Driving Her Wild

Her family had been pretty poor, her father losing a good job as a machine mechanic when his factory was bought out in the nineties. After the layoff, Steph’s mom had started working behind the deli counter at their local supermarket to supplement their income “until things picked up.” Two decades later, she was still there.

Once upon a time, they’d been able to pay for Steph’s first karate classes without a care, but those days were short-lived. If she’d pushed herself to excel—at karate, judo, jujitsu, MMA—it was because being an overachiever had garnered her favoritism. The kind that had allowed her to keep coming to classes at a discount or in exchange for doing odd jobs around the dojo. Martial arts had never been a simple extracurricular to Steph. She’d loved it the way other girls loved horses or ballet or boys. And she’d fought to keep it in her life.

Still, she’d been doing this for over twenty years. She was tired. She’d never grow weary of the physicality of the sport, but the financial struggle... She was ready to leave that behind her. Wanting a man who could offer that wasn’t shallow—it was practical.

She eyed Patrick as she stripped out of her warm-ups.

Handsome, to be sure. Sexy even, and probably perfectly sweet despite the alarming frequency with which he caused her bodily harm. But even if her blood quickened at the sight of him, her rational brain knew what a guy like Patrick would bring—more struggling, little stability. Maybe a great sex life, but that wasn’t a fair trade-off, not if it came at the price of all that uncertainty.

She wound medical tape around her injured hand and pulled on her gloves, ready for the evening’s first workout. Down here it was business as usual—physical strain, sweat, satisfaction. Beyond these walls, though, things could be different. Would be different. A sophisticated man waiting for her at a restaurant, maybe kissing her cheeks, if that happened outside the movies. She’d let him teach her which wine went with which dish. Show her how it tingled to kiss a man who tasted of burgundy or merlot.

“Son of a—”

Steph whipped her head around at the sound. It was Patrick, of course. His averted cuss had accompanied an unmistakable zap! and a flickering of the lights. He shook out the hand he’d shocked. “Sorry!” he told everyone who’d turned, flexing his fingers. “My bad.”

At least it wasn’t me that time.

He was over it in a moment, back to joking with his colleague.

God help you, she thought again, watching him.

And God help the poor woman who falls for you.

2

STEPH WAS WORKING early the next day, and during lunch she checked her voicemail, finding a message Jenna had left at nine-thirty. The woman was as good as her word. She sounded chipper, asking Steph to swing by Spark when she had five minutes. Heart thumping with cautious hope, Steph jogged up the steps, smoothing her hair.

Both matchmakers were in the office, eating sandwiches off brown deli paper.

“Oh,” Jenna mumbled through a bite, chewing impatiently. She swallowed and blurted, “It’s you! Yay!”

“Hey, it’s me.”

Lindsey waved, also preoccupied with her lunch.

“Good news,” Jenna said, beaming as she dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Turns out you are allowed to join Spark, if you so wish.”

“Yeah?” Steph couldn’t hide her smile. Even if the service cost an arm and a leg, it wouldn’t burst her bubble. “That’s great.”

Jenna nodded. “I just can’t give you preferential treatment and I have to disclose to any potential dates that you and I are affiliated.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“It’s not. And actually, if I can speed you through the application process, I have a man who’d love to meet you for a drink tomorrow night.”

She blinked. “Tomorrow? Wow, you’re good.”

Jenna laughed. “It was a little flukey. He’s a brand-new client, and I wound up emailing him last night with some follow-up info, and we had a little back-and-forth. Anyway. He’s a doctor.”

Steph nearly gasped. Play it cool, Healy.

“Sports medicine,” Jenna continued. “He works with a lot of the hockey players over by the Garden. He likes active women and I happened to mention I may have a client coming on board who’s a fighter, and he was very intrigued, to say the least. Plus he says he likes redheads.”

“Hey, two for two.”

“Is thirty-six okay?”

“Yeah, fine by me.” An older man. Sounded heavenly after all these years surrounded by twenty-something dudes. “Is he cute?”

“No,” Lindsey interjected. “But he is ha-a-nd-some.” Her eyes rolled back in dramatic rapture. The girl ought to know handsome—she was dating Rich Estrada. “I saw his photo. He’s hot.”

“I haven’t even signed up and you found me a hot doctor who’s okay with my gig?” Steph asked Jenna. “Are you a sorceress?”

“I can’t legally let you see his picture until you’re a client. And technically I don’t think I’m allowed to bait you with as many details as I have. But would you like to sign up? He has to work late tomorrow, on site for a game, but he’d love to meet you before he goes out of town for the weekend. The game’s over around ten. Would drinks after that be too late?”

She considered it. “I could probably swap for the closing shift and meet him someplace in between.” She wasn’t an early bird, anyhow. And for a chance with a hot, sporty doctor? “Does my nose look presentable?” It was still tender, but she’d lain with an ice pack on it for an hour before bed and the swelling was way down.

“Much better,” Lindsey said, nodding.

“Okay then. Sign me up.”

Jenna assembled a stack of forms and Steph scanned them. The membership was pricey, but the decision felt right as she handed over her credit card.

“And, submit,” Jenna said, clicking something on her computer. “Welcome to Spark!”

With that scary first splash into the deep end accomplished, it was time to start paddling. “What should I wear on this date?”

“Depends on the bar, I suppose.” Jenna’s eyes narrowed. “But it’s supposed to snow tomorrow, so I don’t think anyone can fault you for dressing sensibly. Maybe some fancy jeans and a nice sweater?”

Damn, Steph had some shopping to do. Her closet was seriously bipolar—sweats and sneakers on one side, a couple of short, glitzy cocktail dresses on the other, procured for the wild after-fight parties that had become her only excuse to wear heels these past few years. She owned exactly one pair of jeans, and they weren’t fancy by any stretch of the imagination—not unless a hole at the corner of the butt pocket was this season’s hottest trend.

Downstairs, she fairly floated through the afternoon sessions. Her final match had been three weeks ago, and she could feel the effects of her lighter workouts. She’d put on a couple pounds and lost some definition, but she didn’t mind. She liked having a strong, trim figure, but it was nice to feel a little softness coming back, the perennial aches and pains fading. She was a fighter, but she was a woman, too, and could handle forfeiting her jiggle-free backside if the pay-off was an extra cup size.

“So,” she said to Mercer, as they wiped down the heavy bags after a cardio session. “Guess who’s got a date tomorrow night.”

“That was fast.”

“I know. But it’s not until late. I’m happy to take the closing shift, if that’s helpful to anybody.”

“I’ll be on a plane to California tomorrow night,” Mercer said.

“Oh right, you mentioned that.”

“My former protégé’s got a match in L.A., then we’re visiting Jenna’s folks. So I guess it’s up to Rich. When are you on ’til?”

“Seven.”

“Friday’s sparring—Rich won’t volunteer to miss that... Just come in at two and I’ll give you both the closing shift. I can cover the morning by myself.”