JENNA SWITCHED OFF her phone and laid her head on her desk, the ultimate death knell of Wilinski’s ringing low and mournful in her heart.
A knock brought her chin back up. Mercer poked his head around the office door so suddenly she wondered if he’d been spying. “Hey.”
“Hey, come in.”
“Your face tells me the verdict’s not the miracle you were hoping for.”
She shook her head. “‘It just doesn’t look good.’ That’s what she said after...” Jenna checked her phone’s call log. “After exactly twenty-two minutes and thirty-one seconds of my very best groveling.”
“Bummer.”
“For a self-proclaimed romantic, that woman has very hard heartstrings.”
Try as she might, Jenna hadn’t been able to leverage any sympathy out of Tina. Her livelihood was built on first impressions, and no matter how touched she might or might not have been by Jenna’s heartfelt revelations about her dad’s criminal involvement, the bottom line stayed the same. It just doesn’t look good.
He came over and sat on the edge of the desk, circling his palm over her back. “You tried. And that’s all you could’ve done.”
She nodded, wishing she felt half as resigned about the situation as Mercer. Her mind raced with ridiculous schemes, to take this story to the news and exonerate her dad publicly... But that was nuts. It was too personal a story, too long buried, affecting too many people.
It was time to give up.
She needed to get her shit together, quit moping and do what was within her power—make her business successful for herself and Lindsey and her other future employees and their clients.
“I’ve got sessions till one,” Mercer said, standing and kissing her temple. “But if you can stand a late lunch, maybe I’ll see you upstairs? One-fifteen?”
“Lindsey’s coming in at three to help me with some event-planning stuff, but sure. There’s still lasagna leftover.”
“Excellent.” He kissed her again, giving the back of her neck a gentle squeeze. “It’s a date.”
She watched him go, wishing she was half as strong. She hurt so much, she thought it must be ripping her in half, but it was Mercer whose hopes were officially dashed. How he could even stand to look at her, let alone kiss her...
There went one hell of a man.
* * *
MERCER GATHERED THE DISHES when they finished their lunch.
Delante had weaseled his way out of training that afternoon, busy helping his sister move into her new dorm and leaving Mercer at loose ends. He didn’t do well with loose ends, didn’t care for this dangling sensation. Normally he’d fill the void with admin chores, but it was hard to muster the energy for busywork with the gym’s demise so official.
He glanced at Jenna. Her blue eyes were aimed out the living room window, chin propped on her hand. Jesus, he’d miss her when he moved on. He’d miss her as badly as he missed her dad, which was insane, given he’d only known her, what? Three weeks? Crazy.
He could stay in Boston. Stay close and keep seeing her for as long as she was into him.
But how long would that last? He was a novelty—a sweaty, bruised novelty, appealing to the bad-idea center of her libido—and that appeal would fade sooner or later. She’d be spending the foreseeable future with successful, clean-cut men marching through her office door like a bachelor buffet. She’d eventually spot someone who was a better fit for her. A guy whose ambitions lined up with hers, whose interests matched, whose career didn’t make her wince and whom she didn’t feel indebted to out of guilt.
Or was he just making excuses, because this whole thing had him so terrified?
If she did break things off with him, it was a blow Mercer would see coming a mile off. It wouldn’t surprise him, wouldn’t knock him down. Might leave him reeling for a time, but he’d get over it. He’d get over her. Sure, the idea of another man kissing her made him want to burn the whole damn city down, but hey, what could you do?
But he was wasting the time they did have.
He loaded the dishwasher and dried his hands, then rounded the counter to stand beside her at the table.
“You okay?” he asked, rubbing a fingertip along the crease between her brows.
She smiled sadly. “Just feeling melancholy.”
“You have an appointment to get to downstairs?”
“Not until three.”
He wound a lock of her hair around his fingers then tucked it behind her ear. “You wanna have a coffee, maybe just sit on the couch and watch TV for a little while? I could stand to clear my head, if you can spare the time.” And he wasn’t exactly eager to go back to his gloomy subterranean office right away, not when finding a resale company for the gym’s equipment was first on his to-do list.
“That’d be nice. Can we watch a trashy talk show, and feel better about our own lives?”
