Who doesn’t like a little bet? My heritage practically screams gambling aficionado; we go to the church and bet on simulcast horse racing all in the name of Jesus. If a Notre Dame game starts to get a little boring (don’t tell my father I said that), we’ll start placing bets on anything we can think of.
“I’ve got five on that super fan in the first row taking his shirt off before the third quarter.”
“Double or nothing on the announcer saying the phrase ‘ball and sack’ in the same sentence by the end of the quarter.”
“I’ll wash your car for a week if there’s a Budweiser commercial during the next break.”
“What do I win, since we both know I’m going to get him first?” I ask with my own cocky smile.
“If you bring him in before I do, I’ll let you get in one good solid punch to make up for the hurt I caused you,” he replies.
Oh, man. He knows exactly how to sweet-talk a girl.
“Deal.”
I quickly accept the bargain with a firm shake of his hand and as he’s opening the front door to leave, my brain finally gets with the program and I realize I just agreed to this thing without asking what he would get if he caught McFadden first.
“Wait!” I shout to him as he gets to the bottom step and heads toward his motorcycle parked at the curb. “I know it’s a long shot, but what do you win if you catch him first?”
Griffin grabs his helmet and after securing it on his head and swinging his leg to straddle the bike, he turns to look at me, and son of a bitch if I can’t see the twinkle in his eyes through the visor of the helmet.
“If I win, you have to go on a date with me.”
He starts up the bike with a roar of the engine and peels away from the curb, and I swear to God I can hear him laughing as he takes off down the street.
I walk back into the house with a slam of the front door and stand in my foyer cursing myself and my stupidity.
GD gambling problem.
CHAPTER 8
Come on, ladies—harder! Faster!”
I hear a snicker from the corner of the exercise room at the fitness center and turn to see Paige thrusting her hips in the general direction of the heavy bag instead of punching it.
“Keep it up, McCarty, and you’re going to run laps around the gym,” I threaten her.
Paige gives me the finger and a sweet smile before turning back to the bag and punching it for all she’s worth. I scan the rest of my class of about twenty women ranging in ages from sixteen to sixty and I smile at the progress they’ve made in the last few months. Most of them couldn’t have hurt a fly when they walked in this room. Now, after a lot of hands-on instruction and some added kickboxing cardio, they can take down men twice their size.
I thought my Friday night self-defense class would be a good way to forget about Griffin’s stupid proposal. Unfortunately, nothing is working in that department. I can’t stop wondering if he’s serious or not. And if he is serious, what the hell is he thinking? A date? With me? Is he out of his mind? First of all, we’re friends. Or we used to be. And sort of are now, I guess. Or are we? Where the hell do we stand? I glance at the clock on the wall and realize it’s five minutes past quitting time.
“All right, class, time’s up. Great job. I’ll see you all next week.”
The sounds of twenty women hitting their heavy bags ceases and as they say their good-byes to each other and pack up their things, I walk over to Paige and Lorelei, who are sitting against the far wall chugging back water from their water bottles.
“Were you trying to kill us? I think my heart just exploded. Check my pulse.” Paige thrusts her wrist out to me.
I stare at her in irritation. Even after an hour-long workout, she still looks perfect. Not one piece of hair is out of place and she hasn’t even broken a sweat. Everyone else filing out of the room looks like they went ten rounds with Mike Tyson.
“How do you do that? How do you walk out of here looking exactly like you did when you walked in?” I demand as I take a seat across from them.
“It’s a gift. Now, tell us why you kicked our asses tonight a hell of a lot harder than you normally do.”
I sigh and start picking at the laces on my tennis shoes. “I made a bet with Griffin that if he catches McFadden before I do, I have to go on a date with him. Does that mean he asked me out on a date? I don’t know. Probably not. Or did he? Sort of. I think.”
Paige’s face immediately takes on a far-off, happy look and she folds her hands neatly under her chin. “That is so romantic. What are you going to wear?”
I ignore her and turn to Lorelei, my voice of reason.
“You told him no, right?” she demands. “I mean, this is the jerk who never told you Alex was cheating on you. Is he insane? He’s lucky you didn’t kick him in the balls as soon as the words left his mouth.”
I’m immediately bolstered by the fact that Lorelei used the word balls in a sentence and is on my side.
“That’s what I’m sayin’,” I reply, nodding my head in agreement.
“Oh, for the love of God. You two need to stop being Bitter Bettys. Not all men are jerks,” Paige complains.
Lorelei and I stare at her in shock. Is she forgetting the name of our business and WHY we opened it in the first place? All men are most certainly jerks. The stacks of case files on our desks are living proof.
“What is wrong with you? How can you say that after what Andy did to you?” Lorelei questions her.