"That's a nice way to put it. After I got into a lot of trouble and was suspended from school, my mom signed me up for this wrestling class for kids."
I smile. "You got hooked."
"Yeah, the rest is history."
"And the anger tantrums?"
He cocks his head to the side, a funny look plastered on his face. It's more of a personal question than a professional one. I clear my throat and straighten in my seat. “You're right. None of my business. Do you have any hobbies other than MMA?” “Sure. Krav Maga.”
I roll my eyes. Tomayto, tomahto. Krav Maga is just an extension of MMA.
"You’re called The Zombie in the XWL. Why?"
“People say my eyes look kind of dead when I enter the ring." He pauses. "And all the other cool names were already taken.”
I laugh, and this makes him grin, like he's succeeded in doing something he wasn't sure he was capable of.
"Why do all MMA fighters have huge, dead-ugly, in-your-face tattoos?"
"Multiple blows to the head?" He scrunches his face, and I laugh again, and now his face practically radiates happiness. “Same reason the mob throws around body parts in neighborhoods—to spread fear.”
I stare down at the next question on my notepad and fidget in my seat. That's an awkward one, but I had no problem running it with Jesse, so Ty needs to answer it too.
"You make sweet money—50k per fight, and another 75k per win. Hey, dude, just reading your stats." I smile angelically as his face tenses. "What the hell are you still doing on the wrong side of Concord?"
"I like it here. It's close to the gym, to my friends..." He shrugs. "And it's not like I'm rich or anything. I get by, but I can't fight more than three or four times a year, I need time to recover, and paying for the gym, equipment, nutritionist, etc., drains your bank account." He lets this sink in before he finally adds. "Last but not least, I'm not money-driven, and neither are you, Blaire."
My chest tightens. I'm glad he picked up on that. I'm not sure how, but he did. It's one more step toward not being referred to as Barbie.
"What’s the worst injury you’ve taken in a fight?"
“Broken nose, arms, legs. Cuts, blood loss. Hematoma right above my brow. I looked like the elephant man for two weeks.” He touches the bridge of his nose, smiling, like the memory of it is sweet and laced with nostalgia. God, he is crazy. And sexy.
"Er...okay." I lose my balance, going through the pages without focusing on their content. It's still too hot for my liking, but I'm starting to think it might just be me.
"Are you nervous about your fight with Eoghan Doherty? June 13th is less than two months away."
“No, but he should be.”
I continue the interview with a lump in my throat. The AC is on, and I know why I'm hot. I'm hot because I'm nervous. I'm nervous because I hated what I've seen outside his house, in his yard.
But I still can't hate him.
Frankly, sadly, I'm not even close to hating him right now. And that's just a crying shame for Heart and Brain.
Chapter Ten
I’m not ready to face Ty again yet, now that I've seen the fence, the bra, the letters.
After mentally falling apart.
I go to the I Prevail gig with Shane the next night, and he finds himself a shiny, new toy while I’m in the bathroom. A freshman, American history major named Gemma.
Well, at least he's off my back now.
Time drags painfully slowly all week. Izzy is still working abroad, and I spend my days lonely as a cloud. Everyone around me seems to be busy with life, with planning their summer, with living, while I go back to floating through life aimlessly, with only school to keep me going. If you really need a description of what my life looks like right now, I'll keep it short and simple: meh.
I study during the days and work at night. Ty calls once, the day after the interview while I was at the concert with Shane, but I didn't pick up. A pile of text messages he left remains unanswered.
Sunday: Feel like catching a movie or something?
Monday: So I tried listening to Neck Deep, that band I saw on your playlist. What's their deal? They sound like Blink-182, but they're British.
Tuesday: Hey gorgeous, your music sucks
Wednesday: Have I been humped and dumped, Barbie? I'm shocked and hurt
Thursday: Okay, the shock and hurt just turned into anger. WTF, Blaire?
Friday: Fine.
This was his last word. Fine. Only it isn't fine, because I keep thinking about him. I just can't give in and date him. Rottweilers don't turn into neutered Chihuahuas. I don't want to get hurt, but my days without him seem empty, boring, lacking. I'm desperate to stay away. I need to stay away. But I'm no longer sure which will hurt more—staying away or seeing him.