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“I already know that. Don’t need to show squat.”
Sometimes Fox’s easygoing nature was a pleasure to be around, and a nice contrast to the shitstorm swirling through my head on any given day.
Other times it was fucking annoying.
“So it’s a personal thing then. Prove it yourself, not to me.”
“No need. I’m good in that regard.”
I gritted my teeth. “We’ll make some noise. Get some attention. Bring down the fucking house.”
Thoughtfully, he rubbed his smooth jaw. “Yeah, I have missed that. A little.”
Finally, an opening. It wasn’t much, but I’d take it. “Imagine how many people would show up for the rematch? It’d be like Tyson against—”
“Which one of us is Tyson?”
“Neither of us, jackwit. It was a metaphor.”
“Gee, good thing I got some college learnin’ under my belt.” His aww shucks tone made me laugh in spite of myself.
“So are you in or not? Stop yanking on my balls and say yes or no.”
He made me sweat it out. That was also a key component to Fox’s nature. He’d affable you to death, then turn the screws the moment you’d written him off.
“What’s in it for me?”
I stared at him balefully. “How about the personal satisfaction of a job well done?”
“Nah.” He waved that off. “Try again.”
“I’ll stop sparring with Mia.”
He appeared to think it over, then shook his head. “Nope. Big dick here, remember? Not concerned. Try harder.”
I literally didn’t have one single thing.
After a moment, he sighed. “Okay, here’s the deal. If I fight again, even once, Mia will think I’m harboring a need to get back in the octagon, like she was for all those months after she retired. I so am not. So you have to make the relationship drama worth my—”
I snapped my fingers. All of a sudden, I knew what would be an effective lure for his supposedly gigantic hook. “I have a spare bedroom that locks that you can use as long as you want. Anytime, day or night. And I’m hardly ever home.”
“Sold.” His eyes gleamed as he pointed at me. “Son, you just learned to negotiate.”
Struggling against a smile, I lay back on the bench and reached for the weight bar. Then almost dropped it when he spoke again.
“Come to dinner on Thursday night and help me tell Mia.”
I started to say no. Thursday was days away from now. I didn’t know what I’d be dealing with tonight, never mind later next week. And Carly would probably be there, since, oh, she lived in his place and all.
Unless she was off working or socializing. But since Fox and Mia could burn water, I figured any invites for dinner would result from Carly’s efforts. Chef-in-training and all.
The image of her in a white chef’s coat—and only a white chef’s coat—popped into my head. And I popped a serious hard-on, while Fox continued yammering away beside me.
Jesus. The inappropriateness was off the charts.
“I think I’m busy.”
“Think you’re busy?” Fox snorted. “Don’t you have a fight on Friday? Another one??
