Shoot Out (The Baltimore Banners Book 7) (10 page)

"Not all the time. Only when you—"

"No!" Nicole screamed the word, anger spilling through her, causing her hands to shake, her whole body to shake. How many times had she said the same thing? Tried to convince herself that things would get better if she did this or if she did that? Too many. She'd fought, long and hard, to escape the relationship. Fought long and hard to believe in herself, to understand that none of it was her fault, had never been her fault.

"No," she repeated, as much for her mother as a reminder to herself. "I'm not discussing this again, Mom. Okay? So just drop it."

"He's changed, Nikki. And I know he still cares about you, wants to see you again."

The words froze Nicole mid-step. Ice filled her, the dread and fear weighing her down until she thought she'd collapse. She couldn't have heard right, must have misunderstood. She closed her eyes, her hand wrapping around the pendant once more, and took deep breaths. Long, deep, cleansing breaths.

Please, let her have heard wrong.

"Mom, why do you think that?"

"He told me. He stopped by the other day—"

"No. No, no, no. Mom, why did you talk to him? Please, Mom, don't ever talk to him again. Don't even open the door. Please. If you love me at all, please—"

"You're overreacting, Nikki. As usual. Donnie just wanted to see you. He misses you."

Nicole faced her mother, not even bothering to hide the sheen of tears she couldn't blink away. How could her mother do that? How, when she knew what Donnie had done to her? When she had seen the marks and heard the screams? How?

Betrayal slice through her, as acidic and sour as the bile building in her stomach. Nicole shook her head. In denial or disbelief, she didn't know. She didn't know anything except that she needed to leave, needed to get out of the house. Now. Before she went crazy, before the pieces of her that she had struggled for so long to put back together shattered because of her mother's interference. Because of her mother's betrayal.

She shook her head again and brushed at her eyes, not understanding why her mother would do that, would say that. Not understanding the look of confusion on her mother's tired and worn face, like Nicole was the one to blame.

She didn't understand any of it.

Nicole tossed the backpack over her shoulder and fled from the room, her hand barely skimming the railing as she took the steps two at a time. She needed to get out of here, needed to escape.

Needed to settle the disjointed thoughts tearing through her mind long enough to figure out what she should do now.

She threw open the door, barely hearing the creak of wood as she slammed it behind her. Bright sun greeted her, bouncing off the cracked concrete to blind her. She reached for her sunglasses then realized they were still upstairs, in her dim lifeless room.

They could stay there. She couldn't go back inside, not now. She turned left and headed to the next block, squinting against the bright light. She didn't know where she was going, didn't care. She just needed to go, to get away, to escape.

Needed to figure out what to do next.

If Mat could breathe, he'd kill Derek. That wasn't an option right now, not with his muscles stretching, not with his lungs burning. He tightened his jaw, his breath hissing between clenched teeth as he raised the bar, groaning as he lifted the weight from his chest. Derek stood above him, a scowl on his face as he spotted Mat.

"I just don't understand what you see in her. She's not your type."

Mat grunted and lowered the bar, raised it once more and blinked against the sweat dripping into his eyes and down the sides of his face. His arms shook, burning even more as he pushed himself. Two more reps. Down, up. Slow, deliberate.

"And why are you even asking her out? I mean, you already slept with her—"

The noise that came from Mat was louder than a grunt, ferocious and impatient, startling them both. He dropped the weights into the rack with a slam then sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bench. Derek jumped back, his hands held up in either surrender—or protection.

"You're really going to say shit like that? After what happened with you and Bridget?"

"Keep your voice down." Derek glanced over his shoulder, eyeing the growing crowd coming in for their lunch time workout. Or maybe was checking to see where Kenny and Harland were, making sure they weren't within earshot. It wouldn't matter even if they were, not with the classic rock music that constantly blared from the speakers, not with the noise of clattering weights and loud conversation that surrounded them.

Derek shook his head and turned back to Mat. "That's not the same—"

"Bullshit." Mat grabbed the towel and swiped it across his face then fisted it in his hands. He kept his gaze on Derek, frowning. Maybe a little too hard, a little too dangerous, because Derek actually took another step back. "It's exactly the same and you know it."

"No, Mat, it's not. Bridget isn't a damn stripper!"

"Neither is Nicole. She works the bar."

Derek laughed, the sound short and sarcastic. "Yeah, okay. She works in a fucking strip joint. Are you really so naïve that you don't think she's dancing?"

