Driving Her Wild

You are... You are just so exactly who you are, aren’t you?

Good ol’ Pat from Boston or Brockton or Woburn, with his electrician’s license and steel toes and his daily stop at the Dunkin’ drive-through. She took the napkin, wrapping it around her cut and skirting the mess. She didn’t dare stay in this man’s orbit another second. He’d probably manage to set her hair on fire.

He called, “Sorry, Stacy.”

“It’s Steph,” she shot back.

“Sorry.”

She jogged up the steps, imagining running into her dream man as he left Spark. Tall, with dark hair, crisply pressed shirt, warm smile, smelling of oak.

And her with a swollen nose, bleeding hand, dressed for a jog and stinking of the effort. Please let there be no men around.

She was in luck. Through the tall windows that faced the stylish foyer, she spied only a woman at a desk, typing on a laptop. She’d caught sight of Rich’s girlfriend on a previous visit to Boston—she had dark blond hair, so this brunette must be Jenna.

Steph approached the open door, more anxious than she’d ever felt stepping into the ring. She knocked timidly on the frame.

Jenna glanced up. “Hello!” She stood and rounded her desk, dressed in a smart skirt and tall boots, all shiny bangs and pink cheeks and white teeth. “Welcome to Spark. How can I help you?” If she was weirded out by a sweaty woman showing up in her threshold with no appointment and a bloody napkin in her fist, she hid it shockingly well.

“Hi, I’m Steph Healy. I just started working downstairs.”

“I figured that had to be you. I’m Jenna. I own Spark, and I’m engaged to Mercer.”

“So I hear.”

Jenna went in for a shake but Steph kept her hands clasped, letting Jenna see the napkin. “Little mishap.”

“Oh goodness.” Jenna frowned and grabbed a water bottle off her desk, wetting a tissue. “Give it here.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Steph crumpled the napkin and offered her palm.

“Ouch,” Jenna said, dabbing at the scrape. “If this is Mercer’s fault I’ll be chewing him out. Your first day and already you’re all banged up.”

“I had a run-in with one of the contractors.”

Jenna fished in her purse and tore open a Band-Aid. It wouldn’t last long once Steph was gloved and working out, but she politely let Jenna fuss.

“He’s the reason I got this, too,” Steph said, pointing at her nose.

“That was quite a run-in.”

“They were separate incidents.”

Jenna’s eyes widened.

“He’s not a very good contractor,” Steph offered.

“Apparently not.” Jenna tossed the bandage wrapper and leaned on the edge of her desk, waving at a nearby chair. Steph sat.

“It’s so good to meet you,” Jenna said. “Mercer’s been wringing his hands for months, convinced you were going to change your mind.”

Steph smiled. “He told me. But I like it down there.” Dangerous electricians aside.

Another woman appeared then—Rich’s girlfriend, Steph was nearly positive.

“This is Steph, from downstairs,” Jenna said.

“Oh right! Welcome to the building.” She came forward for a shake. “I’m Lindsey. Is your nose okay?”

“Yes, it’s fine. Nice to meet you.”

Lindsey wore slacks and a deep purple sweater over a dress shirt. This seemed to bode well. Both Mercer and Rich had managed to land themselves polished, professional partners, despite their vocations. She stole a quick glance at the engagement ring twinkling on Jenna’s finger, and some hybrid of jealousy and hope sparked in her belly.

“Just here to say hello?” Jenna asked. “We must look really dull compared to the action downstairs.”

Steph shrugged. “Feels like I’ve been living in gyms the past ten years.” She gave the office and its modern furnishings an appreciative scan. “This is exotic, trust me.”

“Rich said you’re from Mass,” Lindsey said, sitting on her desk.

“Worcester.”

“Nice. I’m from Springfield. Jenna’s a California transplant, but even she was technically born here.”

