Free Winning Love by Abby Niles Page B

as he sat alone on the edge of his bed, head cupped in his hands, was Gayle, and how much he really could use one of her quips to shock a smile out of him—knowing somehow she would drive away the isolation. In those moments, he’d accepted he needed her…at least for now. Though his attraction to her terrified him, she helped bring a lightness back that he hadn’t felt in a long time.
    He’d called Gayle right then and there and asked if the offer to join her for the race still stood. There’d been no hesitation, just an instant “Of course it does,” that had eased his lingering doubts and helped him fall into a dreamless sleep. This morning, when she’d shown up at his door wearing a pair of ultra-bright, pink, running boy-shorts, a purple tank top, and matching striped socks she’d pulled to her knees, he should’ve known something was amiss. But this was Gayle. If she’d shown up in a freaking tutu, he might have paused for a minute but then brushed it off. His second clue should’ve been when she suggested he grab a change of clothes. Asking why had only gotten him a smartass, “Do you want to be in sweaty clothes all day?”
    Now he had the real answer. What he had on wasn’t just getting sweaty. The neon green running shorts and the first sponsor shirt he’d earned as a pro fighter would soon be covered in mud. He didn’t give two shits about the shorts. The shirt, well, that was a different matter. Yeah, it was old, but he didn’t want it ruined. Unfortunately, the spare wasn’t one he wanted ruined, either. He glanced around. Many of the guys had bare, mud-covered chests. Guessed he’d be doing the race shirtless, too.
    Gayle peered over her shoulder, one of her pigtails flipping into the air. Those were damn cute on her. They weren’t the low ones she had sported the day they’d met. A tail jutted out on each side of her head and was held in place with pink ribbon bows, matching the getup she had on. A smile tried to emerge every time he looked at her.
    “I have to find Milton,” she said. “He’s the coordinator I told you about. He’ll have all your stuff.”
    “Okay.”
    After five minutes of meandering through the massive crowd of people, a beefy, muscular man with close-cropped black hair, who had to be ten years younger than Mac, came out of nowhere and tossed Gayle over his shoulder, spinning her around.
    Mac tensed, then charged forward, prepared to bash the man’s teeth in, but then he registered Gayle’s delighted laughter. Upside down, she popped the man on the ass, just as she had Mac the other day. Did she smack every guy’s ass?
    “Milton! Put me down.”
    The younger man finally put her back on her feet, tugged one of her pigtails, and slung an arm over her shoulder. “Hey, gorgeous.”
    The radiant smile she sent the man tweaked Mac’s gut oddly, and all he wanted was to get her away from this guy. It was also as if she’d forgotten Mac was even there. What the fuck? He cleared his throat, and Gayle glanced over at him. “Oh! Yes!”
    Damn. She really had forgotten he was there.
    “Milton! I want you to meet Mac Hannon.”
    “What the hell, Gayle! Say it right. This is Mac ‘The Snake’ Hannon.” Milton shoved the hand that wasn’t resting around Gayle’s shoulder at Mac. “Huge fan! What brings you to Kansas?”
    As Mac took the offered hand, he tried to keep from scowling at the masculine fingers dangling a little too closely to a perfect breast, or how the owner of said perfect breast wasn’t trying to move away. “I’m helping a friend train.”
    “Who?”
    “Lance Black.”
    “Never heard of him.”
    “You will.”
    Gayle shifted into Milton’s side, bringing her arm around his waist and tilting her face up to look at him. “Did you get Mac registered?”
    The tweak pinched his gut a little bit harder this time, and Mac worked his neck, trying to relieve the irritation.
    “Yep, I grabbed both packets when I saw you coming toward the