Mat tightened his fist around the towel and shook his head. He'd thought the same thing at first, had been completely surprised when he realized where she worked. But the guy who paid her at the end of the night, her boss, had made the comment that Nicole could make so much more money if she decided to dance, but she wouldn't do it. Mat still didn't know why the guy told him that. Making conversation? Or for some other unknown reason? He had no idea. Mat hadn't said anything but he got the impression—just from the guy's one-sided conversation—that Nicole needed the money.

He moved from the weight bench, turning his back to Derek. "She's not a dancer. She serves drinks."

"Yeah, you keep on believing that." Derek moved closer, stepping around Mat until they were facing each other. "I don't get it, Mat. Why are you so hung up on this girl? You've been obsessing about her for more than a month. You already slept with her. And from what I understand, she left without saying goodbye. That doesn't sound like she's interested if you ask me. So why are you wasting your time?"

Mat stared at Derek for a long minute, his jaw clenched against the words that wanted to rush from him, words he knew better than to say. Because he'd had the same exact thoughts Derek was voicing, at least at first. If Nicole had been interested, at all, wouldn't she have at least left a note the morning she left in New Orleans? Her number? Something? It had been nothing more than sheer chance that he found her last week, and even he had to admit that she'd seemed surprised—hesitant and uncertain—the entire time he'd been with her. But she'd said yes when he asked her out. She wouldn't have said yes if she wasn't interested, right?

And then the other night happened. Holy fuck, had it ever happened.

He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting at first. Maybe just a chance to talk, to get her number, just like he'd told her. And then she blew up at him, throwing the money back in his face—along with accusations that still made him feel sick to his stomach. But then he explained, in a bumbling and embarrassing way, and she seemed happy with that. Well, maybe not happy, but she seemed to accept it. But she still wouldn't take the money he'd left the other night, giving it instead to one of the dancers when he refused to take it back.

He offered to take her home, not really expecting her to accept. Except when he pulled up in front of her place, she'd gotten this odd look on her face. Part horror, part resignation, part defeat. And when she asked him to keep driving, he had.

And then she'd blown his mind. Completely and utterly. He hadn't expected things to go that far. Would have never dreamed, not in his wildest fantasies, of things going that far. Okay, maybe in a few of his fantasies, but that was it. Seeing her touch herself, watching her lick his fingers, tasting herself…watching her go down on him while he fisted his hand in her hair, pumping his hips until his cock brushed against the back of her throat. Hearing her little moans as she sucked and swallowed while he came—

Fuck. He had to stop thinking about it, stop remembering it. Not here, of all places, not when it would it be so easy for anyone passing by to notice the way his cock was standing at attention, rock hard and ready to go. He fisted the towel in front of him and moved to the leg press, Derek following him.

"I like her, okay? What is so fucking wrong with that?"

"Because 'fucking' is the keyword with this whole thing. You're just hung up on the sex. And no, don't even give me that look. You're not one to sleep around, you never have been. And now some bad girl has caught your attention and you don't know which side is up."

"Nicole is not a 'bad girl' so shut the fuck up."

"Oh man, really? Dude, look at her, all tatted up and shit, working at a strip joint."

"Judgmental much? Just because she has tattoos—"

"Okay, so there's nothing wrong with her tats. I like tats, lots of people do. My point is that
you
don't do ink. How many times have you said you're not into tattoos? That you don't find them attractive?"

"I like Nicole's tattoos."

"Holy shit. Are you not even listening? She picked you up in a fucking bar!"

"Doesn't matter. I like her and I want to see her again. And I am. Tomorrow. I asked if you guys wanted to join us because I figured she might be more relaxed if the four of us went together, since she knows Bridget. Stupid idea, so just forget I asked."

"Why are you getting so pissed?"

"You really have to ask me that? After everything you just said?"

"I just want to make sure you know what you're doing, that you're not making more out of this than it is."

"I'm not making anything out of it, you are. All I'm looking for is tomorrow. One date, that's it. You don't want to go, fine."

"I didn't say that. You want us to go, we'll go."

"With that attitude? Yeah, that'll definitely make her feel comfortable. No thanks." Mat turned his back on Derek, adding more weights for this round. This was supposed to be a light work-out, just something to keep them in rhythm during the off-season, until training camp started in six weeks. But Mat no longer wanted a light workout. He wanted to sweat, to burn, to push himself.

No, what he really wanted was to go ten rounds in a ring—preferably using Derek's face as a punching bag. Too bad he wasn't a boxer.

Mat adjusted his position on the bench, ready to start. But he didn't move, didn't tear into the reps. His mind was elsewhere, replaying Derek's words, replaying each tiny bit of conversation he'd had with Nicole—which really wasn't much. In fact, the only time she'd really talked at all, the only time she had initiated the conversation, had been when she talked about her photography. She had come alive then, her face lighting up, her expressions animated. It had been easy to see—no, to feel—her excitement.

