Driving Her Wild. Meg Maguire

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СКАЧАТЬ but he’d love to meet you before he goes out of town for the weekend. The game’s over around ten. Would drinks after that be too late?”

      She considered it. “I could probably swap for the closing shift and meet him someplace in between.” She wasn’t an early bird, anyhow. And for a chance with a hot, sporty doctor? “Does my nose look presentable?” It was still tender, but she’d lain with an ice pack on it for an hour before bed and the swelling was way down.

      “Much better,” Lindsey said, nodding.

      “Okay then. Sign me up.”

      Jenna assembled a stack of forms and Steph scanned them. The membership was pricey, but the decision felt right as she handed over her credit card.

      “And, submit,” Jenna said, clicking something on her computer. “Welcome to Spark!”

      With that scary first splash into the deep end accomplished, it was time to start paddling. “What should I wear on this date?”

      “Depends on the bar, I suppose.” Jenna’s eyes narrowed. “But it’s supposed to snow tomorrow, so I don’t think anyone can fault you for dressing sensibly. Maybe some fancy jeans and a nice sweater?”

      Damn, Steph had some shopping to do. Her closet was seriously bipolar—sweats and sneakers on one side, a couple of short, glitzy cocktail dresses on the other, procured for the wild after-fight parties that had become her only excuse to wear heels these past few years. She owned exactly one pair of jeans, and they weren’t fancy by any stretch of the imagination—not unless a hole at the corner of the butt pocket was this season’s hottest trend.

      Downstairs, she fairly floated through the afternoon sessions. Her final match had been three weeks ago, and she could feel the effects of her lighter workouts. She’d put on a couple pounds and lost some definition, but she didn’t mind. She liked having a strong, trim figure, but it was nice to feel a little softness coming back, the perennial aches and pains fading. She was a fighter, but she was a woman, too, and could handle forfeiting her jiggle-free backside if the pay-off was an extra cup size.

      “So,” she said to Mercer, as they wiped down the heavy bags after a cardio session. “Guess who’s got a date tomorrow night.”

      “That was fast.”

      “I know. But it’s not until late. I’m happy to take the closing shift, if that’s helpful to anybody.”

      “I’ll be on a plane to California tomorrow night,” Mercer said.

      “Oh right, you mentioned that.”

      “My former protégé’s got a match in L.A., then we’re visiting Jenna’s folks. So I guess it’s up to Rich. When are you on ’til?”

      “Seven.”

      “Friday’s sparring—Rich won’t volunteer to miss that... Just come in at two and I’ll give you both the closing shift. I can cover the morning by myself.”

      “If you’re sure.”

      He grinned. “Heaven forbid I get in the way of anybody’s romantic plans. Especially if they’ve got Jenna’s fingerprints all over them.”

      Excellent. Now all she needed was a decent outfit.

      Mercer eyed her. “I bet some guys can be real dicks about the fact that you can beat them up.”

      She smiled grimly. “Some are. But they’re not always nasty to my face. The worst date I ever had was with this guy I was practically half in love with, after knowing him only a few hours. He seemed perfect. But then...” She had to laugh, looking back on it. “This man tried to mug us, and I wound up choke-holding him.”

      Mercer laughed. “Nice.”

      “Like, in a dress and heels. I had him on the ground for twenty minutes, and my date had to call the cops.”

      “And did he ever ask you out again, after that?”

      She shook her head. “He said he would, but nope. Not a peep.”

      “Do you wish you’d just let the guy mug you?”

      “Nah. I’m proud I’m not defenseless.”

      “You ever try dating another fighter?”

      “I have.” On the road, any given gym was practically man-meat banquet in the run-up to a big event. “But at the end of the day, the last thing I want to talk about after a training session is UFC gossip, or the carb content of a baked potato.”

      “I could see that. So what’s this guy do, the one Jenna found you? Do you know?”

      She tried and failed to bite back a grin. “He’s a sports medicine doctor.”

      “Ooh la la, look at you go. That’s the kind of friend we could use around here. Do me a favor and marry him.”

      And since Steph was practically drunk on possibility, she imagined exactly that.

      * * *

      THE HOT DOCTOR was hot. His digital profile photos proved it, and he was funny to boot, and polite, and he’d typed his Thursday-night introductory email in full sentences, with capital letters and punctuation. His name in the signature—Dylan Benedetti—was followed by an exciting parade of authoritative initials, none of which Steph could translate beyond the M.D. Barring a Bruins medical crisis, they’d be meeting at eleven-fifteen the following night, at a trendy bar only a few blocks from the gym, near Boston Common.

      News of Steph’s date spread instantly. Rich ribbed her non-stop through their Friday shift, proving himself a bottomless well of medical innuendo.

      Patrick, the least qualified electrician ever licensed in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, was busy testing the new security system all day. Steph found the frequency with which he peered at exposed wires and muttered, “That’s weird,” highly disconcerting. More disconcerting still was that he’d apparently arrived at seven, yet was still working by the time the evening sparring session was winding down. If he wasn’t sandbagging to scam his boss for extra pay, he had to be plain old incompetent.

      Steph and Rich were sitting on the mats, facing one another, cooling down after the evening’s sparring. Their soles were pressed together, and they held hands, taking turns leaning backward to stretch the other’s hamstrings and arms and back. The thirty or so members who’d braved the snow and ice for a chance to scrap were doing the same, more than a few looking skeptical about the exercise, or perhaps the hand-holding. Wilinski’s boxer types might have power on their side, but they could stand to adopt Steph’s regimen of flexibility drills. She was only too happy to torture them into better shape.

      “Be careful with this fancy doctor guy,” Rich warned. “One flash of that stethoscope and he’ll have you disrobing before your starters even show up.”

      She rolled her eyes at him.

      “He’ll probably want to dress you in one of those paper robes and get freaky with the tongue depressors.”

      Steph leaned way back, reveling as Rich winced. His turn came to pull, and she let him tug her СКАЧАТЬ