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Cole scowled. Not for him, it wasn’t. He moved toward the ropes, pulling at the lacing of one glove with the other. A staff member for the gym came up to the side of the ring to help him.
“Where are you going?” Jordan called.
“Take a breather!”
“I saw her first,” his brother joked, coming up alongside him.
From when they’d hit puberty, the Serenghetti brothers had one rule: whoever saw a woman first got to make a move.
Cole leveled his brother with a withering look as the gym assistant pulled off his gloves. “That is Marisa Danieli.”
Jordan’s eyes widened, and then a slow grin spread across his face. “Wow, she’s changed.”
“Not as much as you think. Hands off.”
“Hey, I’m not the one who needs a warning. Who yanked off his gloves?” Jordan looked over Cole’s shoulder and then raised his eyebrows.
Cole turned. Marisa had pulled the ropes apart and was stepping into the ring, one shapely leg after the other.
“This should be good,” Jordan murmured.
“Shut up.”
Cole pulled off his padded helmet. The front of his sleeveless shirt was damp with perspiration, and his sweatpants hung low on his hips. It was a far cry from the way he looked in
meetings these days—where he often wore a jacket and tie.
He handed off his helmet before turning toward the woman who’d crept into his thoughts too often during the past week. Sweeping aside any need for pleasantries, he demanded, “How did you find me?”
Marisa hesitated, looking as if her bravado was leaving her now that she was facing her opponent in the ring. “A tip at the Puck & Shoot.”
Cole figured he shouldn’t be surprised she was a patron of the New England Razors’ hangout. She could scout for her next victim at a sports bar, and it would be easy pickings.
Marisa took a deep breath, and Cole watched her chest rise and fall.
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Let’s start again. And how are you, too, Cole?”
“Is that how you start the day in school? Correcting your students’ manners?”
“Sometimes,” she admitted.
Jordan stepped forward. “Don’t mind Cole. Mom sent us to Miss Daisy’s School for Manners, but only one of us graduated.” Jordan flashed the mega-kilowatt grin that had earned him an underwear advertising campaign. “I’m Jordan Serenghetti, Cole’s brother. I’d shake your hand but as you can see—” he held up his gloves, his smile turning rueful “—I’ve been pounding Cole to a pulp.”
Marisa blinked, her gaze moving from Jordan to Cole. “He doesn’t look the worse for wear.”
Cole’s muscles tightened and bunched, and then he frowned. He should be used to compliments... Besides, he knew she had an ulterior motive—she still needed him for her fund-raiser.
“We stay away from faces,” Jordan added, “but his nose has been broken and mine hasn’t.”
“Yes,” she said, “I see...”
Cole knew what he looked like. Not bad, but not model-handsome like Jordan. He and his brother shared the same dark hair and tall build, but Jordan’s eyes were green while his were hazel. And he’d always been more rough-hewn—not that it mattered at the moment.
Jordan flashed another smile at Marisa. “You may remember me from Cole’s high school days.”
Cole forced himself to remember the expensive orthodontia as the urge hit to rearrange his brother’s teeth. He noticed how Jordan didn’t reference the high school fiasco in which Marisa had had a starring role.
“Jordan Serenghetti... I know you from the sports news,” Marisa said, sidestepping the whole sticky issue of high school.
