Caged (Mastered 4)

Then he forced himself to grab his cup of tickets and walk away.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

DEACON trained alone on Sunday, focusing on cardio and strength. He limited himself to dumbbells since he didn’t have a spotter in the weight room.

At the end of three hours, when he’d exhausted himself, he hauled out the training dummy and worked on kicks and body blows. This training aspect was his secret weapon. If he could maintain fighting form—Muay Thai or kickboxing—for forty-five minutes, after hours of endurance training, he should be able to stay on his feet for three five-minute rounds.

He was on the mat, stretching his muscles as he cooled down, when the training-room door opened and Maddox strolled in.

Great.

Maddox seemed as surprised to see him. “Hey, D.”

“Mad. What are you doing here?”

“I don’t always get my workouts in while I’m training fighters during the week, so I catch up on the weekends.” He sat on the bench across from the mat. “What’d you work on today?”

“Cardio and endurance. Why?”

“Just wondered if you’d recovered from Courey’s hit yesterday.”

“Oh, you mean from his cheap shot? Yeah.”

“I know you don’t like him.”

“He’s an arrogant prick.” Deacon pushed to his feet. “So I can see where you two would get along famously.”

Maddox laughed. “There’s method to my madness. I swear.”

“Tell me.”

“Not yet. Yours is not to question; yours is to do.”

That shitty Yoda impression always cracked him up. “How much longer will Courey be training here as your guest?”

“Depends.”

More of the usual cryptic bullshit from Maddox. He liked the guy, but sometimes he fucking hated him too. “That cleared things up. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Did you hit the strip club last night for Beck’s birthday party?”

Deacon shook his head. “Now that I’m with Molly, my strip-club days are over.” He narrowed his eyes at Maddox. “And if you tell anyone that, I’ll tell everyone you’re cruising nursing homes for your new girlfriends.”

Maddox whistled. “Low blow, my friend.”

“Hey, you’re the one who confessed hooking up with your senior-citizen lady friend after I told you about my strip-club fallout with Molly.”

“Because I thought we were male bonding over our woman problems,” Maddox shot back and batted his eyelashes.

“Fuck off.”

“You’re too easy. And FYI: Alicia does not qualify for senior-citizen discounts.”

“Yet,” Deacon stressed. “But her hitting that golden-age milestone next year will make your date nights cheaper.”

“You’re an ass. I don’t know why I tell you anything.”

Deacon grinned. “Now you’re getting it, Jedi Master.”

“Get outta here.”

“I’m goin’. See you tomorrow.”

He shouldered his bag and left Black Arts through the back door. Two o’clock. Normally he’d go home, shower, eat, and spend the rest of the day watching fights on the UFC channel or destroying his opponents at WoW.

But that seemed like a waste today.

Deacon wanted to be with Molly. And he hated that she’d acted cagey last night when he’d asked about her plans today.

She’s your girlfriend. It’s your right to know what she’s doing. And aren’t couples supposed to be joined at the hip and shit on weekends anyway?

With that justification in mind, he headed to her place.

•   •   •

MOLLY needed a personal spa day.

She waxed and shaved. She soaked in a lavender-infused bath while deep-conditioning her hair. Then she coated her skin with a coconut-oil-based lotion.

As she plucked her eyebrows, saggy, sallow skin stared back at her. Yuck. It was past time for a toning mask treatment. She slathered a thick layer of clay on her face. While that dried, she decided to give herself a pedicure.

She settled on her sofa, surveying her spa-day essentials. Miranda Lambert playing on her iPod. A detoxifying kale, spinach, cucumber, and lemongrass shake for lunch. The latest issue of InStyle magazine queued up on her tablet. Her nail buffer and the glittery orange polish for her pedicure.

Time alone to reflect on the recent changes in her life while she pampered herself was the perfect way to spend her afternoon.

She jammed the pink foam spreaders between her toes and slicked on the first coat of nail polish. After she propped her feet on the coffee table, she hummed along with “Gunpowder & Lead” and sipped her shake. It tasted like crap, so it had to be good for her.