Page 48 of My Undead Heart
Ican’t tell if I’m irritated or relieved that Matt’s response to me canceling our training session was an emoji. A thumbs up, no less! I felt bad giving him short notice, but I was given the same. Stanton issued all of the senior developers and programmers an invitation to dinner barely two hours before quitting time. While it was offered casually, only a stupid person would decline. Stanton wasn’t really asking; it was a command, and if these bigwigs left unsatisfied, we’d all have hell to pay from now until the game went live. So instead, our company treated us to Chicago’s best deep-dish and bottomless drinks, and everyone went home happy.
Tensions were high enough leading up to this week, but as far as I can tell Stanton’s pleased with our presentations and day-long meetings. I can only hope that means the investors are satisfied with the progress ofProjectX. Either way, it’s been a long week and the entire staff is happy things are back to normal now that they’ve left. We can also get back to working in our relaxed fit jeans and comfy tees.
I haven’t had time to think of much else, but every single time I ride the elevator up or down I look for the Haywood painting crew shirts. Logically, I know there’s a slim chance of running into Matt again, but this Thursday evening is no different. As Jared and I leave the office, my eyes search the slew of people exiting our building.
“He’s not here,” Jared says with his smug know-it-all sass.
“Who?” I hedge, because I will not admit aloud to the fact I’ve looked for Matt every time I’ve taken the elevator since running into him.
Jared pauses before we step outside to wrap his scarf around his neck and tuck it into the front of his coat. “You do know who you’re talking to? Maybe leave the theatrics for someone who’ll buy it.”
“Whatever.” A shiver works its way down my spine the moment we step outside. The cold wind delivers an icy smack to my face.
“Mmm hmm. So, do we know when this epic first date is going down?”
“Sunday.” I spit out the word but Jared gives a little clap.
“You gonna chicken out?” He raises his brow, slides his arm inside mine, and proceeds to pull me down the street.
I bristle with the accusation. “I’m no chicken.”
“Good girl. Now, do you have time to grab dinner before you go roll around on the floor with that hunk of a man? Or do you need to go home and shave your legs first?”
“You make it sound like we’re doing something sexual.”
“Aren’t you?”
Shaking my head, I roll my eyes. “Ugh! Stop or I’ll make you eat alone tonight.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
“Fine. What’ll it be, Thai or Chinese?”
“As long as it doesn’t come with a side of nagging and judgment, I don’t care. You pick.” I huff but I can already tell he’s steering us toward his favorite noodle spot. I won’t admit that sounds heavenly about now with the way this wind whips my hair into my face.
He pouts but it’s forced. “That’s not fair. I just want you to be happy, Kitten.”
A guffaw erupts from my belly. “Happy doesn’t equal getting laid.”
“Says the angry woman who’s not getting some,” he snaps, but when I turn my chin to shoot daggers with my glare he shakes his head and relents. “Fine. Thai food it is.”
After dinner with Jared and then a quick bus ride, I find myself once again inside South Side Gym, waiting while almost two dozen fighters in every shape, color, and size train with all they have. It’s fascinating to watch them, and I stand against the wall nearest the door much like a peeping tom. Matt’s the most interesting of them all. I don’t know why, but when I think of a coach, I think of someone barking orders, intense, maybe even a little frightening. He’s none of these. Completely patient, ruling with a gentle sword, the men all look to him after each drill for wisdom and guidance. He’s really got something special here and I mentally make myself a reminder to get his new website up and running ASAP. More people need to know about this place.
“Alright, let’s bring it in,” he instructs and they all huddle in the center of the mats. He speaks in a tone so low I’m unable to eavesdrop from where I stand. I consider inching closer, but I don’t think he’s spotted me yet, and somehow there’s freedom in knowing I can surreptitiously observe.
Not a minute goes by before they all shout, “South Side!” The guys make quick work of returning equipment to their designated spots and wiping down the mats before heading out the door.
I scoot from my spot and find an empty chair near the front desk to set my bag and wait.
Matt speaks with two young men, one I remember as Ricky, and the other I haven’t seen before, but who looks as though he recently got his ass whooped by the bruising on his face. The three talk in hushed tones with an intensity that piques my curiosity as to the topic of their discussion.
“You trainin’ for the octagon?” A man disrupts my staring as he packs up his bag and pulls on a pair of dirty sweats from the chair next to me.Dear God, when was the last time he washed those?
“Oh, no. I’m no fighter. Only looking to improve my self-defense skills.” I smile politely when really it’s taking everything in my power not to count the grease stains down the front of his pants and sweatshirt.At least, I hope they’re grease stains.
“You ever need a sparrin’ partner? I’m your man.” I don’t miss the way his chest puffs up with the invitation. I’m sure he’d love that, but I’m not sure I could go one minute without puking on his clothes. Not that he’d mind. Probably still wouldn’t wash those things!
