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 5

After they finally, successfully separated, Mercer and Jenna had shared an awkward dance, negotiating the bathroom be- fore retiring to their rooms for the night.

Mercer didn’t think he’d gotten that worked up since tenth grade, and he entertained some rather unprofessional fanta- sies about his new roommate-slash-boss-slash-landlady before going to sleep. Still, that was safer than actually implement- ing any of his dick’s many inspired ideas about what to do with the woman.

He woke up confused about the exchange, but resolved to let it go. He’d never wasted much time overthinking a sexual encounter before, and this was the last situation that needed overthinking. She was too many things to him, without also adding “crush” to the list.

He had plenty to worry about already, Delante first and foremost. He’d come under Mercer’s tutelage the way Mer- cer had come under Monty’s—grudgingly, shoved by a des- perate mom at the end of her rope. That had been enough to get Mercer invested in the kid, but it took no time to realize Delante was special. A natural talent who thrived like a dying plant suddenly watered. Add the fact that the kid had a highly marketable projects-to-greatness urban underdog appeal, and

Mercer knew he had something major on his hands.

If he could just keep Delante’s head as focused as his punches, the guy could be signing a pro contract before the crowd had even filed out of the arena following next month’s tournament. It was good for Delante, no doubt. Great for the gym, too—a boost right when they needed one most. Noth- ing fostered new memberships like launching a big name, and the boxers who’d come out of the gym in the eighties were ancient history. MMA was the future. Rich was rising in the ranks, too, a respected semipro with a lot of managers’ eyes on him, but Delante was almost a decade younger, ripe for a long, enviable career.

They met early, and Mercer worked him into the ground, running and dodging commuters up and down the endless Porter Square Station stairs, until a T security guy told them to knock it off. They jogged the four miles through Cambridge and Boston back to Chinatown, greeted by an irksome sight when they finally reached the gym.

“Cool down and hit the showers,” Mercer said, knowing he had to end Delante’s torture earlier than he’d planned. Del- ante hauled his tired ass inside the building and Mercer stared up at the big plastic banner hung over the entryway, almost completely obscuring the gym’s sign.

Future home of Spark: Boston! it proclaimed in a bold, modern font. Your local branch of the Northeast’s most re- spected dating service for busy professionals. Your perfect match is just a heartbeat away! Below were web and email addresses.

Mercer read it three times, frown growing deeper with each pass. The businesses were cohabitating, sure. But it wrenched his guts, because the facts were plain. He had a single sea- son to turn the gym around—the blink of an eye—and if the neighborhood knew the details, they’d no doubt be rooting for him to fail. For all he knew, Jenna was rooting for the same, all the better for her new venture’s image. All the better that she get busy hiding the gym’s very existence.

How easily Mercer had let himself forget what side she stood on the second they’d been tangled on the couch.

He jogged up the steps and into the foyer. The office was lit but locked, and he could see Jenna’s half-finished lunch on the desk. He ran up to the apartment, but she wasn’t there, either. Must have gone out on an errand.

He headed back to the gym, ditching his shoes and think- ing he’d better find somebody down there to spar and work off some of his angst. Angst that felt distinctly like misplaced lust. Felt like way too many things. Feelings. Blergh.

And feelings promptly punched him in the face as he near- literally ran into Jenna heading up the steps.

“Hey,” she said, her smile polite but nervous. Nervous be- cause of the sign or because of them getting to second base on the couch, Mercer couldn’t pinpoint.

“I was just looking for you,” she said. “I was just looking for you.”

“Oh?”

He nodded. “We gotta talk about that sign.”

“I know. I’m sorry—that’s why I was trying to find you. The franchise people came to take a tour of the space. I didn’t know they’d put that up so soon. Or, you know…quite so prominently. I didn’t see it until after the men with the lad- der had gone.”

Mercer sighed, irritation lifting a little. One less emotion. Good. But there were still plenty underneath, all charged with that physical tension from the night before. Except down here…

Down here, Mercer could keep his priorities straight. “That sign’s going to cause a stir with the guys. I haven’t

told anybody the deal yet. But we’ve been needing new equipment for years, and suddenly there’s the money to open an entirely new franchise? You’re not going to make any friends that way.”

She crossed her arms, and God help him, that defiant little gesture had his anger morphing to lust in a heartbeat.

“I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to run a business.” “Two businesses.”