He laughed. “Sure. If you let me get to first base during the ads.”
She bit back a smirk, filling Mercer’s chest with sweet relief.
“We’ll see.”
He made a quick trip to his room, then took the reins on coffee duty. He’d finally gotten the hang of her delicate-looking French press, and once the brew was steeping, he carried it and two mugs to the coffee table and plopped down beside her. Already his body was formulating ingenious ways to snap his brain out of its funk. And remind him that what he and Jenna had was great, even if it wouldn’t last. Simple. Instinctual. Jesus, she smelled good. What was that?
She took his hand in her free one, resting it on her thigh, and gazed at the flipping channels. He kept his eyes on the screen, registering how she felt, warm and close and now so familiar. Was she holding his hand for the friendly comfort of it? For security? Selfishly, he hoped not. He scooted closer, freeing his fingers and placing them squarely on her thigh, rubbing. Inching higher.
She turned to look at him, lips pursed. “First base, you said?”
“We can go to second, if you prefer.”
She laughed. Damn, what a noise. She waved the remote at the droning TV. “There’s no ads on right now.”
“We could get a head start.”
She smiled at him, eyes crinkling. “Okay, then.”
They shifted to face each other and he took her jaw in his hands, kissing her lips. Felt way too easy. Way too perfect. In seconds flat they were making out, the act as exciting and new and fun as when Mercer had been a teenager. He released her face to slip his hand under her skirt and palm her bare thigh.
“That’s definitely second,” she murmured against his lips.
“I’ll steal third, if you let me.”
“Yes, I’m sure you would.” Still, she didn’t push his hand away or tell him to knock it off. God help them if afternoon trysts were suddenly on the table. Both businesses would fail within the week from sheer neglect.
He tugged at her thigh and she took the hint, straddling his lap. He pushed her skirt up her smooth legs, letting her take the lead on the kissing, since he was suddenly too distracted to drive. More suggestions from his bossy hands, and she was seated firmly against him. He pictured the underwear he’d watched her put on this morning—they’d woken in her bed—pale green with some lacy nonsense trimming them. He liked that lacy nonsense. He ran his hands up even higher, finding the material with his fingertips.
“I bet that coffee’s ready,” she teased.
“I bet you’re right.” He shifted his hips, letting her know that far more interesting things were also feeling ready. The movement earned him a little sigh, a curious adjustment of her legs. He stroked his palms over her butt beneath the hem of her panties, memorized her cool, smooth skin. She shifted suddenly, leaning over to yank the curtain across the window behind the couch.
“You just made the lowly office drones across the street very sad.”
“No free shows. Except for the two of us.”
“A worthy trade-off. Should I get a video camera? Is it going to be good?”
She whapped his arm.
Mercer grabbed her by the waist and turned her, laying her down along the couch. He felt fond flirtation darken to lust as he settled between her legs, her skirt pushed up to her hips. He reached between them to open the fly of his pants, shove his waistband down and take himself out.
She ran her nails over his scalp. “I think you’re forgetting something important.”
“No way. This was all totally premeditated.” He found the condom in his pocket, bracing himself above her on one arm as he ripped the plastic open with his teeth.
“Schemer,” she said, stroking his shoulder beneath his T-shirt.
“You ready?” he asked.
“I think so.”
He slid the latex down his erection then pushed the strip of her panties aside and ran his fingertips across her core. He found her wetness, slicking it over her lips and clit for a full minute, just to feel her writhe. When the stroking hands on his hips began to tug, he angled himself and pushed inside.
He moaned. They were way too good at this. And it was so much better than coffee.
“Good?”
“Yeah. Perfect.” She pushed his pants down a little, tugged the crotch of her panties further to the side. Perfect indeed—a hasty, perfect mess. “God, take this off,” she ordered, pulling at the hem of his shirt.
He paused only long enough to obey, liking this feeling, him more naked than her, her all dressed up... He was going to develop some weird hot-for-the-boss kink if this kept up. Her hands were all over him in that funny, greedy way she got, as if they were possessed by some secret version of Jenna, one with no shame when it came to enjoying a man’s body. And a secret part of Mercer liked that his body seemed to please her, especially when she’d been so skeptical of his chosen sport. Fighters, one. Businessmen, zero.
