Love On The Ropes (Ringside Romance) (17 page)

Jason shot her a half smile.
“There are so many things that I love about you.” He ran his fingertips across
her cheek. “The way you wear your hair in a ponytail like a little girl. The
way your eyes get small like a rat’s when you’re mad. The way you rub your
necklace when you’re nervous, hoping a genie will pop out and solve your
problems...”

His legs wobbled and he crumpled
to the mat.

She knelt down, stroking his hair.
“Jason?”

Killroy got between them. “All these
things—what, Stripper? What!” Killroy punched him in the gut, a mock punch but
still, with the way things were going tonight, Sandy wanted Jason out of the ring
five minutes ago.

“Tell her!” Another punch. The
crowd roared.

“Leave him alone!” she cried.

“Tell her!” Killroy said, holding
the mic steady.

“All these things,” Jason started,
taking a few short breaths. The crowd hushed. He looked up into her eyes. “All
these things make me love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life.”

Surreal, that’s how it felt, like
those dreams you have when you’re in the dream yet watching as you float on the
ceiling. He’d said he loved her. She knew it was part of the show, but
something in his eyes tore at her heart.

“No!” Dr. Killroy tossed the microphone
and started pummeling Jason who lay helpless on the mat.

Kick, kick, boot to the throat.

Fingering her rose quartz heart
necklace—the same one he mentioned she touched when she was anxious—she stood
there in shock, trying to make sense of what just happened.

Nothing happened. It’s all part
of the show
.

Yet, something felt different. An
ache consumed her and she realized she needed to be loved by a man like Jason.

“Hand me a mic!” she called. She
needed to end this match before she lost control of her emotions. The roadie
tossed one to her. “Dr. Killroy!”

He stopped in mid-kick and looked
at Sandy. Could she get the words out without shedding real tears?

“I don’t love you and never will.
I don’t know if I love The Stripper,” she hesitated and Jason blinked his eyes
open, “but he’s treated me better and with more respect than you ever have.”

Killroy took a step toward her,
his arms wide.

“Stop.” She put out her hand. “Don’t
you get it? You can’t make someone love you,” she said, her voice choking on
the last word.

She dropped the microphone,
climbed through the ropes and raced to her brother. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Nice job.” He smiled.

“Don’t smile at me. I hate you for
making me do this.” She pushed him up the ramp, the crowd waving and cheering,
and shouting encouragement. She’d probably become a fan favorite tonight,
standing up for herself, fighting for her man.

Speaking of which, where was
Jason? She glanced over her shoulder and spotted him lying motionless in the
ring. Damn, why didn’t he slide under the ropes and get away from the crazy
doctor?

“What’s he doing now?” Duke
muttered, straining to see over his shoulder.

They watched Killroy grab a
stethoscope from his pocket, wrap it around The Stripper’s neck and tug. The
Stripper kicked and writhed, but he couldn’t get free. Sandy motioned to
Cosmo’s chief security guard.

“That’s enough. Break it up!” she
ordered.

He nodded and mumbled into his
walkie-talkie. Four guys raced into the ring and pulled Dr. Killroy off Jason.

But Jason still didn’t move.

“Go help your guy,” Duke said. “It
makes for better drama.” He winked.

The charm of her big brother.

With her left hand still clutching
her shirt closed, she went back into the ring. Jason lay near the edge, one arm
draped over the side. She folded his arm across his chest and stroked his brow.

He turned his head and opened his
eyes. “You okay?” he asked.

“I should be asking you that question.”

“He didn’t really inject me.”

“Can we just get out of here?”

“Yeah.” He slipped under the ropes
and stood, putting one arm around her shoulder for support.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Jack the
Stripper and Nurse Virgin!” the announcer cried.

Sandy struggled to nod and smile
at the fans but failed. Her energy had been drained from her body by the heady
emotions tearing at her soul. The Stripper played to the crowd, while she
focused on getting backstage where she could check on the boys. There had been a
few rough matches tonight. Most likely, someone had gotten hurt.

“It’s not over! It’s never over!”
Dr. Killroy screeched from the ring.

How nice of a security guard to
hold a mic to the idiot doctor’s mouth. Idiot was right. The jerk had gone into
a public place with a syringe? She ground her teeth.

