Outmatched

“What did you do?” Dean asked with growing amusement.

“Nothing.” Showed them just what they faced if they messed with my girl.

She isn’t your girl, idiot.

My smile fell, and I rolled my shoulders. “I act like myself and they pretty much run in fear. It works.”

“Yeah, I bet it does,” he said dryly. “But what about when you eventually meet people she actually likes?”

Hell.

“I’ll let you know.”

He eyeballed me for a long moment, then shook his head. “We’ll work on your manners later.”

“Asshole.”

His grin was quick and a bit forced. Couldn’t blame him for that. Mine was too. But then he damn near killed me when he reached in and gave me a quick half hug, slapping me on the shoulder as he let me go.

“You stink,” he said, covering the awkward moment. “Go shower.”

He left me before I could get another word in. I was grateful as hell.

The gym fell silent, stinking of sweat and mold. I closed my eyes tight and then shook it off, striding out of the room. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I stared down at my text messages, my hand shaking. I couldn’t stop it.

I couldn’t stop myself from texting either.

RhysThis: Hey, Tink. What you up to?

Seconds later, my knees felt weak with relief when little dots formed at the bottom of the screen as she typed in her answer.

AngryTink: Who is this?

A smile pulled at my lips, my chest already feeling lighter.

RhysThis: Rhys. The great and powerful.

AngryTink: I thought that was The Wizard of Oz.

Chuckling, I took the stairs to my loft.

RhysThis: Close enough. You’re no longer in Kansas, little girl.

AngryTink: I’m going to ignore the little-girl part. Because it reeks of misogyny.

My steps grew lighter, faster, the smile spreading over me like a wave. I could breathe again.

RhysThis: I thought you were going to ignore it?

AngryTink: Anyway … Why are you texting?

Because I need you. I need your sass. I need you …

I tried to shake the thought away. It was a weakness I couldn’t afford. But the thought remained. I needed her.

Shit.

AngryTink: Rhys? You there? Or did you run off the road on that mildly enjoyable bike of yours? Please don’t tell me you’re texting and driving! That’s illegal, you know.

Huffing out a laugh, I answered.

RhysThis: You enjoy my bike, huh?

A pause, and then she replied.

AngryTink: A little. Just a little. And you didn’t answer.

RhysThis: Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m at home.

AngryTink: Sweetheart?

She sent an eye-roll emoji and then: What’s up? Is there something you need?

You. Here. Please.

Shit, I had to get out of this. I didn’t know what to say.

AngryTink: Actually, it’s good you texted. I need you.

For a hot second, the bottom dropped out of my stomach. She needs me. My heart rate kicked up like I’d just gone ten brutal rounds with a top opponent. She needs me. I was about to smile, about to text her back with something like: Thank Christ. What took you so long?

Another text dinged.

AngryTink: Argh. That sounded wrong! Sorry. Distracted. I need you for another “date.”

I was a damn fool. An idiot. Of course that’s what she needed. What the fuck was wrong with me? I was getting soft and stupid on a girl that would never fit in my world. And I’d never fit in hers.

My thumb hit the screen hard as I tapped out my reply.

RhysThis: What is it this time? Croquet with the queen? Watching yuppies row their little crew boats?

It took her a bit to answer. Time enough that I felt remorse for taking a cheap jab.

AngryTink: Not that I don’t love a good crew race, but no. It’s a garden party on Saturday. Yuppies will be in attendance. Can you handle that? Or do the yuppies scare you too much?

I had to give it to Parker; she was a fierce competitor. She’d block any hit I sent her way and followed through with an excellent counterstrike.

Like that, I was smiling again.

No. No. No.

No more smiling at texts. This is business, you moron. Play your part.

RhysThis: Babe, for the money you’re paying me, I can handle anything you throw my way. ;-)

She didn’t answer with her usual sass but simply sent me the time I was supposed to pick her up. Completely professional. Exactly what I wanted.

Then why did it feel like yet another defeat?

I was still pissed off at myself when Dean popped in an hour later. “You want to go have a drink?”

Anything beat sitting around trying not to think. I needed to be Rhys again. Have some damn fun for one damn night.

Twelve

Parker

The low-level chatter escalated in the Irish pub as the bar owner, who’d introduced himself as Bill, announced a ten-minute beer break. I shared a bemused look with my friends. We’d never been to a quiz where there was a beer break for the “quizmaster.”