He braced himself on one arm so he could rub her. It earned him a curse—a word he’d never heard her utter before. He laughed.
“You feel so...effing good,” she reiterated carefully.
“Don’t clean up your language on my account. I like driving you to cusswords.”
“We really can’t let this become a thing. Afternoon delight’s got to be bad for business.”
“And for the upholstery.”
She smacked his arm again, failing to bite back a smile. Holy shit, she looked perfect—this beautiful, fascinating woman, smiling beneath him, sharing this pleasure.
“But if it never happens again,” Mercer said through panting breaths, “we better make this one transgression count.”
She gripped his biceps. “I thought this was a quickie.”
“Well, we’ll make it count effort-wise, if not longevity.” He didn’t have much staying power in him. Not when she was smiling at him that way, hair mussed, face all flushed. “I kinda need my arms here,” he added pointedly.
She took over rubbing her clit, something Mercer had gotten pretty damn good at the past couple weeks. He leaned back, one hand holding her hip, the other the back of the couch.
“You look... Gah,” she finished, making a silly face. “You look ridiculous. Nobody should look this good.” She ran her free palm up and down his stomach.
“Glad this creaky old body’s doing me some good.”
“It’s doing very, very good.”
The conversation ended, moans and grunts and sighs—and the occasional swearword—taking its place. Mercer caught himself thinking too much about Jenna. Cheesy, romantic thoughts full of awe, thoughts he’d always figured were a myth Hollywood had invented to brainwash women. He tried to focus only on the physical pleasure, to make sure he was still capable of keeping sex simple. But the mechanics didn’t factor. She was woven into the act through and through, so much more than a warm female body that it scared him.
Screw it.
He was attached, and he’d let himself stay attached. Like drinking too much, he’d regret it when the party was over, but so what? He had it bad for her, and if it was going to hurt when he moved away, may as well hurt a hell of a lot. He’d lived through countless fractured ribs and split lips and black eyes and concussions. He could live through a broken heart.
Beneath him, she was coming apart. His awe returned as he watched her, that normally composed and pretty face looking wild, nearly angry. Beautiful.
“Jenna.”
He saw the trembling in her hand, felt it inside her. Need finally muscled the gooey thoughts out of the way, and Mercer wanted release. Now. He waited just long enough for her to come down from her orgasm, then he planted his hands on the couch and sped himself home. Palms stroked and studied him, all a blur. He wanted to come apart inside her, get lost and never be found. When the climax came it enveloped his entire body, wrung him out and left him gasping, white spots winking before his eyes.
“Holy shit.”
She laughed, rubbing his shoulder.
Blood slowly returned to his brain and he managed to make it to his feet, stumble to the bathroom and ditch the condom. Jenna was running her fingers through her messy hair when he returned, and he studied her fondly as he pulled his shirt back on.
“Thanks for the lasagna,” he said.
A smile, nearly as pleasurable as the orgasm. “You’re very welcome. Thanks for the sordid quickie.”
He returned the smile, wishing to God all this was really as simple as he was pretending it was.
* * *
LIFE GOT HECTIC. With both the mixer and tournament drawing near, Jenna and Mercer were seeing less and less of one another as organizing their mismatched events took over the daylight hours. But at night... At night they picked up where’d they’d left off the last time they’d enjoyed each other’s company, and that tended to be one of their beds.
Having a wedding planner on staff was a godsend. Lindsey thought of details that would never have occurred to Jenna. With her assistant’s help over the next two weekends, the cocktail party was starting to feel as though it really would happen, and that it really would be rather fabulous.
Best of all, Lindsey’s old boss had let her go with just one week’s notice. She fit in very nicely around the place, Jenna thought. Mercer agreed. The two had hit it off over a harried pizza dinner in the office that Saturday. Only one thing threatened the party’s success.
“Any good news on the man-procurement front?” Lindsey asked as they settled into the office on Monday morning. It was her first official day, and five short days before the mixer.