“It’s hard to stay away.” Steph had traveled all over—South America and Europe, Asia and Australia, and until a couple years ago, she’d thought she’d never settle in New England. Then some instinct had kicked in, like a salmon getting called back up the river. “I just moved to Fort Point.” She liked her temporary neighborhood, a collection of old factories and brick office buildings straddling the border of Boston and South Boston, only ten minutes’ walk. Twelve if the icy headwind off the harbor was really blowing.

“You just retired from fighting, right?” Lindsey asked.

“Yup, all done.” Steph seized the segue. “I got sick of all the traveling. I’m ready to get rooted somewhere. Settle down.”

“Nice.”

“Rich said you’re looking for a roommate.”

Lindsey nodded. “I am. I feel stupid paying rent for a two-bedroom when I’m hardly ever there. You in the market?”

“Yeah. Rich said I should come over some weekend, see if it’s a good fit...?”

“Great! Beats wading through the weirdos I might find online.”

Excellent. One bit of matchmaking accomplished. Now, how to broach the second? Thankfully, Jenna wasted no time in steering them there.

“Do you have a boyfriend here?” she asked, eyes wide and eager.

“No. But I’d like to find one. Or at least get back into dating, now that I’ll finally be in the same city for more than a couple weeks at a time.”

“Well,” said Lindsey. “We can help with that.”

But Jenna’s smile had faltered. She didn’t seem to agree.

“I wanted to ask how Spark works. And how much it costs, all that sort of stuff?” Steph held her breath.

Jenna nibbled her lip.

“It’s okay,” Steph said, wanting to offer her a polite out. “If you’re not taking new clients, or...”

“It’s not that. I just honestly don’t know if I’m allowed to let you join.”

Steph’s heart sank. She knew she should have changed. She was probably wrecking Jenna’s swanky cachet by even sitting here.

“Technically you’re my employee, since I own the gym,” Jenna explained.

“Oh.” That was a small relief. Though still a let-down.

“Would you let me join the gym?” Lindsey asked Jenna.

“I hadn’t thought about it like that.” She frowned. “I’ll have to call the head office. But if it’s kosher, of course I’d be happy to have you.”

Steph’s mood brightened. “I wasn’t sure if... I know Spark is for professional types.”

“You’re a professional ass-kicker,” Lindsey said. “Plus Mercer’s your employee,” she added to Jenna. “If we’re talking about inappropriate workplace poaching, here.”

Jenna rolled her eyes and spoke to Steph. “I’ll be frank—I don’t know how our male clients would react to the prospect of a date with a woman who fights. But I think you’d make a very interesting addition, and I’m sure I could find you some matches...if not as many as I might for a woman with a more, um...traditional job.”

“I figured.” Her profession tended to divide guys into a few distinct camps. The insecure jerks liked to call her femininity into doubt. The perverts suggested she might want to wrestle with them, preferably naked and covered in oil. And the polite but not-into-it guys smiled stonily and immediately ceased viewing her as girlfriend material. But one thing had long ago become clear—the majority of men didn’t relish dating a woman who could best them at chin-ups.

“I’ve found it challenging myself,” she admitted. “I’d be fine if you marketed me as a martial arts instructor. That’s technically what I am now, and I think it intimidates guys less.”

“Do you know what you’re looking for?”

Did she ever. “A nice, grown-up, professional guy. With a half-decent car and some kind of dress sense.” She pictured that hopeless Patrick guy, and all the other incarnations of him she’d dated. “Somebody moderately sophisticated.” Who’d take her to a nice restaurant instead of the corner bar, so she could dress up and feel girly after all these years of training and touring. A man who’d make her feel like a lady, not a chick.

“I’ll call the powers that be first thing tomorrow morning,” Jenna promised. “Give me your number and I’ll let you know the verdict.”

She scribbled it on a Post-it, feeling hopeful. As she handed it to Jenna she said, “I promise if I get a date with one of your clients, I won’t go dressed like this, or all banged up. I’m just on a coffee break, and I knew you were closing at five, so...”

