Forbidden - Karla Sorensen Page 0,80

man I wanted, and his lack of trying stemmed from something entirely different. I just wasn’t sure if he’d ever trust me with the truth of why.

After parking my car, and making sure I didn’t see Aiden’s big black truck, I let myself into the gym and smiled at Gavin, who was on the phone behind the front desk. He mouthed something, but I couldn’t make it out.

I pointed back to my office. “Tell me later,” I said.

He gave me a thumbs-up.

But as soon as I cleared the front area, I knew what he was trying to tell me.

Aiden was standing in front of a small news crew, an attractively dressed woman holding a microphone in his face. He hadn’t seen me yet because he was angled away from the front door.

“And what’s the biggest problem you see facing young fighters today, Aiden?”

With his hands propped on his hips, a black shirt bearing the gym’s new logo tight across his chest, Aiden looked so serious, so handsome. He shook his head. “No doubt about it, it’s the way the weight classes are set up. If they don’t add more, you’ll just see more and more big guys dehydrating themselves going into a fight so they can make a lower weight class.”

She nodded. “And why do you see that as an issue?”

“If you’ve got someone who weighs in at one ninety before the match, but normally weighs two fifteen, and he’s going against a guy who’s a healthy one seventy-five, you will have more injuries. Serious ones too. Not just the injuries that can come from a fair fight. It’s one of the reasons I was ready to be done when I retired.”

She smiled. “No chance you’d ever return?”

“No, my fighting days are over. I’m excited about what we can accomplish here.”

I shifted my weight, and Aiden noticed.

He did a quick double-take, and his countenance went as dark as a thundercloud. Head down, I walked back to my office and hoped it would be a very, very long interview.

The newscaster started speaking again, and I closed my office door.

“Well, shit,” I whispered.

I got to work because I had a feeling my door would burst open, and a very tall, very angry man would be behind it as soon as it did.

As I was staring at the computer screen and clicking through a few things, my phone buzzed.

Molly: Ooooooooooh, PAIGE TOLD ME ABOUT THE LINGERING EYE CONTACT. You owe me stories.

* * *

Molly: I need something to distract me from wedding stress. Why didn’t we just elope on a beach with our families??

* * *

Me: It’s not too late, Mol. You still can.

* * *

Molly: Don’t think I don’t notice how you deflect.

* * *

Me: See? Wedding isn’t getting you down. Still sharp as a tack.

The phone got tucked back into my bag, and when I heard someone knock on the door, I froze.

“Come in,” I said.

Gavin popped his head in. “Got a minute?”

“Of course. What’s up?”

He nodded at the clunky black wrist brace I was wearing. “How long until you can ditch that?”

“Another week probably. Thanks for covering for me this afternoon.”

“Sure.” He pulled his phone out. “I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to take any pictures or videos for our social media with that news crew showing up, so this is all I got.”

I flipped through a couple of shots, stopped to watch a quick video he’d snagged of Aiden demonstrating a few moves in the ring with one of our regulars. “These are great, Gav. Can you text them to me?”

“Sure.”

Gavin was only a couple of years younger than I was, one of our college students working toward a kinesiology degree. Once he had that piece of paper, and whatever else he decided to add to his education, he’d be far more qualified for this job than I was. But moments like this made me even more thankful Amy had taken a chance on me.

Now I just needed the big, angry guy out in the main area to figure out his issues so I didn’t have to worry about my place.

Or my heart.

Standing a few inches taller than my five-foot-ten, Gavin studied my forehead after sending the text. “You’re gonna have a badass scar.”

I smiled. “Totally my intention.”

It was at the moment I was smiling up at him that a very large body stepped into the doorway of my office.

“A minute of your time, Ward,” he all but growled.

Ahh. We were back to Ward.

I’d never had the sound

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