Thanks to the success of the billboards and subway ads, they now had a nice little list of confirmed attendees—some already preregistered with Spark, others eager to make their decisions based on whom they might meet at the party. But the women outweighed the men more than two to one.
“Sadly, no,” Jenna said, opening her laptop.
“What would you think about offering the women a discounted month of membership in exchange for bringing along a single male friend?”
Jenna knocked the idea around in her head. “I’m afraid it’d look kind of lame for a matchmaking service to ask prospective clients to BYO men.”
Lindsey frowned. “Right, duh. Jeez, you’d think free booze and shrimp would be enticement enough. It’s what gets people to go to weddings.”
“Doesn’t help that men are less prone to scheduling things ahead of time, or replying to RSVPs. For all we know a ton will decide to show up on Saturday—they just won’t bother to tell us about it.”
“Now that you’re stuck with me,” Lindsey said, “I feel like I should admit I’m going to make a pretty hypocritical matchmaker.”
“How so?”
“I’ve read the new client orientation materials back to front, and I’ve got to tell you, I don’t adhere to, like, half those rules. If the right guy walks through that door, I give myself one date—maybe two, tops—before I take him for a test drive.”
Jenna smirked. She’d yet to go on a real date with Mercer. “That’s a strict one, I know.”
“Try before you buy,” Lindsey proclaimed, rubbing an imaginary stack of bills between her fingers.
Jenna laughed. “If I catch you saying that to a client I’ll demote you to receptionist.”
Someone walked by the office windows, but Jenna had been inhabiting this room for long enough that she no longer glanced up at every passing shadow. Not unless she felt a little pang of happy queasiness, in which case she could reliably find Mercer on her threshold.
There was a scuffing of shoes and Jenna looked up to find Rich in the doorway.
After news of the gym’s imminent closing had been shared with the trainers, Rich had treated Jenna as though she didn’t exist for several days, but eventually his cold silence turned to single-syllable exchanges, then to a more authentic imitation of friendliness. And the expression on his handsome face now was far from angst.
Lindsey was distracted, and behind her back Rich gave Jenna an amusing little show. His gaze went from Lindsey to Jenna, then back to Lindsey, brows rising. Jenna rolled her eyes and beckoned him inside.
“Morning, boss. And mystery woman.” He flashed one of his dangerous smiles.
“Rich, this is Lindsey Tuttle, my new right-hand woman and future matchmaker. And the person who’s going to single-handedly make this mixer happen. Lindsey, this bruised specimen is Rich. Mercer’s, um, colleague.”
“Nice to meet you,” Lindsey said, rising to shake his hand. If the gigantic welt on his jaw or the powerful body not much camouflaged by his sleeveless shirt gave her pause, she hid it perfectly well.
“Rich Estrada,” he said. “Light heavyweight, nine and one—though that one was pure robbery.” He released her hand and turned to Jenna. “Where’ve you been hiding this one?”
“This is my first official day,” Lindsey said.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Jenna warned. “I own her every waking minute until this party’s over.”
“Speaking of ideas,” Lindsey said to Jenna, “have you considered inviting the guys downstairs to the mixer?”
“I had, briefly....” She exchanged a not-entirely-easy look with Rich then glanced at the door to make sure no one was passing. “But I don’t think they’d appreciate discovering I recruited them for a kickoff of the business that’s driving the gym away.”
Rich shook his head gravely.
Lindsey’s smile drooped. “Of course not. Too bad. Would’ve been a nice mix, added to all those white-collar types.”
“Oh yeah?” Rich made an approving face and crossed his big arms over his chest. “You got a soft spot for scar tissue, sweetheart?”
“It’s not a matter of scars or any other thing,” she said, putting on a nice little snob act to counteract Rich’s swagger. “And my soft spot is officially off-limits to partygoers.”
Rich laughed.
“No matter their fight record or what they can bench. I’m very happily single. And I’m quite happy to focus on other people’s love lives for the foreseeable future.”
He smirked. “Well, I’ll have you know that torture chamber’s packed with undercover businessmen and all sorts of boring types. Only a few of us sweat from nine to five. One of our best amateurs is a pediatrician.”
