Page 9 of Diverge

I hang up and place the phone back into my pocket when I see Billie enter the bar. I wave her over as I take her in. She’s dressed in all black, a skin-tight leather skirt that hugs her delicious curves and a black satin button-up top with heels. Looks like she just finished work.

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Her hair sways as shewalks over to the bar and plonks herself down next to me.

“Rough day?” Tilting my head, I examine her face. She’s been crying. I clench my teeth to stop myself from reacting.

“Yep. You can say that.” Her phone starts to ring. Grabbing it out from her bag, she irritably silences the call and shoves it back in. “Amaretto Sour, please.” She orders a drink from the bartender as she tucks a stray hair behind her ear.

“Want to talk about it?” I ask.

“I’d rather not.” Her response is sharp.

“So, why am I sitting here instead of Grace?” I lean on the bar and slightly turn my body to face her.

She lets out an audible groan. “Because my best friend is in her little bubble at the moment, thinking that she loves this guy named Russell who she’s seeing, but really, we all know she’s still completely hung up on her ex-fiancé, Michael.”

Just like I thought. She’s going to make this about someone else yet again, deflecting like a pro. Instead of pushing her, I let her be. She clearly needs to clear her head, and I want to help her do exactly that. “Bartender, pour us four shots of tequila.” I hand over my card to him. “Put the rest of our drinks for the night on my tab.”

“What are you doing? I’m only having one drink,” she says, and I can feel her eyes on me as the bartender begins to pour our shots. Taking one, I hold it up as if to fake cheers her and throw it back.

“I’m going to show you whatfunlooks like, little B.” I smirk, and she struggles to hold back her smile and rolls her eyes. She takes one of the shots from the bar and immediately scrunches her face after she drinks it.

This is going to be fun.

We finish our shots as we banter back and forth, then Billie begins to nurse the Amaretto Sour she ordered earlier. Feeling a slight buzz, I take off my jacket and place it in my lap. I feel her eyes shift to my arms.

“Nice tattoos. Do they mean anything?” Her face is flushed, and it’s cute how she thinks she’s succeeding in hiding it from me.

“Some of them do.” I take a sip of my whiskey. “Some of them were just on a whim.”

She smiles as she takes another sip of her drink.

“So, how long have you been doing MMA for?” Placing her drink down on the bar, she turns her body towards me. My eyes instantly drop to the top of her breasts which peek out of her silk top.

“Years. I kind of fell into it accidentally.” I look up at her, her grey eyes are plastered onto mine, waiting for more. “I used to get into a lot of fights as a teenager, and one of my school friends had an uncle who owned a gym and suggested I go there to train to let out my anger.”

“How much anger can a teen have?” She giggles.

“You’d be surprised.”

“Well, if it actually does help with anger, maybe I should try it.” Jokingly, she brushes it off.

“Why don’t you?” My focus entirely on her, I pick up my drink and throw the rest of it back.

She cackles and begins to play with her straw. “Have you seen me? What impact could I possibly have on someone larger than me in a fight?”

“I can teach you where and how to hit to have the maximum impact on someone three times your size.” And it’s true. It doesn’t matter how small you are. What matters is knowing where to hit and how to hit. That is the decider on whether you come out on top.

She considers it for a split second but shakes her head.

“Honestly, I barely have time to myself lately. My boss has been hounding me to meet these unrealistic deadlines. I can barely breathe when I’m at the office.” She finally admits something about her life to me. It’s a small victory, but I will nevertheless take it.

“How about you come down to the gym after work one day?” I try to bargain with her because the truth is I don’t know when I’m going to see her next, and I want to see her again.

She hesitates for a minute, unsure if she can make the commitment. She looks at me and nods.

“Fine. Okay, let’s do it.”

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