Page 127 of Simon Says

A sick foreboding kicked Simon in the gut. He stood there for several moments, taking it in, working it through his brain.

Appreciating his expression, Harley nodded. “Hell of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

Simon glanced at his watch, then at Harley. “Got some free time?”

“Nothing until this evening, then I’m running again.”

“Hang on.” Simon walked back to the driver. He tipped him generously, thanked him, and dismissed him. As the driver left the lot, Simon turned and walked past Harley toward his car. “Come on. You can give me a ride to my motel, then to my next appointment. It’ll give us a chance to talk.”

Harley jogged to catch up. “So you think it’s important? My uncle was right about that?”

“Yeah. He was right.” A thousand questions demanded answers. And most of them would start and stop with Dakota. “Let’s go. I’m running late.”

SIMON’Strip got extended again and again. It seemed everyone wanted a piece of him while he was in Vegas. After four days away, Dakota was missing him so much that she couldn’t stop thinking of him. He called at least once a day, which gave him the opportunity to do a lot of the “talking” that he’d requested.

Starting on the second day of his trip, every sports channel shared quick footage of him. His fame and the attention he got amazed Dakota. Not that long ago, outraged senators who didn’t understand the sport had tried to have SBC events banned in their states. Now, most considered it the fastest-growing sport around. It had long since overtaken boxing in popularity.

Simon took the attention in stride, and lamented his delay in returning to town.

Sounding almost bored, he mentioned over the phone that a hit sitcom had invited him to play a bit role. On top of that, he’d turned down offers to commentate select sporting events and even a few other interviews. According to Simon, he’d refused because the timing was wrong and would have interfered with his training.

Dakota hoped that was true, that he wasn’t turning down awesome offers just out of worry for her.

While hitting a heavy bag at Dean’s gym, Dakota listened to Mallet and Billy speaking of Simon. They liked and respected him, but more than that, they believed in his ability to win. Though Harley Handleman was considered the top contender and a very dangerous man, most would still put their money on Simon.

She was deep into a series of kicks against the bag when Barber came up behind her. “That’s enough for now. Let’s practice some moves.”

With her muscles on fire, Dakota gladly accepted the switch. How the men practiced full speed for up to six hours a day, she couldn’t fathom. She’d only been at it since Simon’s departure, and already she felt the strain in every muscle. Of course, compared to the men surrounding her, she looked downright scrawny.

Using the hem of her sweatshirt, Dakota mopped the perspiration from her face. Unlike the guys, who wore only shorts and regulation-weight gloves, she’d bundled up in a jog suit and sports bra. A breath of cool air and a hearty lunch would do her good—but she wasn’t about to cry uncle, and Barber knew it.

With the gym packed and the men all working, it took them a few minutes to locate an empty mat. As usual, as soon as Dean came over to oversee their practice, Mallet, Mitch, Billy, and Gregor all stopped to watch, too. The small crowd they made drew the attention of the other fighters.

Dakota didn’t like being the center of attention, but at least it spurred her on to do her very best.

Trying to look pumped instead of pooped, Dakota peeled off her gloves. In a real competition, the fighters would wear them. But she didn’t practice in order to compete, and the others accepted that. “What’s first?”

Standing there in nothing more than black nylon shorts and a big grin, Barber said, “Standing guillotine defense.” He moved behind her, put his right arm around her neck, locked it in, and said, “Let’s see what you’ve got, sweetie.”

Dakota went through the defensive moves, knowing that Barber allowed her to do them by offering very little resistance. With the right move, he went flat on the mat beneath her. Keeping her grip on his left wrist, she stepped over his head with her right leg and finished by leaning her weight onto her left side and onto Barber’s stomach for a reverse bent arm lock.

Barber tapped. And snickered…as did most of the guys watching.

Of course, her derrière was inches from Barber’s face, with her legs on either side of his head.

Dean narrowed his eyes. “You’re making it too easy on her, Barber.”

Dakota rolled off him, but Barber just lay there, sprawled out and still smiling. “Like you wouldn’t?” A rumble of agreement came from the spectators, and a few even volunteered to coach her next.

“No.” Dean strolled onto the mat. “I won’t.” He took a stance. “Let’s go, Dakota.”

She stared at him. Somewhere along the way, Dean had not only decided that he liked her, but he’d made it his personal goal to better her skills. “You’re not kidding?”

“Afraid not.”

Barber said, “She’s learning by repetition.”

“At first,” Dean agreed. “Now she’ll learn by actually defending herself.”

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