Jenna waved the excuses aside. “If any two matchmakers are sympathetic to the hazards of your job, you’re looking at them.”

“Okay, great. Fingers crossed. I better get back downstairs.”

They said goodbye and Steph jogged down the steps, mindful to approach the double doors with caution. In her absence, Patrick had moved his debris and tools to the side, and she hurried through the threshold, half expecting to trigger an explosion.

The dangerous man in question was at the other end of the gym, standing beside another worker at the emergency exit, scratching his head as they stared at a mess of wires spilling from an electrical panel.

God help him, Steph thought.

He was one of those men who just floated cloddishly through his life, helped along by those endeared by his good looks and hapless charm. Probably had sympathetic teachers who’d passed him so he could stay on the hockey team. Likely was coddled by girlfriends even after he’d forgotten their birthdays three years running. She knew his type well enough to make these wild assumptions—her younger brother was exactly the same. The lovable, harmless oaf.

She touched her nose. Well, perhaps harmless wasn’t quite the word for Patrick.

Steph loved her brother too much to feel bitter toward this kind of man, but a part of her did find it unfair. She’d had to work three times harder than any man in her field to be taken seriously, had to push herself to succeed, since so few people at the top of the MMA food chain cared to invest their energy or resources on a female fighter. Women didn’t get juicy coaching deals or promotional opportunities, not the way the guys did, and Steph’s biggest payday for a professional fight had probably been as much as what a guy like Rich earned before he’d even signed with an organization.

She was a hard worker and she loved her job, but she was tired of struggling financially. She hoped she’d find an equally driven man, someone in a competitive—if civilized—field, who could offer the financial security she’d been missing her entire life.

Her family had been pretty poor, her father losing a good job as a machine mechanic when his factory was bought out in the nineties. After the layoff, Steph’s mom had started working behind the deli counter at their local supermarket to supplement their income “until things picked up.” Two decades later, she was still there.

Once upon a time, they’d been able to pay for Steph’s first karate classes without a care, but those days were short-lived. If she’d pushed herself to excel—at karate, judo, jujitsu, MMA—it was because being an overachiever had garnered her favoritism. The kind that had allowed her to keep coming to classes at a discount or in exchange for doing odd jobs around the dojo. Martial arts had never been a simple extracurricular to Steph. She’d loved it the way other girls loved horses or ballet or boys. And she’d fought to keep it in her life.

Still, she’d been doing this for over twenty years. She was tired. She’d never grow weary of the physicality of the sport, but the financial struggle... She was ready to leave that behind her. Wanting a man who could offer that wasn’t shallow—it was practical.

She eyed Patrick as she stripped out of her warm-ups.

Handsome, to be sure. Sexy even, and probably perfectly sweet despite the alarming frequency with which he caused her bodily harm. But even if her blood quickened at the sight of him, her rational brain knew what a guy like Patrick would bring—more struggling, little stability. Maybe a great sex life, but that wasn’t a fair trade-off, not if it came at the price of all that uncertainty.

She wound medical tape around her injured hand and pulled on her gloves, ready for the evening’s first workout. Down here it was business as usual—physical strain, sweat, satisfaction. Beyond these walls, though, things could be different. Would be different. A sophisticated man waiting for her at a restaurant, maybe kissing her cheeks, if that happened outside the movies. She’d let him teach her which wine went with which dish. Show her how it tingled to kiss a man who tasted of burgundy or merlot.

“Son of a—”

Steph whipped her head around at the sound. It was Patrick, of course. His averted cuss had accompanied an unmistakable zap! and a flickering of the lights. He shook out the hand he’d shocked. “Sorry!” he told everyone who’d turned, flexing his fingers. “My bad.”

At least it wasn’t me that time.

He was over it in a moment, back to joking with his colleague.

God help you, she thought again, watching him.

And God help the poor woman who falls for you.

