Page 17 of Fool Me

Grant knew he’d earned an even larger victory lap, but his gaze went straight to Sadie who was…smiling at him? Yes! She was genuinely smiling at him. As their eyes met, her grin widened. She looked relieved, even apologetic. Forget defeating Slinger—thiswas Grant’s big win for the night. For the year. For the decade. She laughed, and he did too. Mud filled his mouth, his ears, his…everywhere, but so what? He and Sadie had shared a genuine laugh.

A memory of the sopping wet couple that had exited the building as they’d entered it sprung to mind. What had Sadie said? “Idon’t mind a little dirt.”

We’ll see about that, he thought, as he squelched toward her through the slime.

11

Sadie couldn’t help the grin splitting her face in two anymore than she could stifle the laughter escaping her throat. The ecstatic crowd rose to its feet. Someone sprayed a shook-up can of beer in the air near enough to douse her hair with lager rain, but she didn’t care.

When Slinger tossed Grant to the ground as easily as if his body were made of paperclips, Sadie had nearly crumpled in her seat from guilt and fear. The plan had been to catch Grant in an angry meltdown, not get him hurt or even killed by a hulking maniac. But Grant had more tricks up his sleeve than she, or anyone else in the Down & Dirty Bar, had given him credit for, and David had slain his Goliath. Relief washed through her as Slinger limped, with the help of three men, out of the pit, and a mud-soaked Grant moved toward her.

He smiled and winked. “You sure know how to plan a date.” Only four or five feet away, his pink-flushed lips and deep blue eyes were pops of color against grey-washed skin. Those nicely muscled arms and legs weren’t painful to look at either. How could someone get more attractive covered in mud? She started to imagine what lay under his mud-soaked tee…

“I didn’t expect you to join in,” she said, “but you’re good at this.” He stood right in front of her now, his chest heaving from exertion and all of him giving off mingled scents of sweat, earth, and a cottony cologne.

The press of his nearness gave Sadie a heady feeling that surprised and alarmed her. She crossed her arms over her chest and made a conscious effort to swallow her smile. Despite his wrestling skills and how good he looked even coated in grime, he was still the man she was supposed to be putting in his place—and that place was not in her heart.

The crowd, apparently realizing that their hero had brought a date to the Down & Dirty, began chanting, “Kiss her!Kiss her!Kiss her!”

Grant raised a questioning finger as he asked them all in a yell, “I’m a little muddy, don’t you think?”

“Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!”

Grant gave the crowd a nod and a double thumbs up before leaning toward her, apparently planning to do just that.

“A kiss,” he said sweetly, “for the cameras?” He held both hands towards her in a palms-up question.

She let out a small, annoyed breath, but leaned forward too. Ronny’s photographer had to be nearby, and she was, after all, still obligated to make the fake dates look real. “Okay, but only a peck, please. I’m wearing a white shirt.” He leaned ever closer, and her heart sped its rhythm. She momentarily rethought the kiss, then realized it was only adrenaline from the crowd’s attention. A quick peck wouldn’t hurt, and he had earned it, considering.

But as the crowd continued their demand for a kiss, Grant’s arms wrapped around her back. She screamed as she felt a distinct tug.

“Let’s find out just how much you mind a little dirt,” he rumbled into her ear as her feet said goodbye the floor and he pulled her toward the pit.

“Nooooo!” she yelled. She didn’t mind a little dirt, but a face full of Slinger-flavored goo was not her idea of a good time, let alone her idea of a “little dirt.” Just before gravity could gift her an unwanted mud facial, Grant let out a heaving grunt and flipped her whole body into his arms, wedding carry-style.

How strong was this guy?

As Sadie struggled to catch her breath, Grant turned them both in a slow circle for the crowd, which went obligingly bananas. But Sadie wasn’t in the mood to be his battle prize. Feeling like an upended crab, she flailed all her appendages at once. “Put me down!”

“What’s that you say?” he yelled, more to the crowd than to her. “You want me to put youdown?”

“Put her down!Put her down!” their audience chanted.

“Yes!” she said, but then she found herself being lowered toward the mud-filled floor. “Noooo!” she cried. “Outside the ring! Outside the ring!” Her small hands beating against his muscled shoulder felt like Fay Wray slapping at King Kong.

“Oh!” he yelled back, again for the benefit of the crowd, “you want me to put you downoutsidethe ring?”

She nodded, hoping he was being serious, but wary of his showman’s tone. It struck her that Grant had been particularly fond of comedy improv in college, and especially physical comedy. He was creating this three-ring circus, and she was the center ring’s entertainment.

A chorus of “Put her down!Put her down” still rang from the rafters as Grant yelled, “Outside it is, m’ lady!”

She smiled with relief, but it quickly turned to dread. She felt his upper body lean way back as he took an enormous, clownish forward stride with his right leg. The exaggerated step, combined with the lean and her weight, put him impossibly off balance. In the next millisecond, Sadie’s internal organs were floating as Grant’s remaining foot lost purchase and they both headed backward into the mud. Still gripped tightly in his arms, Sadie landed on his chest with a bounce.

Kersplat! A wall of mud washed over her. It coated her T-shirt and mingled with the beer already saturating her hair. Grant’s grip loosened, and she scrambled up and off him.

He lay there pretending to be winded, or maybe his gasps were real. The fall had been significant, and her full weight had pancaked him too. Physical comedy indeed. And, sure enough, the crowd burst into hysterics.

Standing there knee deep and fully splattered in mud, Sadie didn’t care if he was hurt or not. He could lie there in the ooze for eternity. He was the one who was supposed to get his clothes muddy, not her! Maybe Slinger’s ankle had healed itself, and he was ready for round three…

---