The Grind

Chapter Twelve

The remainder of my day at the office was ultimately a waste. Excitement mixed with uneasy curiosity, apprehension combined with pride. This wasn't the first time Colt & I had a spat, but this was the first time he used the morbid "we need to talk" line. Romantic comedies since the beginning of time taught us to never expect any good to come from those four vague, potentially life-changing words. Not to mention if anyone needed to do the talking, it was indeed me after the little stunt he pulled. I'm sure his plan of attack consisted of batting those eyelashes of his too long to belong to a man, the lip biting, the sad, sappy innocent eyes, and the way he always traced a rough thumb over my taut lower lip for his big finish.

I used the drive time to Mac's to coach myself on resisting his efforts to easily stand my ground. I couldn't just sweep it under the rug and allow the kiss and make-up tactic to clear the air. He had to learn we weren't children, and how he handled himself the last few days was 100% unacceptable, and not to be tolerated.

I paralleled my car across the 4 lanes in front of the gym at the closest empty meter.

"Be bold, liv. Resist the charm. RESIST THE CHARM," I said audibly to myself.

Crossing the street it dawned me on the advantage I in fact had over this situation when I straightened the hem of my navy blazer. Realizing the lusty-eyed stupor he wound up in with just the simple weapon of a well-made business suit. Mac was ruffling through a mess of scattered papers behind the front desk when I pulled open the door, rubbing worriedly over the crinkled lines around his eyes.

"Hey Mac, you okay?" I thudded a light fist on the counter, leaning in to him.

"I sure hope so, Miss Liv. How you doin'?"

"Looking for you know who. He still sulkin'?" Mac looked over his shoulder, and I turned my eyes to follow his to see Colt winding fresh tape over his knuckles. His hair still neatly laying across his forehead, and that adrenal glow of redness around his ears was missing, so it was clear he hadn't begun his workout yet.

"He gets like this sometimes, darlin', just gotta learn to roll with it, or roll out of it. You know what I mean?"

Wise words, my friend.

"The life of a fighters girl, I guess, huh?" I blew a breath upward and widened my eyes in pursuit of him. Without raising his head, Colton lifted a glance towards my approach, then reverted his undistracted focus right back to the hand wrapping without missing a beat.

"First or second session of the day?" He so generously left me to break the conversational ice.

"Third. Been in & outta here since 4 a.m."

I leaned a shoulder into the wall, stuffing my hands all but my thumbs, into the tight pockets of my pants, hovering over his criss-cross applesauce position on the red mat below me.

"You wanted to talk. You first, or me?"

Fingers now fully taped, he cracked his knuckles, "Ladies first."

"I'll start with the good news, the rest of what I have to say won't be such a short conversation," I warned. My eyes closed then, and I aimed my nose towards the ceiling in textbook braggart fashion. "You sir, are lookin' at the newly crowned resident MMA/Boxing columnist for the Pitt Pilot. Ryan was so impressed, he rallied with the big wigs to create the position for me, AND a raise is included with the package." I'm sure I was glowing, saying it out loud felt good. Really good. I wasn't one to make a home upon a pedestal, but I was going to let myself have this one. I deserved a pat on the back. "Not to mention, my article is going front page! If you're lucky, I'll give you my autograph later." Expecting him to shower me with sweet praises, and congratulatory kisses, I let the bone I had to pick with him lay in waiting for the time being.