I could even utter, “Huh?”
“Just think about it before you do anything, okay? Promise me.”
Damn, I couldn’t fool Ren Miller. Not even for a second.
“I promise.”
I sure hoped I could keep it, but first, Dean Hayes needed a tongue-lashing of a different kind from his PR manager.
And I was going to enjoy watching his dumb ass squirm.
4
Dean
We flew back to Sydney on Monday morning, and it was straight back to the grind that afternoon.
By we, I meant Josie, Lincoln, Violet, and myself. Coach was sticking around in Melbourne for a while to spend time with his daughter Ren, and we’d been left in Josie’s capable hands until he returned. Josie didn’t know a thing about training a pair of pro MMA fighters, but she did know how to keep us on the straight and narrow.
Linc and I had our own private gym set up not far from the Sydney CBD and super close to the beach, which was something we’d never had living in Melbourne. Not a surf beach with lifeguard towers, bluebottle jellyfish invasions, and rips that could suck you out into the open ocean. Swimming wasn’t my strong suit, but occasionally, we went out for a change of pace from the same four walls.
It was the polar opposite of Melbourne, and I missed home sometimes, but we had it pretty good.
Glancing at my phone, there were no messages. Deep down, I knew Monica wouldn’t call or text, but I couldn’t help but hope. The door was pretty much closed, but I still had my boot jammed in the crack, keeping it open…just in case.
A laugh sounded from the opposite end of the gym where my brother and his girl were tangled together, and I frowned.
I looked at Lincoln and how he was with Violet, and I wondered how they did it. They’d been together for a year and a half and still hadn’t toned down the public displays of affection. It was still like day one, and I wondered if that’s what it was meant to be like when you found the right woman.
How would I know?
Throwing my phone into my gym bag, I pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it, too. Wearing nothing but a pair of shorts that were stamped with the sponsor’s logo, I padded across to the bars, one eye on my brother and his girl. They were full-on going for it, kissing like they needed a bloody room, and I felt a weird pang of annoyance. It’d never bothered me seeing them together before, so why now?
I could probably have a good guess and hit the nail right on the head. I was the last man standing.
Shit, the realization kind of pissed me off when I thought about it like that. The one woman I did want had never really wanted me back.
What was I going to do about it? The hell if I knew. The only thing I had in my control right now was my training, so I trained.
I curled my hands around the bar above me and pulled myself up, relishing the feel of my muscles tightening as my arms bore the weight of my body. My chin cleared the bar, and I held for a moment before letting myself down again. My feet didn’t hit the mat as I went for a second repetition.
I was up to ten when Josie appeared in my peripheral vision. I was vaguely aware that her arms were crossed over her chest. As always, she was dressed in business casual with a pair of black slacks and a pretty top, her six-inch heels dangling off one finger. Heels and gym mats didn’t mix.
“What’s up?” I asked, pulling myself up for rep eleven of twenty.
She didn’t answer straight away, and I knew she was pissed. There were two things I knew about that woman and one of them was her silent treatment. She was formulating a response that didn’t include expletives, and it was taking longer than usual. Which could only mean one thing.
Somehow, she knew I’d gone to see Monica on Sunday.
She couldn’t seem to formulate any words, so she held up her phone. Glancing at the screen as I lowered myself, I caught the headline. AUFC Star Dean Hayes Spotted at Fitness First. Then there was some garbage speculating about a potential sponsorship.
I snorted and pulled myself up on the bar again. “That’s just junk. It’s not even an official site.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Josie said. “Sponsors read this shit, Dean.”
“That’s what