Going the Distance Read Free Page B

Delante’s and Rich’s victories secured, the final two matches were stress-free. By the time the main event was wrapped, Lindsey had officially caught the MMA bug. Swearwords she’d never uttered aloud had come streaming from her mouth unbidden, and she’d hopped to her feet so many times it was a wonder she hadn’t broken a heel or twisted her ankle.
    â€œAre you coming to the after party?” Jenna asked, organizing her purse. “Nothing glamorous, but free drinks once the press stuff is done. Merce and I could give you a lift later.”
    â€œCount me in. I could stand a little VIP treatment.” It wasn’t every day she’d get a chance to mingle in this strange, feral world.
    If she’d known she’d be going to an after party, she’d have dressed up a bit more. It was chilly for early fall and she’d worn jeans. Nice ones, with a cute top, but watching jacked, angry men attack each other had her feeling exceptionally feminine, and she wished she’d dressed to reflect that.
    Jenna had a pass to get them behind the scenes, and they followed the noise and activity to the threshold of a boardroom past the lockers. A long table was set up at the far end of the room with microphones, and the fighters sat behind it, all showered and dressed, answering questions for the small cluster of press people. Rich had changed into a suit, and Lindsey could make out the white bandage someone had applied to his temple.
    Most of the questions were for the bigger-name guys from the final matches. But when one reporter asked Rich how he felt about his “lucky punch,” he smirked and replied, “If this was archery, you wouldn’t be asking about my lucky bull’s-eye.”
    When the meeting disbanded, Lindsey and Jenna followed the crowd. They ended up in a fancy area for the corporate types who had box seats and season tickets, and the open bar was swamped. They spotted Mercer loading stuff onto a dolly, presumably to be taken back to Wilinski’s. Jenna hugged her boyfriend, and Mercer’s return embrace looked eager and possessive, making Lindsey a touch envious. She hadn’t felt the pleasant dig of strong male fingers at her back in ages.
    The couple broke apart, and Lindsey clapped Mercer’s arm in congratulations. “Happy, I trust?”
    He laughed. “There’s an understatement.”
    â€œWhat do you think—was it a lucky punch?”
    â€œRich doesn’t need luck. He hits like a truck.”
    â€œDo you wish he’d gotten a chance to show what else he can do?”
    Mercer shook his head. “Nah. Rich has that thing—that thing people love to hate. He’ll be even more of a draw if fans are dying for his win to be proven a fluke.”
    â€œWhere is he?”
    â€œBeing courted by managers, same as Delante. I need to get over there myself, keep an eye on the kid. You girls should get some drinks—I’m driving.”
    Lindsey and Jenna hit the bar, then wound up loitering in the concourse with a small group of guys who trained at Wilinski’s. They spent some time getting to know their mysterious, violent neighbors and trying to follow the postfight gossip.
    A bit later Jenna disappeared in search of Mercer, and Lindsey was starting to feel the hour, her adrenaline waning. She took a seat on a radiator, letting her heels drop to the floor, and checked her phone for the first time in hours.
    One text, from Brett. What time are you home tonight? It was from a couple of hours ago, and he was probably already in bed. The subtext read, “You’re going to wake me up, aren’t you? I need my beauty sleep. I’m a powerful lawyer.”
    Okay, that was a bitchy interpretation, but she had the spirit of it pegged.
    She tapped out, Not sure. Late. and shut the thing off. Suddenly wiped, she was tempted to contradict the message and head for the subway. Who knew how long Mercer would need to