2

STEPH WAS WORKING early the next day, and during lunch she checked her voicemail, finding a message Jenna had left at nine-thirty. The woman was as good as her word. She sounded chipper, asking Steph to swing by Spark when she had five minutes. Heart thumping with cautious hope, Steph jogged up the steps, smoothing her hair.

Both matchmakers were in the office, eating sandwiches off brown deli paper.

“Oh,” Jenna mumbled through a bite, chewing impatiently. She swallowed and blurted, “It’s you! Yay!”

“Hey, it’s me.”

Lindsey waved, also preoccupied with her lunch.

“Good news,” Jenna said, beaming as she dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Turns out you are allowed to join Spark, if you so wish.”

“Yeah?” Steph couldn’t hide her smile. Even if the service cost an arm and a leg, it wouldn’t burst her bubble. “That’s great.”

Jenna nodded. “I just can’t give you preferential treatment and I have to disclose to any potential dates that you and I are affiliated.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“It’s not. And actually, if I can speed you through the application process, I have a man who’d love to meet you for a drink tomorrow night.”

She blinked. “Tomorrow? Wow, you’re good.”

Jenna laughed. “It was a little flukey. He’s a brand-new client, and I wound up emailing him last night with some follow-up info, and we had a little back-and-forth. Anyway. He’s a doctor.”

Steph nearly gasped. Play it cool, Healy.

“Sports medicine,” Jenna continued. “He works with a lot of the hockey players over by the Garden. He likes active women and I happened to mention I may have a client coming on board who’s a fighter, and he was very intrigued, to say the least. Plus he says he likes redheads.”

“Hey, two for two.”

“Is thirty-six okay?”

“Yeah, fine by me.” An older man. Sounded heavenly after all these years surrounded by twenty-something dudes. “Is he cute?”

“No,” Lindsey interjected. “But he is ha-a-nd-some.” Her eyes rolled back in dramatic rapture. The girl ought to know handsome—she was dating Rich Estrada. “I saw his photo. He’s hot.”

“I haven’t even signed up and you found me a hot doctor who’s okay with my gig?” Steph asked Jenna. “Are you a sorceress?”

“I can’t legally let you see his picture until you’re a client. And technically I don’t think I’m allowed to bait you with as many details as I have. But would you like to sign up? He has to work late tomorrow, on site for a game, but he’d love to meet you before he goes out of town for the weekend. The game’s over around ten. Would drinks after that be too late?”

She considered it. “I could probably swap for the closing shift and meet him someplace in between.” She wasn’t an early bird, anyhow. And for a chance with a hot, sporty doctor? “Does my nose look presentable?” It was still tender, but she’d lain with an ice pack on it for an hour before bed and the swelling was way down.

“Much better,” Lindsey said, nodding.

“Okay then. Sign me up.”

Jenna assembled a stack of forms and Steph scanned them. The membership was pricey, but the decision felt right as she handed over her credit card.

“And, submit,” Jenna said, clicking something on her computer. “Welcome to Spark!”

With that scary first splash into the deep end accomplished, it was time to start paddling. “What should I wear on this date?”

“Depends on the bar, I suppose.” Jenna’s eyes narrowed. “But it’s supposed to snow tomorrow, so I don’t think anyone can fault you for dressing sensibly. Maybe some fancy jeans and a nice sweater?”

Damn, Steph had some shopping to do. Her closet was seriously bipolar—sweats and sneakers on one side, a couple of short, glitzy cocktail dresses on the other, procured for the wild after-fight parties that had become her only excuse to wear heels these past few years. She owned exactly one pair of jeans, and they weren’t fancy by any stretch of the imagination—not unless a hole at the corner of the butt pocket was this season’s hottest trend.

Downstairs, she fairly floated through the afternoon sessions. Her final match had been three weeks ago, and she could feel the effects of her lighter workouts. She’d put on a couple pounds and lost some definition, but she didn’t mind. She liked having a strong, trim figure, but it was nice to feel a little softness coming back, the perennial aches and pains fading. She was a fighter, but she was a woman, too, and could handle forfeiting her jiggle-free backside if the pay-off was an extra cup size.

