Flirt With Me (With Me in Seattle 17)

I take Rachel’s hand and pull her up off the bed. Thank Jesus and all the saints she’s still clothed.

They were making out, and Derek’s hand had made its way up her shirt, but he didn’t get past second base.

If he had, he’d be bleeding right now.

“Dad, this is so embarrassing.”

“Good.”

I pull her down the stairs, through the house, and outside.

A small group of boys stands around my car. No one’s touching it, but they’re looking.

I can’t blame them. It’s a hell of a ride.

“Get the fuck out of my way,” I growl, and the sea of boys parts for us.

I open the passenger side and wait for my pissed-off daughter to sit, and then I walk around the hood of the car, find the kid I spoke to when I parked, and pass him a bill.

“Good job.”

I get behind the wheel as the kid stammers and stares at the hundred in his hand and then drive off.

“I can’t believe this,” Rachel mutters.

“That makes two of us.” I drag my hand down my face and glance her way. Her arms are crossed over her belly, her shoulders sagging. She’s pouting. “Are you seriously pouting because I caught you in a lie, tracked you down, and pulled your ass out of there before you did something monumentally stupid with that asshole, Derek?”

“He’s not an asshole,” she retorts in anger. “I wasn’t drinking or doing drugs. I just wanted to be with my friends.”

“Should you get an award for not drinking or doing drugs when you’re not supposed to be doing those things anyway?”

“You don’t understand.”

Oh, but I do. “I’ve been your age—”

“Yeah, and I’ve never been yours,” she says before I can finish.

God, I love that she’s strong-willed.

And it pisses me right off.

“We can’t do this, Rach.” My voice is quiet now. Getting riled up and raising my voice doesn’t help anything. I want her to hear me. “You’re fifteen. I’ve already retired so I can be with you more. We have a great home. You go to a good school. Grams and Gramps are nearby, ready to help us out at a moment’s notice. And yet you still pull this shit. So, I guess we’re moving.”

She spins in the seat and stares at me in horror. “What?”

“I’m done. I can’t just lock you in your room all the time. I can’t just take everything away. Your friends here are shit. And if the changes I’ve already made haven’t helped, then something else has to give because right now I feel like we’re both constantly being punished.”

“No, I don’t want to move.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want a daughter who does whatever the fuck she wants, despite what I say. So, here we are. We need a change of pace.”

Rachel shakes her head. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.”

I don’t reply to her as I grab my phone and call the non-emergency line for the police department.

“Yeah, I need to report a party with underage drinking.”

I walk through the doors of Sound Fitness at just before eight the next morning. I already dropped Rachel off at school.

She’s not speaking to me.

I can live with that.

The dude that had his lips and hands all over my kid last night is a young fighter who’s been hanging around the gym for the past couple of years. He has an attitude, but most of us do.

The attitude isn’t what bothers me.

I wave at the owner, Ben, and breeze back to the locker room, where I change clothes, grab the tape for my hands, and walk back out to the ring that sits in the middle of the space.

I’ve been using this ring for training for more than twenty years. The previous owner, Rich McKenna, is the reason I’m not in jail and instead fell in love with fighting.

His son, Nate, is my friend.

Those at this gym are my family.

I like that Ben made improvements but didn’t change the atmosphere, the vibe of the place. It’s my second home.

When I approach the ring, I see Derek walking through the door.

I knew he’d come.

He’s asked me for help with his training in the past. I’m about to train him on a life lesson.

One he won’t soon forget.

“You wanted to see me?” He raises his chin defiantly.

“Get in the ring.”

He frowns. “I’m not dressed—”

“Get in the motherfucking ring.”

I duck under the ropes and drop my head from side to side then stretch my back. When he stands on the platform, I move in.

“Hey!” His hands come up, and fear fills his eyes. “I don’t want to fight you.”

“No?” I walk around him. I want to keep him guessing on what I might do next.

And I need to move away so I don’t just rip his throat out.

“Nah, I thought you wanted to talk about last night.”

“Oh, I do.” I grin—a humorless, toothy smile. “How old are you now, Derek?”