Tonight had gone off the rails
between her nearly-naked breasts flopping around, a dangerous syringe filled
with who knows what, and a profession of love from a man who, she guessed, lied
about everything that came out of his mouth. This was why she stayed in the
back tending the boys. She detested chaos.

Yet worse than the chaos was her
inability to find a man that could ease the ache in her chest. Was she so
unattractive, or boring or what? Why couldn’t she attract a decent, honest guy
to make babies with?

She glanced at her coworkers:
Flamboyant Floyd, Psycho Fred, and The Luminator. No way would she ever get
romantically involved with any of these bozos.

They were big kids, play fighting,
and abusing drugs for glory.

“You’re too quiet,” Jason said.

She glanced at him.

“I blew it, didn’t I?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” Even her voice
sounded tired and weak.

“The way you looked at me before,
in the ring ... you looked hurt.”

She ripped her gaze from his amazing
blue eyes and stared straight ahead. “I’m frustrated.”

“I know hurt when I see it.”

“It’s not your problem.”

“It is if I caused it.”

She studied his eyes, puzzling
over this caring, sensitive man whose every word seemed peppered with lies.

“Great balls of fire!” Cosmo
cried, running up to them. “That was the best show we’ve had in weeks! Great
thinking Stripper. You tell her you love her and throw everything off balance.”

Sandy glanced at the floor.
You
can say that again.

“This story line is damn strong,”
Cosmo said. “Should be hot for at least three months.”

“Wait a second,” she said. “I got
in there tonight because—”

“And what a clever girl you are.
Exposing your chest and all.” Cosmo eyed her with admiration. “I never knew you
had such good instincts! My new team.” He slapped them both on the shoulders.
“My new winning team!”

Catherine “The Cat” Zelinski
walked up to them. “Nice job, guys.”

Sandy nodded her thanks, but
suspected The Cat was PO’d. They were grooming her to be the next female lead heroine
for BAM.

“Especially you, Stripper.” The
Cat eyed Jason up and down, taking her sweet time. “Amazing stuff tonight.” She
extended her hand, and Jason shook it.

“Thanks,” he said.

What was this about? The Cat never
showed interest in any of the guys. She radiated the message: untouchable.

“Let’s check in with Johnny,”
Sandy suggested, steering him toward first aid, feeling suddenly protective.
Protecting a man she couldn’t trust? Swell. What else was new?

“We all did a pretty good sell
tonight,” Jason said as they headed down the hall.

“I could have lived without the
syringe business. Scared the crap out of me. Killroy’s an asshole.”

“Yeah, but it’s a good story
line.”

She stopped suddenly. “What if
he’d really hurt you? Do you have any idea what was in that thing?”

He shrugged. “Who knows? Probably
... steroids.”

Anger brewed in her gut. “Sure, of
course. Steroids. Harmless enough, right? God, you’re all a bunch of idiots.”

She stormed into first aid.

“Sandy, wait!” he called.

She blocked it out: his voice, the
men being tended to. She blocked out everything but her need to find her
clothes, change, and do her job: heal the wounded.

“Hey, there’s the new star,” Oscar
said.

“I need to be alone.” Sandy
grabbed her backpack and went into an alcove to change.

Damn steroids. Besides being
illegal, they were dangerous as hell. Men died of heart attacks at thirty-five
and their bodies fell apart at fifty, if they lived that long, and for what? So
they could be macho and popular and attract women?

She whipped off her clothes and
dressed in her sports bra and T-shirt. Her face grew hot with the thought of
the men she tried to help, men who’d probably turn to drugs in the end. All of
her work, all the healing went down the toilet when the boys abused steroids.

“Where is she?”

She recognized The Stripper’s
voice. Why couldn’t he let it be, leave her alone until they had to step into
the ring again? A pit of dread grew in her stomach at the thought of prancing
alongside him, her arm looped through his, the perfunctory kiss for good luck.

“Leave it alone, Stripper,” Johnny
said.

“I need to talk to her.”

“Not now.”

Sandy clutched her pack to her
chest and closed her eyes. The sudden realization of what she’d done tonight
hit her full force: she’d exposed herself. Although not completely in the
physical sense, she’d exposed herself emotionally to The Stripper. He’d called
her on it after he read the hurt in her eyes. Sure she was hurting. From lack
of love.