Jenna grinned. She knew as well as anyone that the gym wasn’t what it seemed. What went on down there was a craft that few outsiders could make sense of, but the men drawn to it went beyond the bloodthirsty and one-dimensional.
“Too bad we’re shutting down—Merce was gunning to build a female membership. Could’ve found out if one of you two was the next big thing.”
“Think I’ll pass.” As much as Jenna now respected the sport and its practitioners, she wasn’t inviting anyone to punch her. Lindsey looked more game, nodding with a thoughtful little smirk.
“There’s always private lessons,” Rich added, bobbing his brows at Lindsey with innuendo.
She rolled her eyes and turned back to the printouts on her desk.
“You’ll have to excuse us, Rich,” Jenna said. “We have a man-drought to solve.”
“I’ll leave you to it. I’m late for a scrap with your boyfriend.”
Jenna nearly corrected him, but she shut her mouth, because temporary or not, official or not, Mercer was obviously her boyfriend.
Once Rich had bidden them goodbye and disappeared in the direction of the gym, Lindsey shook her head. “He’s a bit full of himself, leading with his fighting stats.”
“That’s his shtick. Prince Richard.”
“Well, they ought to call him the Rooster. He’s insanely cocky.”
“Seems to work well in the ring.”
Lindsey smiled grimly. “Well, it doesn’t work on me. I’ve had it up to here with egotistical men.” She drew a line across her throat and made a gagging face.
Jenna could sense the faintest defensive tone behind the silly gesture, and wondered if her assistant might be talking about more than just annoying grooms. An ex, maybe. A fresh ex, she bet. But Lindsey was one of the few women who’d arrive in this office not seeking Jenna’s opinions about their personal lives, and she’d respect that, much as the curiosity drove her crazy.
“Let’s take stock,” Jenna said. “Catering’s done, officially?”
“Ditto the bar service. I went ahead and approved the costs my contact emailed me, because it was pretty much exactly what you’d budgeted.”
“Perfect. Security? Oh, that company the franchise overseer recommended. I better call and confirm they’re sending us three guys. The only thing we’re short on is us, really,” Jenna said. “You and me, plus Tina.” Tina would be sweeping in from Providence to make sure the party went off to Spark’s standards. Jenna felt a familiar surge of dislike toward her boss, but stuffed it back down, knowing the woman’s decision had been purely professional...much as it hurt. Plus Tina knew the business inside and out, and Jenna needed her help as much as she feared messing up with Tina as a witness.
“Three people should be enough,” Lindsey said. “Also, the hotel said it’ll be no problem getting a couple laptops set up so people can register. Oh, and you know what I thought would be fun, and really easy to do, to get people into the mood to join?”
“What?”
“We should print up cards with sample questions from the compatibility survey, the one you take after you join? All those fun questions about, like, what celebrity is your ideal date? What cocktail best sums up your dream man or woman?”
“Right.”
“We could scatter them around the tables and invite people to quiz each other. People love being quizzed. Especially when they’ve got a nice wine buzz going. Plus it’ll entice people to sign up, so they can take an entire survey about what they want in a mate. I don’t want to imply that people are narcissists or anything...”
“No, you’re right. That’s the most empowering part of joining a dating service, that initial stage where you’re focused on what you want. It is fun, getting all hopeful and excited about Mr. or Miss Right, feeling like it’s all about you.”
“So what’s left to do? Decorating?”
Jenna nodded. “I’ve ordered as many floral arrangements as the hotel suggested for that room, and they offered to rent us the tablecloths. But I thought on Wednesday you and I could go shopping for other random stuff to spiff the place up. There’s room in the budget for that, thanks to your connections cutting us deals on the food.”
“The DJ promised to email me the playlist and cc you. I told him, ‘Upbeat make-out music for classy people.’”
Jenna laughed. “Sounds perfect. Jeez, we’re actually in good shape. I didn’t see that happening this time last week. In fact, on Wednesday, after we’re done shopping for extras, I’m taking you to lunch, to say thanks.”
“I won’t stop you.”
“But today and tomorrow, we’re focused on man-procurement. Let’s see if we can’t get a few of our better prospects to commit. Or at least RSVP.”
