Free Against the Ropes by Sarah Castille Page B

I call out to Jimmy.
    He mumbles something unintelligible and then says, “Girlfriend.”
    My heart crashes into my stomach. I should have known. I’m no Amanda or Pinkaluscious. He really did want me here just to work. And the rest was what? A game?
    I stomp back to the first aid room, pack up my stuff, and head for the front entrance. I’m not waiting around for more humiliation. But before I step outside, I freeze. How am I going to get home? Cabs are too expensive. Walking is too dangerous. It is Friday night and my friends will all be plastered and unable to drive. No way will I ask Torment. No. Damn. Way.
    But I can ask Jake.
    Always accommodating, Jake agrees to drive me home after he takes a shower.
    Cowardice drives me to wait for him outside in the parking lot, where Torment won’t find me. Zipping my sweater to my chin, I lean against the cold, metal wall and fold my arms in my best “I’m not a hooker” pose.
    “Hey, honey, you ride bareback?”
    My best is clearly not good enough. Detaching myself from the hooker wall, I head over to Torment’s motorcycle for a good-bye caress. So beautiful. So shiny and sleek. My fingers brush over the seat where Torment sat, the handlebars he touched, and a shiny silver plate bearing the inscription “1 of 100.”
    “What the hell are you doing?”
    My head jerks up and my hand freezes in midair. Torment stalks across the parking lot toward me, his face a mask of fury. He has changed into his sexy, low-slung jeans and a pair of casual black shoes, but his chest is still bare, and heaving as if he’s just been running.
    Hands shaking, I back away from the motorcycle. “I…I was just saying good-bye to your Agusta. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have damaged it.”
    “Not the bike,” he shouts. “You. Why are you out here alone?”
    So loud. So angry. My throat freezes, and sweat trickles between my breasts.
    “Well?”
    “I could do without the shouting.” I twist the bottom edge of my sweater in my hands and stare at the ground.
    Torment draws in a ragged breath and lifts my chin with his finger, tilting my head back. I can’t meet his gaze, and I turn my head away.
    “I told you, it’s not safe for you to be out here alone.” His voice softens. “You should have waited for me inside.”
    “Jake is taking me home.” I swallow hard and shove my hands in my pockets.
    Torment frowns. “You don’t need to go home with Jake. I said I would take you home after the fight. You helped me out. It’s the least I can do.”
    Duty. Nothing more. Despair and disappointment war over who should crush me first.
    “Jake has to go past my house to get to Amanda’s place, and you don’t owe me anything. Rampage gave me the check for tonight. And…um…I won’t be back, so we’re good.”
    I force myself to look at him. Confusion fills every line and plane of his face. “Why?” he asks softly.
    “Because I’m not the kind of girl who likes to play games.”
    Mercifully, the door bangs open and Jake bounds into the parking lot. “Sorry I took so long. Ready to go?” He gives me the wide, easy smile Amanda couldn’t resist. This is the kind of guy I should be going out with—nice, friendly, easygoing. Instead, I’ve been wasting my time lusting over a mercurial fighter with a sexy girlfriend.
    Torment’s eyes narrow. Jake takes a step back.
    “Is it okay if I give Makayla a ride home?”
    “We’re not finished here.” Torment’s voice is perfectly controlled, but anger simmers just beneath the surface.
    “We are finished.”
    “No, we’re not.”
    I sigh. “We are. I hope you don’t have too much trouble finding someone else.”
    I pivot and follow Jake into the parking lot.
    This time, I don’t look back.

Chapter 6
    Angry girls don’t bounce
    I am jolted out of a fitful sleep by a loud banging on the front door and the grating sounds of heavy equipment. My clock flashes eight o’clock. Who the hell gets up at eight o’clock on a Saturday