The rest of the conversations, if he could even call them that, had been short. Maybe a little tense and uncomfortable, like she wasn't sure what to say. Like she wasn't sure how to act around him. Did it have something to do with their night in New Orleans? Maybe she was embarrassed. Or maybe she thought he was just looking for a repeat and nothing else. But if that was the case, what about the other night? Maybe he was reading too much into things, or listening too much to Derek.

And maybe he should just let it go. He could sit here all day and play the 'what-if' game, trying to read her mind after the fact. It wouldn't do him any good, though, not when each of his thoughts focused on something negative. Yeah, definitely not productive.

He lifted his legs and placed his feet against the plate, gripping the handles by his side and pushing out with a grunt. And fuck, maybe he overdid it with the weights because he had to push harder than he expected. Then he looked over and noticed Derek leaning against the weight plates, holding them down. A large shit-eating grin spread across his face before he started laughing.

"Man, Kenny was right. You really do have it bad for her."

"Shut the fuck up."

Derek stepped away from the weights, still chuckling as Mat started his reps. One. Two. Three. He groaned and pressed down, holding then releasing. Holding then releasing. The weights slammed together with a crash but Mat barely noticed, not with Derek standing next to him, laughing loud enough to drown out everything else around them.

"What the fuck is so funny?"

Derek drew a deep breath and wiped his hand across his eyes, shaking his head. "You. If you could see the look on your face—" He took another deep breath that turned into a snort. "You look like you're ready to bash someone's face in."

"Yeah. Yours, if you don't knock it off."

"Fine, I'll stop." He stepped back, his hands held up in surrender, a smile deepening his dimples. "I still say you're making a mistake."

"Dude, I swear—"

"Okay, okay. I'm done. I won't say anything else about it." Derek leaned against the machine next to Mat's, crossing his arms in front of him. "So what are we supposed to be doing on this big date tomorrow?"

Mat lowered his legs and reached for the towel, swiping it across his face before draping it around his neck. He glanced at Derek then looked away, shrugging. "I was thinking of going up to Oregon Ridge. They have those summer concerts with fireworks and everything. We could do a picnic dinner and—"

But Derek wasn't listening. Of course not. How could he be, when he was laughing again? Mat clenched his jaw so hard his back teeth ground together and stood up. "Why the fuck do I even bother? Just forget I said anything."

Derek grabbed his arm, his grip strong enough to keep Mat from flinging his hand away, which is what he wanted to do. Instead he just stood there, tense and stiff, giving Derek the dirtiest look he could—his dangerous game face. The scowl generally worked, at least on the ice, but Derek just ignored him.

"I'm sorry, really. And I'm not laughing at you. It's just—" Derek released his arm, that big grin still on his face. "Your girl just doesn't look like the type who would enjoy a picnic and fireworks in the country air, you know?"

Mat ignored the 'your girl' part, knowing Derek couldn't be further from the truth. No, he wouldn't mind calling Nicole his girl—despite the sexist sound of it—but wasn't sure she'd agree. It was too soon. And right now, he wasn't entirely sure she was even interested. At least, as interested as he was. So no, he couldn't get excited over that possibility, not yet. That didn't stop him from scowling at Derek.

"Why don't you think she'd be interested?"

"Seriously? Mat, she looks like she'd more comfortable at some kind of head-banging club or something."

"You just don't learn, do you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Judging people so quick. I really thought you would have learned better after being with Bridget but I guess not." Mat started to walk away. Derek grabbed his arm again and quickly stepped in front of him, his smile gone now.

"That's not fair—"

"Isn't it? That's exactly what you're doing, you know. You're just assuming shit when you don't know anything about Nicole."

"And neither do you, Mat. That's the point I've been trying to make ever since this conversation started. Think about it. This girl picked you up in a bar. In New Orleans. You had sex. She left, never to be seen again. I mean, really, what the hell do you know about her? Not a damn thing. I just want to make sure you know what the hell you're getting into before you jump in with both feet and start making wedding plans."

"Why the hell is everyone so fucking convinced I'm planning a wedding? You. Kenny. I'm tired of hearing it. A few dates. That's all I'm looking for. Hell, I don't even know her last name!"

Silence descended between them, oddly accusing in the midst of the noise and racket surrounding them. Derek stared at him, his brows raised in either shock or confirmation, Mat couldn't tell. He shook his head and looked away, running the palm of one hand down his face. "Fuck."

"Yeah. That's the point we're trying to make. You don't even know her last name. You don't know anything about her except that she works in a strip club. You can't build a relationship on that."