She was kind or smart enough not to add, For now. “I

haven’t forgotten that.”

He glanced at her feet. “Take your shoes off. These mats have enough holes in them already.”

She yanked off her heels. “I know it looks bad. That’s why I apologized. But this place is your territory. Spark is mine.” “I can’t have a bunch of keyed-up fighters questioning the future of this place so soon.” It hurt too much to even know the score himself. “Not with an important tournament com-

ing up.”

“I get it, and I’m sorry. Like I said, I didn’t ask them to put the sign where they did. Maybe we could find a ladder and move it up, so it doesn’t look so…”

“Condemning?”

“Yeah.” She sighed, sounding exhausted. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Yeah, we will. What’s up with you, anyway? You look beat.”

Another loaded breath. “It’s fine. It was just stressful, showing the managers around, not knowing what they’d make of the place. It was approved last month on paper, but who knows what improvements the franchise overseer will de- mand to get it up to Spark standards. Or how much it’ll cost. But they said they like the neighborhood—I hadn’t been sure they would.”

“And the neighbors?” he asked, jerking his head to mean the gym.

She smiled, a tight, apologetic gesture. “I won’t pretend they were giddy about it.”

“No, I’m sure they weren’t.” Suddenly exhausted himself, Mercer cast his gaze around, searching for a change of topic. A distraction from both the conf lict and the attraction that had him so screwed up in the head.

“There’s something I was meaning to show you, next time you were down here.”

“Oh?”

He led her to the back wall. It was plastered with old box- ing posters. Photos of the greats, newspaper and magazine stories about local fighters hung behind Lucite. He tapped an item in the middle and she came close to peer at it. It was a yellowed article from her hometown paper, with a picture of Jenna at age twelve or so, in a bathing cap and suit, holding up a medal for her team’s showing in a county swim meet. He watched her face, her blue eyes widening only to then narrow, lips pursed in a tight line.

“He put that right up there, with all the stories about his favorite fighters,” Mercer offered.

“Yeah. That’s sweet.” She was forcing a pleasant response, but Mercer couldn’t even guess what emotion she was aim- ing for.

He pressed on anyway, compelled as always to defend her dad. “He was really proud of you. Never shut up about you.” “Great. Thanks for showing me that. It’s very touching.” She was so lousy at faking enthusiasm, she almost sounded sarcastic. Mercer felt suddenly diminished,  reduced to a sweaty, weary heap of aching muscles. Maybe it had just

been the wine for her, all along.

“Well. I’ll let you get back to your work.” She nodded. “You too.”

“I’ll get one of the guys to help me with the sign. Hoist it up a couple feet so it’s clear our two ventures are just cohabitating. And I’ll get busy letting everyone know you’re taking over the office and all that, for the dating thing.”

“Thanks. Tell them they’re free to ask me about it. If any- one’s confused or concerned.”

He smiled grimly. “I’ll be first in line.”

Her gaze jumped to the article he’d shown her.

“He was a good guy,” Mercer said. “I’d prove it to you, if you gave me half a chance.”

She chewed on a reply but swallowed it, unspoken. “See you around the apartment.”

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

Jenna began to walk away, taking Mercer’s energy with her. Then she turned, and a little glimmer of her sweet self broke through the crust. “If you like frittata, I can make enough for two tonight.”

He warmed at the offer, so tempted to toss a teasing re- mark back and remind her what happened the last time they’d shared a meal. “I’m not sure what that is. But if it’s food, then yeah, that’d be real nice.”

“Seven-thirty?”

“I’m leading a session at seven, but make it eight-fifteen and it’s a date, Miss Matchmaker.”

Finally, she smiled. And just like that, he was screwed. Two seconds’ flirting and he wanted her again, worse than ever.

Shit. He better schedule himself a sadistic workout for the late afternoon. Better haul his body up those steps too tired to chew, let alone to muster the energy to mess around. Because near-high-school dropout or not, Mercer was smart enough to know that if Jenna couldn’t manage to keep them strictly platonic tonight…he didn’t stand a chance in hell.

When Mercer  entered  the apartment just after eight, Jenna stood a little straighter behind the counter, chopping peppers, steeling herself.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself, roommate.”

