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“So…what do I do with this?” I hold up my open arms and look down at my borrowed outfit.
“Keep it. I’ll deduct it from your first paycheck with your employee discount.”
Jolene just said the magic words. “Employee discount?”
“Forty percent off anything in the store.”
“I like this job already.”
Jolene and I work together to close up, then tumble out to the sidewalk. A yellow Porsche sticks out like a sore thumb and, leaning on the hood, is Troy. “Need a lift?”
The wordyesscreams in my throat, but I clamp my mouth shut, keeping it inside. Some girls like a guy who won’t take no for an answer—they get off on the chase—but I am not one ofthose girls. I get the feeling it’s not a word Troy hears very often. “I have one, thanks.” I turn away to start my walk to Mad Dog’s, ignoring Troy as he calls after me.
The evening sky shines in watercolor shades of pink and purple as I cross the lot and go inside. I follow the sound of heavy grunts and slapping skin, approaching just in time to see Jace take down some guy in a red helmet. “Got a lotta rage tonight, Wilder,” the coach grumbles. “Keep it up.”
Jace spits his mouth piece into a bucket and sprays a direct shot of water straight into his mouth then squirts himself in the face with it. He shakes it off like a dog, letting droplets fly off his raven hair.
I clear my throat to announce my arrival. His gaze burns with fierce heat as he pins me with his stare. It sizzles my skin like the hot Texas sun. “I need a shower,” he says before ducking between the ropes.
I find a bench and sit, a small groan leaving my chest. Jesus, one day of work, and I sound like an old lady already. Casually scrolling through my phone, I wait for Jace to finish.
“You were the ring chick at the last fight, weren’t you?”
The gravelly baritone steals my attention. I look up to find Jace’s opponent, sans helmet, staring down at me from his towering height. “It was just a favor for Jace.”
“You his girlfriend?”
“No,” I say with a shy grin.
“Cool.” He sits on the other side and towel dries his shaved head. “Where’re you from?”
“New York.”
“Wow. City girl.”
I offer a polite grin and go back to my phone, hoping he takes the hint, but it seems my new friend has taken one too many punches to the head. “I’m Zeke.”
He offers his ham-hock hand, and I take it but get grossed out when I realize it’s wet. “Ellie.”
“What are you doing in Hell's Bend?”
“Don’tcha have someplace to be, Zeke?” Jace’s growl rumbles from behind.
Zeke turns toward the sound and rises to his feet. “I was just introducing myself to your friend.”
“She ain’t my friend,” he snaps, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t cause a puncture to my heart. “And she ain’t yours neither. Get the hell away from her.”
I stand. I had no interest in speaking to Zeke, but I’ll be damned if I let Jace dictate who I can and can’t talk to. He’s not my friend—he’s made that clear—and he’s certainly not my warden. “You don’t own me, Jace Wilder. I can talk to anyone I want.”
Jace’s jaw tightens. “Get in the truck, Ellie.”
My gaze narrows. “No.”
His chest expands. “If you want a ride, you’ll get your tiny ass in the truck right now.”
“I’ll ride her,” Zeke says.
Jace’s fist comes out of nowhere. Zeke’s head snaps back, and I gasp, but I have little time to react before Jace grips my bicep and drags me out the door. “What the hell was that?” My voice echoes through the open lot.
