Page 19 of Craving the Edge

He was carrying something he didn’t want his team, or a nosey nobody like me, to see. He’d said Ironbound burned down, but why choose Fighter’s Edge? So he could hide his injury?

I narrowed my eyes. His secrets weren’t my business. My job was to make sure the floors were clean, no one came in the front door, and keep my mouth shut. His career was his to fuck up.

I was meant to be updating the afternoon class schedule on my laptop, but I couldn’t seem to peel myself away from the gym floor. The rhythmic thump-thump-thwack of Declan pounding on the bag echoed off the concrete, a magnetic pulse that made focusing on a spreadsheet impossible.

“You’re slipping, Judge.”

My pulse hammered as I whirled around, my cheeks heating as if I’d been caught red-handed.

Billie leaned against the corner of the front desk, her arms crossed. She didn’t need to say anything else. I could see the look in her eyes. After a moment, she lowered her voice.

“So, what actually happened with him the other day in the office?”

My jaw tightened. “We discussed his training schedule. He needs the gym for another month,” I said, crossing back to the desk and plonking myself in front of the laptop. “That’s it. Oh, and something about a fight in Sydney? I don’t know.” I was babbling.

“Right,” Billie said, her voice laced with disbelief. “And that’s why you came flying out of there like your arse was on fire and hid in the change rooms?” She waited. When I didn’t answer, her voice turned serious. “Char… Did he try to pull something on you?”

The memory of his mouth on mine flashed hot.

“No,” I said, the word coming out sharper than intended. I turned to look at her, forcing my expression into something aloof. “He didn’t cross any lines. It’s fine.” I saw the doubt lingering in her eyes, but I didn’t offer anything else.

“Good,” Billie said, her expression hardening. “Because if he had, I’d break his pretty face.” She gave my shoulder a quick squeeze, then turned and disappeared into the ladies’ change room.

I let out a breath, the air leaving my lungs in a long stream. The foyer was quiet, a buffer zone between the street outside and the gym out back. I closed my eyes for a second, pressing my fingertips into the cool laminate of the desk, just trying to feel something solid.

It didn’t matter. The kiss. It was a stupid, impulsive thing that meant shit all. It had to be. Since I’d fled the office, he hadn’t once come back to the desk. Not for tape, not for a smart-arse comment, not for anything. He and Tomas came in, they trained, and they left.

A familiar ache settled in my heart. Why would he bother? Declan Walsh was a man who lived in the spotlight, who could probably click his fingers and have a line of perfect, uncomplicated women queuing up to suck him off. Why do the work when you could get it done for free?

I stared at the laptop, but the numbers on the spreadsheet swam out of focus. Of course he hadn’t come back. What had I expected? An apology? Another attempt? Men like him didn’t chase. They offered, and you either took it or you didn’t.

It was a game to see if he could crack the one person in the gym who didn’t fall at his feet. He’d won, in a way. He’d got his kiss, saw me unravel, and when he realised it came with actual strings, he decided it was too much bloody work.

He’d be gone in a month. Back to his world of sold-out arenas, endorsement deals, and women who knew the rules. He wouldn’t look back. He’d forget this crappy warehouse and the crazy bitch at the front desk. Same story, different person. Even the people who were supposed to love you left when something better came along. Why would a stranger with the world at his feet be any different?

I shouldn’t be surprised…

I hated the small, stupid part of me that’d felt a flicker of something when his mouth touched mine. A dangerous spark of hope. I had to kill it.

I pulled the laptop closer, forcing myself to stare at the screen until the columns of income and expenditure sharpened into solid black lines. Work was the answer. I’d bury myself in it, become so efficient, so completely absorbed in the running of this place, that no one would have a reason to look at me too closely. Not Billie. Not anyone. I’d be fine.

I just had to get through the next month.

The clock on the laptop ticked over to twelve. A moment later, Tomas ambled out from the gym floor, his gym bag slung over his shoulder. He caught my eye as he passed the desk, flashing me a flirty grin.

“See you Friday, boss,” he said. “Day off for the press conference tomorrow.” And then he was out the door before I could ask. No one had told me shit about a press conference, but I wasn’t surprised about that either.

Declan was nowhere to be seen. I waited a minute, expecting him to follow, but the foyer remained empty. My stomach went hollow. He’d probably slipped out the side door because it was easier than walking past me.

Right. Of course.

I pushed back from the desk. The regulars would start showing up at twelve-thirty, and the place smelled like a locker room full of wet dogs. I headed for the main floor to do a check before my daily clean up.

The air was still, thick with the scent of sweat and leather. Declan was gone. He’d left without a word. Just like everyone else.

I rounded the corner of the heavy bag rack, my gaze sweeping across the empty mats to check for stray equipment…and stopped dead.

Declan stood with his back to me, standing in the centre of the wide, grey expanse. He’d taken his shirt off. Sweat traced the sharp lines of his spine, the coiled muscles of his shoulders gleaming under the flat, artificial light. He was peeling the tape from his hands, his head bowed in concentration. A small pile of soiled, bloody gauze and white zinc oxide tape lay at his feet. He worked slowly, unwinding the layers from his knuckles, revealing raw, red skin beneath. One hand, then the other.