While Lindsey got busy with that, Jenna sneaked downstairs, thinking she’d see how Mercer’s day was.
He wasn’t in the gym itself, but the door to the makeshift office—formerly a storage room—was open. She waved to a bunch of fighters as she crossed the floor mats, shoes in hand, to peek around the threshold. Mercer was sitting on an old metal desk under the room’s rather harsh overhead light, talking on his phone, the fingers of his free hand drumming the desktop. His face looked ominously, dangerously sexy in the severe glow from above. He didn’t see her.
“No, I’m interested,” he said. “Full-time, though, right? Great. I’m done here as of January first.”
Jenna’s stomach constricted. She’d spent the past couple hours with Lindsey, thrilled to see how excited her assistant was about the opportunity Jenna had given her. But on the flip side, she was wrecking the dream job of the man who shared her bed...and heart. Buzz killed dead, she backed away and headed upstairs.
* * *
BY MID-WEEK, Jenna and Lindsey’s gentle email reminders had indeed managed to garner a few more RSVPs from Greater Boston’s male population. Jenna had ignored Lindsey’s snide suggestion they simply title the subject line “Free Shrimp!” She’d gone instead with “Real Men Wanted.” Every guy liked to think of himself as a real man, both in the rugged sense and also the inclusive Everyman sense. It won them over a dozen new acceptances, bringing the total number of confirmed guests to an impressive but manageable seventy, and the ratio to about sixty percent women, forty percent men. Doable.
The trip to find extra decorations had been a success and on Wednesday evening Jenna was camped out with boxes of would-be centerpieces.
The door clicked, announcing Mercer’s arrival and filling her with happy, antsy energy. She smiled as he stepped inside. He’d been gone the entire afternoon, taking Delante to a steep hill on the South Shore to run sprints, something to do with lung capacity or some other sadistic fighter-thing.
“Hey, you.” He closed the door, looking as exhausted as she’d ever seen him. “What’s happening here?”
“Centerpieces for the party. Don’t judge yet—they’re not done.” Before her was a wasteland of vases and glass pebbles and willow branches, soon to be transformed into miniature trees and festooned with the survey question cards Lindsey had printed. “How was torturing Delante?”
“Great. The countdown’s kicked in. He’s got a healthy fire under his ass now.” He stretched his neck and tossed his keys on the coffee table. “Some kids crumble under pressure, but for him, that’s what he was missing.”
“Excellent.”
“Yeah. Now I just need to focus on finalizing all the last-minute crap for the tournament. Too bad I don’t have a Lindsey of my own—I’m useless with juggling details. Rich is even worse.”
She frowned her sympathy.
“That was always your dad’s thing,” Mercer said. “Though luckily the promotions company’s pretty organized. You eat already?”
“I was waiting for you.” She stood and stepped over the mess. “Nothing fancy, pasta and these good sausages I found in the North End.”
“I’d eat my own leg, I’m so hungry.”
She got dinner ready while Mercer showered. He emerged and walked to where Jenna stood stirring the sauce, and wrapped his arms around her middle. He smelled like soap, and she knew exactly how his wet hair would feel if she turned and kissed him and ran her hands over his head.
She’d arrived here expecting someone so different. Tough and stubborn, an opponent. And here he stood, her unlikely boyfriend. She ached to tell him she loved him. She’d said those words to men she’d been less enamored with than Mercer. Not insincerely, either. She simply hadn’t known a romantic attachment could run this deep.
“Smells awesome,” he said.
“So do you.”
“Compared to my usual stinky man-fragrance, I’m sure I do.”
“Get us some bowls and utensils, Mr. Rowley. And the cheese shaker.”
“Will you kill me if I watch the Sox-Yankees game?”
“Of course not. I think I’d get excommunicated if I stopped you. Let me clear off the couch.”
They settled in the living room, and Jenna liked the atmosphere—each of them absorbed in their own concerns. Mercer’s presence felt warm and easy and natural.
The Sox lost, but Mercer almost seemed to relish it. Like Boston itself, he thrived as the underdog. If only that spirit could’ve somehow saved the gym.
