Driving Her Wild. Meg Maguire

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СКАЧАТЬ sighed, meeting his eyes. “What about my job?”

      “So are you like a pro-lady-wrestler, or...”

      If looks could kill, hers would’ve punched straight through his heart and out the other side. “I’m a jujitsu instructor.”

      “That’s what that’s called, all that rolling around in a karate outfit you were doing the other day? Joo jitzoo?”

      Lordy. At least he hadn’t called them pajamas, she supposed. “It’s called a gi.”

      “But it’s basically wrestling, right?”

      “Brazilian jujitsu evolved from judo, and yeah, it’s a grappling-based martial art. But I don’t get greased up in a sequined bra and booty shorts and body-slam other women.”

      “What do you do?”

      “Have you never seen cage fighting?”

      “Not really.”

      That would never do. She sat up straight, chair back snapping to attention.

      This wasn’t how Steph had planned on spending her evening, but she might as well make good use of the time by educating yet another person on what MMA was all about. She went to the shelf, finding a VHS of one of the best pro events there’d ever been from way back in the sport’s more lawless days. Patrick had to help her, switching the video input to the VCR.

      “See?” he asked, crouching beside her, switching cables, close enough for her to catch the annoyingly pleasant scent of his skin. “I’m not completely useless.”

      Steph hit Play and they returned to their seats. “Now pay attention and I’ll show you exactly how un-like pro-wrestling this is.”

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      “Do you ever watch boxing?”

      “I don’t follow it, but yeah, I’ve seen a few matches.”

      “Kickboxing?”

      “Does that Van Damme movie count?”

      “Nearly. Anyhow, MMA is way more like boxing than pro-wrestling. For starters, it’s real.”

      The event coverage started up and she fast-forwarded, skipping over a particularly bloody preliminary match.

      “Whoa,” Patrick muttered.

      She stopped when the tape reached the main event. It was an epic fight—nonstop action, the perfect mix of stand-up and grappling, a million exciting reversals and near-submissions.

      “So, wait,” Patrick said halfway through the first round.

      She turned, finding his lips pursed, brow furrowed adorably.

      “Yes?”

      “So you actually do this?”

      “I do. Or I did. I’m just a trainer now, so I won’t be doing much more than sparring. I’m getting old for it.” Some fighters could stay professionally viable all the way to forty, but Steph wasn’t destined to be one of them. She could feel the sport taking its toll in her joints, and her post-match aches and pains lingered far longer than they had when she was twenty.

      “But you got hit in the face and stuff?”

      “I did. Plenty.”

      Patrick’s blue eyes studied her. “It doesn’t show.”

      “Well. Thank you.”

      “Except for your nose, but that’s my fault.”

      She waited for him to get predictably obnoxious with the topic, and ask if rolling around with women turned her on, if anybody ever had wardrobe malfunctions, if perhaps she’d like to wrestle with him, here and now. But after a moment’s contemplation, all he said was, “Huh.”

      “Huh what?” She hit Pause on the remote.

      “I dunno. That’s cool. Can you...”

      Can I what? Pin you? Come on, out with it. I’ve heard them all.

      “So can you stop somebody from like, attacking you?”

      She blinked, surprised at the question. “Not if they’ve got a gun. But yeah. I fought off a mugger once. And one time I was hiking with my friend and somebody’s dog attacked her, so I kicked it.”

      His eyes grew wide with horror. “You kicked a dog?”

      “It was attacking my friend! It should have been on a leash.”

      “Poor dog. It was probably just protecting its owner.”

      “It punctured her skin!”

      “Poor dog,” Patrick said again, and Steph realized he was winding her up.

      “You own a dog, don’t you?” How could he not?

      He frowned. “I did. I lost her in my divorce.”

      Divorced. So Patrick Doherty wasn’t just floating through his easy life, drifting blindly from one opportunity to the next on a cloud of lovability.

      “What breed?” she asked.

      “Pug.”

      She had to laugh.

      “What?”

      “I dunno. You just seem like a Golden sort of guy.”

      “Well, I wanted a black Lab, like I grew up with. But my ex was in love with those pugs. And she was a great dog—really sweet. Just not the kind you can toss a Frisbee for on the beach.”

      “How old are you?”

      “Thirty-five in April.”

      “Were you married long?”

      “Almost four years. We split up the Christmas before last.”

      As someone currently hell-bent on finding a partner, Steph couldn’t help but want to ask what had gone wrong for Patrick and his. She held her tongue.

      He smiled at her, a warm and disarming gesture. “You can ask what happened. I can tell you want to.”

      She bit her lip. “What happened?”

      “I kinda wish I knew.” Leave it to poor, charming, clueless Patrick to not even know what had ended his marriage.

      “I was really happy. I loved my wife, I loved our home. I loved how we spent our free time. I was just checking my watch, thinking we’d probably socked away enough money to start talking about the whole baby thing.”

      “But she hadn’t been thinking the same?”

      He СКАЧАТЬ