He looked dead tired. Maybe just the by-product of a long, physical workday, or maybe he felt as beat-down as she did, following the unfortunate misunderstanding with the sign. On top of that, she’d spent almost the entire day in the office, and no less than twenty gym members had interrupted to express their condolences, most of them then regaling her with legend- ary tales of her larger-than-life father. Thoughtful gestures, though each one she smiled through had only reminded her how close he’d been to these strangers, to everyone but her. She felt as tired as Mercer looked.

After disappearing into his room with his gym bag, Mercer came to loiter on the opposite side of the counter. He eyed the bowl of egg mixture. “What’s this called again?”

“Frittata. Not quite an omelet, not quite a quiche.”

“I’m not entirely sure what a quiche is. So, how was your day?”

“Long. Spent most of it getting pummeled with all the stuff the franchise overseers are going to be sweeping through to do in the next couple months.”

“Nothing like a good pummeling. What sort of stuff?” “They’re sending a bunch of people tomorrow, a design

team to drop off the upholstery swatches and paint chips I’m allowed to choose from when I decorate my office. And some last-minute inspection stuff, technicalities before the space gets official approval.”

“You need me to clean the gym’s clutter out of there?” “Not immediately, but soon.” Jenna turned back to the cut-

ting board. “How was your day, aside from that unpleasant surprise? Thanks for moving the sign, by the way.”

“No problem. And my day was long.” “How were your stairs?”

“Also long.” He leaned his forearms on the counter, watching her busy hands. “But whatever keeps the kid too beat to worry about bullshit back home, or worse. Girls.”

“Right. No greater threat to you mercenary types than we ladies.”

Mercer smirked.

As Jenna sliced mushrooms, she mustered the courage to say, “Speaking of the danger of women… The dangers of sex and romance, that is.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m issuing us a mutual restraining order tonight.”

He laughed, and though he was clearly confused, it was nice to see him really smiling again. “Pardon?”

“I think we should stay separated by at least four feet at all times. For our own good.” Though even as she said it, she felt heat blooming in her body, felt her resolve turning soft and lazy.

Mercer seemed to consider the proposal, standing up straight and measuring the counter with his gaze. He took a step back. “About like that?”

“Yes. It just seems safer. Well, maybe safe’s not the word— less complicated.”

“So, that means you still like me, even when you’re not drunk?” A different smile, one Jenna enjoyed far too much. “I was not drunk. And don’t flirt with me. That’s off-limits

as well. I don’t know what exactly’s going on with us, attraction- wise. But no need to make it worse. No passing by each other in small spaces, no suggestive remarks…”

“No assaulting me with the sink sprayer?”

“Sadly, no. None of that stuff.” She sighed, knowing that f lirting their way around this topic wasn’t going to do a lick of good. “I don’t…I don’t trust myself around you, and we’re the last two people who need to get confused about who we are to each other.”

“You feel confused about last night? I thought it was pretty straightforward.”

She made an exasperated noise. “I’m trying to be serious for a second. That’s yet another reason to be careful around each other until you move out. I don’t work the way I suspect you do, with sex. It’s very…complicated.”

“Doesn’t have to be.”

She shot him a stern look, then went back to chopping. “I’m a pretty stereotypical woman when it comes to sex. It changes everything, emotionally, whether I want it to or not. You seem like a stereotypical man about it. If we did it— which we won’t—”

“Noted.”

“—you’d probably feel the same way about me the next day.”

“And as a stereotypical woman you’d find that infuriating.” “Likely. Hence the restraining order.”

Mercer crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “You’re right. You’d definitely feel different about me the next day. I’m even better at sex than I am at kissing.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Sorry. I’ll quit it.” He paused a moment before going on. “And I’m with you, incidentally. I think us messing around is a lousy idea, too. It’s just fun winding you up.”

Though she forced herself to nod and say, “I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Jenna felt a pang to hear Mercer agree. She knew in her head that made no sense, but a tiny, illogi- cal part of her couldn’t help but think, How can it be terrible, when it feels so wonderful?

They ate on the couch, the empty cushion between them taunting. So far, yet so close. Jenna found a news special on TV covering a very bloody civil war. If that couldn’t kill the restlessness warming her body, nothing would. Sadly, she caught herself glancing Mercer’s way every minute or two, remembering everything that had happened on that end of the couch, twenty-four hours earlier. Clearly, her attraction was more potent than violent overseas unrest.

Mercer had gone quiet, and stayed that way through the meal. He was rattled, and from what, she couldn’t be sure. By her fessing up to the fact that there was no such thing as strings-free sex to her? Surely that would give a man like Mercer much-needed pause. Or perhaps from the simple fact that his entire life had been turned upside down in the past four days. By her. Also a distinct possibility, and an ugly one. Guilt soured Jenna’s stomach.

