Rough Around the Edges Read Free Page A

too, then. I don’t think I could lose if you were screaming my name from the audience.”
    She recoiled, leaning back the tiniest bit as an almost comical look of surprise flitted across her face. A moment later, it was gone and she was wrinkling her nose at him. “That’s not going to happen.” Her tone was cool but her cheeks were as red as the gloves the guy on the next bag over was wearing.
    She stepped past him, leaving him with a vague sense of satisfaction but no real hope of seeing or speaking to her again before Friday night.
    When she paused, it proved that he didn’t know much about her, besides her name. “I hope Cameron doesn’t pair you up with Sanchez again. He won’t take it easy on you next time – especially not in front of a paying audience.”
    With that, she hurried out the door, admitting a blast of air as cold as her words. Melissa followed her, the way her lips twitched at the corners betraying the fact that she was trying not to smile.
    The icy March air did little to cool the heat that had risen to the surface of Ryan’s skin. So much for not making an ass out of himself. He’d rarely, if ever, acted like such a smartass since leaving New York. And he definitely hadn’t spoken to anyone that way during the past nine months.
    The weird thing was, he wasn’t sorry. Ally had heated him inexplicably from the inside out and some forgotten part of him had boiled to the surface. Maybe that part of him was a jackass, but at the moment, it was impossible to care. All he could think about as he resumed his combinations on the bag was making her blush again.
     
* * * * *
 
    Dinner. Ryan had forgotten about it until he’d stepped through the front door of his apartment, trading the outdoor chill for the almost-warmth of the one-bedroom end unit. As soon as he’d put a foot over the threshold, hunger had pounced on him like a feral cat.
    A hollow feeling filled his middle as he scanned the undecorated dining and living areas as if a hot meal might magically pop out of one of the walls, or maybe materialize on the couch or small kitchen table – the only real furniture.
    Neither happened, and after locking and bolting the door behind himself, he dropped his gym bag and started toward the fridge, resigned.
    He scanned its interior, his gaze roving over a mustard bottle, a half-empty gallon of milk and a package of butter sticks. Reluctantly, he eyed the lower shelf on the inside of the door. As usual, a grey cardboard carton of eggs was his salvation.
    Why didn’t he go shopping for real groceries? He wondered that every evening when he bothered to make something for himself instead of going out to pick up something for dinner. Truth was, he couldn’t cook worth a damn. Eggs were easy, and they were full of protein – something he’d need more than ever now that he was training again.
    And competing. An unexpected smile crept across his face as he lifted the carton out of the fridge and closed the door.
    Just thinking about Friday night felt good. Envisioning the ring he’d sparred in that day, he turned, pulled a frying pan from the drawer below the fridge and smeared the inside with the end of a cold stick of butter. For the first time since he’d come to Baltimore, he went through the routine motions wearing a grin. The reason was simple – he couldn’t think of the sparring ring, or the Knockout gym at all for that matter, without thinking of Ally.
    Why, he couldn’t say. Maybe it was because she was beautiful and passionate about MMA – a knockout combination, as corny as that was. And then there was the intriguingly contradicting combination of the confidence she’d displayed at first and the way she’d blushed when she’d spoken to him for the second time before exiting the gym. His grin widened as the scent of heated butter rose from the frying pan.
    He cracked all three eggs and used a fork to whisk them into a blur of clear fluid and sunshine yellow yolk. There was no