keep telling me this is going to be hard-core. I'll lose the weight."

"Yeah, but you'll also gain muscle. I'll figure it out later. Come on." Haley pulls at her hair again, then lets it cascade through her fingertips.

I've filled more than one night this week driving out the darkness and loneliness by fantasizing about rumpling Haley's silky hair and placing my mouth over those gorgeous lips. It's taking every ounce of willpower I possess not to push her against the wall and kiss her. The image in my head almost causes me to groan. My shirt's off, her stomach is exposed, hot flesh would be touching...

d.a.m.n, I'm killing myself. I s.n.a.t.c.h my shirt off the floor and trail Haley to the open spot near the mirrors. I'm doing the friend thing with Haley. Just friends. No benefits. She's proven time and again she deserves the respect. "You say that a lot."

"What?"

"That you'll figure things out."

She raises one shoulder as she snags a yellow ball off the floor. "That's because I will."

"The weight of the world isn't on you, you know? There're a couple other billion people who can help you figure out the solution to global warming."

I earn a half smirk from Haley as she rolls out the two-inch wide material. "I'm not worried about global warming."

"You know what I mean."

She pretends I didn't speak. "Have you ever wrapped your hands before?"

"None of the fights I've been in have included advance notification so I bare-knuckled it."

"And that," she says with her best under-eyelash schoolteacher glare, "has to stop. Outside of this gym, there are no fights."