When dinner was done Mercer took her plate, and Jenna honored their restraining order and let him do the dishes alone. Though she did steal a couple glances at his shoulders as he worked, those swells of muscle highlighted by the kitchen’s overhead bulbs. Oops.

She changed into lounge pants and a T-shirt and cardigan and got cozy on her end of the couch. There was a pre-grand- opening client recruitment party to organize for mid-September, and now was the perfect time to fill her head with lists. Get her mind off the man sharing her home.

When Mercer finished cleaning the kitchen, he eyed her for a moment before announcing, “I’m gonna head downstairs for a little while.”

“If I don’t see you before I go to bed, good night.”

He nodded, filled a water bottle from the sink and left, dead bolt snapping behind him. Jenna released a held breath.

She should have gone to bed at ten. By eleven, surely. Yet when quarter to midnight rolled around, she was still watching TV, barely taking in the program. She wasn’t preoccupied by party to-dos, either. Her list was exactly one item long. Hire assistant. No, it was still Mercer, keeping her distracted, her feelings for him pacing low in her belly, a restless, reckless awareness.

But at twelve-thirty, curiosity became concern. Mercer’s “little while” was now pushing three hours, and the gym was long closed for the night.

She grabbed her keys, slid into f lip-f lops and went down to the first f loor. The office was dark, but the stairs to the gym were lit.

She heard Mercer before she saw him, the thump of his fist and the hiss of his sharp breaths. The space felt huge in the darkness, its smell mysterious, heady and foreign as a jungle.

Only the lights illuminating the row of heavy bags along one wall were switched on. Mercer was dressed in shorts, barefoot and shirtless, gloves on his hands. The bulbs cast him in harsh, dramatic shadows, his shoulders shining with sweat. The bag was suspended from the ceiling by a thick chain, and it jangled with every kick and punch, every knee and elbow he whacked it with. He danced from foot to foot, lost in his own world, in his imaginary battle.

Jenna’s legs went wobbly, heat pooling in traitorous places. This man didn’t waste any of the physical gifts humans were born with, every muscle honed and disciplined and punished, day after day, until he made violence look like art. That this workout was likely inspired by the angst she’d roused in him dampened her pleasure.

After another minute’s assault, Mercer paused to grab a bottle of water from the mat beside him. Jenna approached.

When he set the bottle down, she caught his eye and he started. “Jesus, don’t sneak up on me when I’m wearing these.” He held up his gloved hands.

“Sorry. What are you doing?” “What’s it look like?”

“If I had to guess, you’re working off how annoyed you must be at me.”

He blinked, looking more startled than when he’d spot- ted her.

“We can talk about it, if you want. But maybe this is how you prefer to—”

“I’m not angry at you.” He looked troubled. “I’m definitely not down here wailing on something because I wish I could wail on you.”

“No, I didn’t think that.”

“I’m trying to wear myself out.” “Oh. Okay.”

Three times he opened his mouth, poised to say something, only to close it again.

“What?”

He shook his head. “It’ll sound like flirting and you’ll chew me out again, so forget it.”

“No, what?”

He huffed a breath through his nose. “I’m down here wearing myself out, so the second I put my head on the pillow I’ll be unconscious. ’Cause if I don’t, my brain’s gonna be full of thoughts that probably violate some mental restraining order you didn’t tell me about.”

Jenna’s turn to start. For a split second her mind supplied a vision of such a thing, of Mercer succumbing to fantasies about whatever inappropriate things he felt she was denying them. She shoved the image away. His body was dangerous and distracting enough, here in reality. No good could come of hypothesizing about the few bits of him she’d yet to lay her eyes—or hands—on.

With a huff, Mercer sat cross-legged on the mat. He ripped the Velcro straps from his wrists and tugged off his gloves. His hands were wrapped in white tape, and he ran them over his head, blowing out a heavy breath.

Jenna sat a few paces away, hugging her knees. “Maybe I should just move out now,” Mercer said. “To where?”

“I dunno. Sublet somewhere, cash in a favor and crash on somebody’s couch till I find a place I can afford. It was nice of you to let me stay, but that was before we knew we’re…”

“Allergic to each other?” It earned her a grudging smile. “I know you think this is simple for me,” he said. “Like I

think sex is as incidental as a movie we might watch together. I wish it was. But you’re my mentor’s daughter. And the woman who turned up here prepared to end my life as I know it.”

