Page 27 of Strike
“I fight for money,” he said. “It’s illegal, it’s bad news, and it’s all I’ve got.”
I tensed. “What kind of fighting? What does that mean?”
“Cage fighting,” he replied.
“Cage…” An image of the fights I’d seen on TV came to mind. Blood, knockouts, the whole deal. “Like MMA?
“Yeah…like MMA.” He lifted his arm and rested it along the back of the seat behind me.
He was being evasive again, and I got the distinct feeling that what he was doing was far worse than ‘just fighting.’ I wasn’t sure what to think about it. Illegal and bad news was one hell of a description.
“That’s where I had to go on Friday,” he added.
I didn’t know if I should be relieved or not. He’d brushed me off to go fight some dude in a cage rather than hang out with me.
“Listen, Callie…”
I groaned and rolled my eyes. Every conversation that started with ‘Listen, Callie’ never ended well.
“What?” Mark frowned, and his arm tensed.
“You’re about to give me the speech, aren’t you?”
“What speech?”
“The one where you let me down gently and say ‘it’s not you, it’s me.’” I air quoted the last part. “You know, the one where you make up stupid bullshit to get out of seeing me again because you’re justnot that into me.” I snorted. “I get it. I’ve heard it a lot.”
“Fuck,” he muttered, running his free hand over his face.
“Yeah, fuck. The fat girl with her cakes has some bite.”
“You’re not fat,” he shot back. “But I won’t argue with the bite.”
“Don’t shit me, Mark.” I slumped back and fiddled with the straw in my drink. “This week has been the ultimate definition of fucked up. I just need a break.”
“I’m not shitting you,” he said, leaning closer. “I don’t deserve someone like you, Callie. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, and I don’t want you to be another.”
My heart began to wither inside my chest, and I stared at him. “I’m a mistake?”
“No, I’m the mistake,” he said, thumping his fist against his chest. “I’m not your hero, Callie. I can’t be.”
“Why not?” I asked stubbornly. “You risked your life for me. That’s heroic behavior whether you want to admit it or not. You’ve made mistakes? So what? The whole point of making them is what you do afterward.” He was staring at me, looking a little shell-shocked. “So what are you going to do? Huh?”
“I’m not a good guy, Callie.” He glanced away. “I’ve hurt people I should’ve protected, I…” he trailed off, and his jaw tensed. “Not like your firefighter buddy.”
I scowled. “What are you talking about?”
His entire disposition began to darken. “I saw you.”
“Saw me when?”
“Today. At your shop. You were doing that awkward thing you do.”
“Awkward thing I do?” I exclaimed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You did it on Friday, and you did it just before.” He sighed and bit his bottom lip. “I’m beginning to believe you do it when you like someone. Your cheeks turn red, and you stumble over your words…”
“I’m not awkward,” I lied. “And there’s nothing going on with Justin.”