Daddy, do you love me?

She was twelve when she asked the
question, and couldn’t remember a clear answer. Just a grunt and a “Come on,
we’ll be late for the show.” Then, a few years later, she’d announced that pro
wrestling needed good medical care, and Pops’ face lit with pride. That look of
admiration was what drove her. She knew, deep down, it was really love. Wasn’t
it?

“Give it a rest, Stripper,” Oscar
said.

Good old Oscar, always her
protector.

“I need her,” The Stripper said.

“You need to leave her alone until
she’s ready to talk to you.”

“And who made you the expert on
Nurse Virgin?” The Stripper said.

Sandy cringed at the moniker.

“Don’t be an ass. Get lost and
give her some space.”

Silence. Shame crawled up her
back. Since when did Sandy Ryan hide from trouble?

She whipped open the alcove curtain
and stepped into the main room, tossing her bag on a bench. “Who’s next,
Johnny?” she asked, all business.

“Oscar, you’re up,” Johnny said.

But Oscar was facing off with The
Stripper. Nearly toe-to-toe, they glared into each other’s eyes, sweat dripping
from their temples, Jason’s fists balled tight. Sandy couldn’t stand the
thought of more injuries because of her.

“Come on, Oscar. Let’s get to it,”
she said.

He didn’t move. Jason glanced over
Oscar’s shoulder at her, but Sandy kept her focus trained on her next patient.

“Oscar, come in,” she said. “I’ve
got a date tonight.”

Johnny, Oscar, Jason and the two
other wrestlers in the room stared at her like she’d grown a tulip from the
crown of her head.

“What?” she asked.

The men glanced away, going back
to whatever they were doing.

“Back off,” Oscar said, shoving at
The Stripper with both hands.

Jason stumbled backward and for a
second, she thought he was going to start a brawl. Instead, he quietly sat on a
bench.

“I’m next,” he said.

Oscar started towards him.

“Enough,” Johnny ordered. “This
isn’t a schoolyard. Oscar, get on the table. I’ll do The Stripper after I’m
done with Mack.”

Oscar did as ordered and climbed
on the examination table. “Banged up my knee again,” he said.

“Yikes,” Sandy replied, carefully
manipulating the joint to determine the damage.

Her cell phone suddenly blared out
the chorus of “Can’t Buy Me Love.”

“Hang on,” she said to Oscar and
dug in her bag. Very few people knew her private number. She hoped it wasn’t
bad news about Dad.

“Sandy Ryan,” she answered.

“Sandy, it’s your mother.”

“Mom, hi.”

She mouthed, “I’ll be right back,”
to Oscar and left the room in search of privacy.

“How’s the job hunt?” Mom asked.

Right, the job hunt to find a
better line of work outside of professional wrestling.

“Good, fine. Listen, can I call
you back? I’ve got patients—”

“Don’t call them that. They’re
irresponsible men, Sandy, men who hurt everyone around them including the
people they love. I wish you’d admit that and get the hell out.”

“Mom, please—”

“How about Friday? I’ll have a
dinner party, invite a few friends.”

“What kind of friends?” Another
one of Mom’s fix-ups could be disastrous.

“Does it matter? When your mother
asks you to come for dinner you should agree without question.”

“Is this another fix-up?”

“As if that would be a bad thing?
You need to have a life, Sandra. A life with a healthy young man who can give
me a granddaughter that I can dress in pink lace.”

“I know, but—”

“Not a wrestler, not a talk-show
host. A plumber. I know one—Stan Dewurtz. He’s a nice fellow who owns his own
business.”

“Mom—”

“Or what about that nice man your
brother set you up with? Did your job scare him away?”

“No, we might get together again.”

“I can’t stand you being involved
with wrestling. A good man wouldn’t stand for it either. I’ll invite a nice, eligible
bachelor for dinner and you’ll be charming. Hear me? Maybe I’ll invite two or
three.”

Sandy stood straight. “No, Mom,
you can’t.”

“And why not? You haven’t been
serious about a man since Cody Monroe broke your heart. You should have learned
from that experience — don’t date a wrestler!”