Jenna managed to come up with a decent arrangement for the little card trees, though her fingers were nicked and achy by the time Mercer switched off the TV at ten. She wondered if he’d like to work off his Sox angst in one of their beds.
“I, um...I have some news,” he said.
“Oh?” She tensed.
“Yeah.” He turned to the side, hugging one of his knees and looking her in the eye. “I think I’ve secured a pretty damn decent training gig for the New Year.”
“Oh,” she repeated, numb. “Where?”
“Philly.”
The word knocked the wind out of her. “Philadelphia?”
“Yeah. Straight-up boxing. Not mixed disciplines. But I know the guy who runs the gym—he worked for your dad ages ago. Good young prospects to work with.”
“That’s so far away.”
His expression softened, reflecting her own preemptive grief. “It is far. But it’s a good fit. And it gets me out of Massachusetts and away from all the old rivalries between the facilities here.”
“Right.” Wilinski’s and its fighters had never quite managed to shed their pariah status, he’d said, and suffered a lot of trash talk for it.
“You okay?”
She nodded. She had to be all right, since it was his decision. Hurt like hell, though. “When do you think you’ll go?”
“It’s an open invitation. So whenever things get wrapped up here...”
“Right.”
He smiled grimly. “Don’t go into guilt-mode again.”
“I can’t help it.” And it wasn’t only guilt. It was selfish sadness and frustration, this official notice that they’d be breaking up. This proof that whatever he felt for her wasn’t enough. For the second time in her life, a man was choosing boxing over keeping her close. Only this time, she was old enough to realize it.
She shook her head. “That’s so far away....”
“Listen, Jenna. I’m not talking about this with you. It’s what I’ve got to do, and I need you to just trust and respect that my decision’s a good one.”
“It has nothing to do with respecting or trusting you. It’s about me needing to understand, because...well, because I’ve gotten awfully attached to you.”
His expression softened. “And you know that’s mutual.”
“We talk about everything else. I can’t stand the idea that my plans are driving you all the way out of your hometown.” Your territory, she thought. Like she’d emasculated him, sent him packing off to distant lands to start his ruined life over.
“Well, I don’t want to talk about this with you, okay?”
“Why not?”
Another sigh, a heavy one, and he stared down at his knee. “Because it’ll make you feel bad.”
“I feel bad already. Try me.”
He ran his hands over his head. “I can’t stick around here. I can’t be this close to the gym after it’s closed. I can’t keep seeing you, keep coming over here—certainly not continue to live here—remembering how things were before you showed up.”
Her mouth dropped open. She felt slapped.
“See? I told you it would hurt. But seriously, once the gym’s gone and my entire purpose in this town is finished, coming by here to see you... It’ll be like walking past a grave. I want to tell you I’m above winding up bitter about it, but I can’t promise that.”
“Mercer—”
“What we’ve got going on, it’s great. I want it to end still feeling great, not just for us, but because you’re Monty’s daughter. I want us to end on a high when I move away. I don’t want to stick around here and find out in six months or a year that I resent you, and have what we’ve got end in some ugly fight. That would wreck our relationship, and the memory of the one I had with your dad. I couldn’t save the gym. But I can keep from hurting you, which he would’ve wanted. And what I want, too.”
She wanted to argue with him, but the thing was, he was right. He was being painfully honest with her. She didn’t want Mercer to resent her. She didn’t want to watch him settle for some consolation, good-enough job in the city, a witness to whatever successes might lie ahead for her. Or worse, to watch her fail in the long run, discovering he’d sacrificed what he loved for nothing.
Mercer was a good man, but only a saint could possibly be asked to do all that and smile through it.
“I understand.”
“Good.”
“Still sucks, though.”
He smiled. “I know. But it’ll suck less than an ugly breakup. Or even if we just...fizzled, or whatever.”
She doubted very much that something as passionate as the bond they shared could ever just fizzle, but she nodded. Perhaps snuffing out their candle was the most merciful way to go.
“When we say goodbye, it’ll be sad, but we’ll still like each other.”
Much more than just like. “I know.” She scooted over to lean against him, laying her cheek on his shoulder. “But it’ll still suck.”
He stroked her hair and missed the top of her head. “That it will.”