Page 50 of Simon Says

A group of five fighters came over to him, followed by twice that many females. They insisted he share a few of the more gruesome stories of broken bones and popped ribs. Using the interruption as a diversion from his thoughts, Simon obliged, laughing with them, telling the tales without embellishment. By the end, he had a woman squeezed up on each side of him.

The conversation turned to tattoos. Some fighters sported so much ink, they looked like comic papers. Most displayed tats with meaning, while still others tried to add menace with a well-placed, frightful design. It amused Simon how someone would always try to outdo someone else with the most outrageous artwork.

“You got any tats, Sublime?” one young man asked.

“On the top of my feet,” Simon told him around a swallow of cranberry juice over ice. During training, he didn’t allow himself any alcohol at all. “When I was twenty-two, I got drunk enough and cocky enough to think it’d be cool to have matching bullet hole designs there.”

“Bullet holes?” one petite brunette asked. “I don’t understand.”

Remembering his reasoning at the time, Simon grinned at himself. “I had just gotten really good with a high kick, and when I hit someone just right, it sounded like a gunshot.”

“Awesome,” one young man said with near reverence.

Right. Awesome. Simon grinned and shook his head. He got a real kick out of the new recruits to the SBC, their enthusiasm and naiveté, along with their determination. Training them was very rewarding.

“I think it sounds sexy.” A chesty blonde smiled at him. “Will you show us?”

“Not tonight.” Simon was about to comment further on tattoos when the band called a halt and the lead man jumped down from the stage.

It wasn’t until then that Simon noticed his shirt. It read,BARBERS HAVE BIG POLES. Alongside the text was a thick red-and-blue striped barber pole.

Barber.That was too much of a coincidence for Simon to let it pass. He excused himself from the group and started toward the bar where the singer had just ordered a drink. On his way, Simon studied him. He was tall, maybe as tall as Simon himself. Unlike most skinny musicians, he had a thick, muscular frame. As he lifted his drink and tossed it back, the flex of his arm showed a bulging bicep.

Not the typical musician at all.

Before Simon could reach him, Bonnie waltzed in, redirecting Simon’s attention. As usual, she looked gorgeous, decked out from head to toe in designer duds. With her hair twisted up in some deliberately loose, sexy style, she caught the attention of every male she passed.

Keeping Simon in her sights, she ignored all others and made a beeline for him.

Simon sighed. Bonnie hadn’t given up on him. Since the fateful day he’d left her, she’d done everything imaginable to get him back. Usually he could refuse her calls, dodge her come-ons, and ignore her apologies. Inside the crowded bar, it wouldn’t be so easy.

Could the night get any worse?

Simon no sooner had that thought than he heard a familiar voice screech,“Barber!”and everything masculine in him went on high alert.

Bonnie reached him, started to say something, but Simon caught her shoulders and moved her to the side in time to see Dakota—at least, he thought that was Dakota—dashing across the floor toward the bar.

The singer had already left his seat with his thick arms spread wide to greet her.

Jealousy burned red hot.

“Simon?” Bonnie complained. “Whatever are you looking at?”

“I’m busy, Bonnie.” He tried to step around her, but she jumped in front of him and put her arms around his waist. Dakota slipped out of his line of vision, and he couldn’t free himself from Bonnie to get her back in his sights. “Let go.”

“Simon, don’t be like this.” Bonnie tightened her arms and put her head to his chest. “I’ve missed you so much. I came all this way in the hopes we could talk.”

“We don’t have anything to talk about. I’ve made that as clear as I can.” Simon saw the flash of Dakota’s legs—gorgeous legs, damn it—when the singer lifted her off her feet and swung her around in a circle.

“But there’s something important that I have to tell you.”

“Forget it.”

With her hands clenched into the fabric of his shirt, trapping him, Bonnie pushed back enough to see Simon’s face. “You will listen to me, Simon. I insist.”

God, he’d forgotten how pushy Bonnie could be. He caught her wrists and pried her arms away from him. “Insist all you want, but I’m not interested.”

She blurted, “The man I slept with is the man you’ll be fighting.”

---