Unsure what to say to that, she kept her mouth shut.

“I dunno what the hell to make of you, Jenna. My body has plans for yours—plans I can usually take or leave, because sex doesn’t come first for me, believe it or not. My responsi- bilities do, and you’re the worst possible woman I could let myself get distracted by.”

“I’m sure.” She was spacey, lost in what he’d said about his body having plans for hers. She felt strangely honored to be singled out, maybe targeted, curious beyond belief.

“What I joked with you about in the kitchen was bullshit. This isn’t simple to me at all.”

Not sure how to process what he was telling her, she looked to his legs, to the red smear streaked along one shin. “You’re bleeding.”

He glanced down. “Oh, right. I’ve got no feeling left there anymore. No decent kickboxer does.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re the strangest man I’ve ever met. Why don’t you come upstairs and get cleaned up?”

A monstrous sigh. “Yeah, fine. I can barely move now, so my work here’s probably done.”

Jenna stood and offered him a hand. He clasped it in his wrapped one and she helped haul him to his feet. The cotton tape felt exotic against her palm, his hand big and scarred and fascinating as always. Allergic indeed.

She was ready to take her hand back, but he held it in his grip, his eyes on hers. “Why’d you come down here, anyway?”

“To see if you were okay.”

“I really seemed like that much of a mess?” She nodded.

“Better work on my game face.”

He dropped his gaze and her hand, then wandered to grab his water bottle and shirt, slipped flip-flops on his feet. She tried and failed to keep her eyes off his bare chest and stomach and arms, that body looking as reckless as the urges it inspired in her. But they were in firm agreement on one fact—hooking up was a terrible idea. It nearly disappointed her. If Mercer had kept that door open on his end, she just might have let herself be yanked inside.

He hit the lights and locked up, and they trudged up the two f lights and down the hall to the apartment.

She shut the door behind them and it felt as if something ought to be said. An apology tendered, or even a joke to lighten the heavy atmosphere.

“That’s a really nerdy sweater,” Mercer said.

She laughed, relieved by his levity but pretending offense. She looked down at her argyle cardigan. “It’s librarian chic.” Neither spoke for a moment, though she knew he was strug- gling for the next quip, same as her. Words came, but not ones

she’d expected.

“I don’t want you to move out. I mean, I don’t want you to feel like you have to move out sooner than we’d discussed.”

“It might make everything simpler.”

“It might. But I’m already turning your life upside down by even being here. You’re acting a lot more civil about us coexisting than most people would, knowing what could hap- pen come January. If letting you live here makes the transi- tion easier, it’s the least I can do.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

She sighed, staring at their feet, if only to keep her eyes off the more arousing bits of Mercer. Even with her gaze preoccupied, his scent was all around her, heady and exciting, as thrilling as a physical touch.

“This is going to be complicated, no matter what we do,” he murmured. “No matter if I stay or go, or whatever rules we invent to keep from sexually assaulting each other, or how hard we try to rationalize everything.”

She nodded.

“So it can’t actually get much worse.” “Not that I can foresee,” she said. “Right.”

She sensed it as he stood a little straighter, and she raised her chin to scan his face. He still looked beat, but there was a glimmer of resolution. He’d made peace with their situation.

“I’m gonna kiss you now.” She started. “Excuse me?”

“Things between us can’t get any worse, so I’m gonna go ahead and make a move on you. Only way I’ll be able to get any sleep tonight.”

“Don’t do that.” Do it. Do it.

He put his wrapped hand to her jaw, leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. He kept it slow to start, giving Jenna a chance to protest, a chance to cling to her charade of propriety.

No way in hell.

She kissed him back, tasting salt on his lips—the f lavor of a man who’d spent the past few hours trying to beat the de- sire out of his body. Desire for her. His tongue brushed hers and she grabbed his arm, thrilling anew at its hardness, its size. He kissed her until soft moans hummed from his throat, until he’d backed her against the door and her palms had slid south, from his chest to his stomach to his hips. Next and final stop—Bad Decisionville.

He broke away, taking a step back. The look in his eyes was wild and his tongue traced the corner of his lips. He began unwinding the tape from his hands, exciting as a striptease. Jenna held her breath until he spoke.