“So,” she said to Mercer, as they wiped down the heavy bags after a cardio session. “Guess who’s got a date tomorrow night.”

“That was fast.”

“I know. But it’s not until late. I’m happy to take the closing shift, if that’s helpful to anybody.”

“I’ll be on a plane to California tomorrow night,” Mercer said.

“Oh right, you mentioned that.”

“My former protégé’s got a match in L.A., then we’re visiting Jenna’s folks. So I guess it’s up to Rich. When are you on ’til?”

“Seven.”

“Friday’s sparring—Rich won’t volunteer to miss that... Just come in at two and I’ll give you both the closing shift. I can cover the morning by myself.”

“If you’re sure.”

He grinned. “Heaven forbid I get in the way of anybody’s romantic plans. Especially if they’ve got Jenna’s fingerprints all over them.”

Excellent. Now all she needed was a decent outfit.

Mercer eyed her. “I bet some guys can be real dicks about the fact that you can beat them up.”

She smiled grimly. “Some are. But they’re not always nasty to my face. The worst date I ever had was with this guy I was practically half in love with, after knowing him only a few hours. He seemed perfect. But then...” She had to laugh, looking back on it. “This man tried to mug us, and I wound up choke-holding him.”

Mercer laughed. “Nice.”

“Like, in a dress and heels. I had him on the ground for twenty minutes, and my date had to call the cops.”

“And did he ever ask you out again, after that?”

She shook her head. “He said he would, but nope. Not a peep.”

“Do you wish you’d just let the guy mug you?”

“Nah. I’m proud I’m not defenseless.”

“You ever try dating another fighter?”

“I have.” On the road, any given gym was practically man-meat banquet in the run-up to a big event. “But at the end of the day, the last thing I want to talk about after a training session is UFC gossip, or the carb content of a baked potato.”

“I could see that. So what’s this guy do, the one Jenna found you? Do you know?”

She tried and failed to bite back a grin. “He’s a sports medicine doctor.”

“Ooh la la, look at you go. That’s the kind of friend we could use around here. Do me a favor and marry him.”

And since Steph was practically drunk on possibility, she imagined exactly that.

* * *

THE HOT DOCTOR was hot. His digital profile photos proved it, and he was funny to boot, and polite, and he’d typed his Thursday-night introductory email in full sentences, with capital letters and punctuation. His name in the signature—Dylan Benedetti—was followed by an exciting parade of authoritative initials, none of which Steph could translate beyond the M.D. Barring a Bruins medical crisis, they’d be meeting at eleven-fifteen the following night, at a trendy bar only a few blocks from the gym, near Boston Common.

News of Steph’s date spread instantly. Rich ribbed her non-stop through their Friday shift, proving himself a bottomless well of medical innuendo.

Patrick, the least qualified electrician ever licensed in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, was busy testing the new security system all day. Steph found the frequency with which he peered at exposed wires and muttered, “That’s weird,” highly disconcerting. More disconcerting still was that he’d apparently arrived at seven, yet was still working by the time the evening sparring session was winding down. If he wasn’t sandbagging to scam his boss for extra pay, he had to be plain old incompetent.

Steph and Rich were sitting on the mats, facing one another, cooling down after the evening’s sparring. Their soles were pressed together, and they held hands, taking turns leaning backward to stretch the other’s hamstrings and arms and back. The thirty or so members who’d braved the snow and ice for a chance to scrap were doing the same, more than a few looking skeptical about the exercise, or perhaps the hand-holding. Wilinski’s boxer types might have power on their side, but they could stand to adopt Steph’s regimen of flexibility drills. She was only too happy to torture them into better shape.

“Be careful with this fancy doctor guy,” Rich warned. “One flash of that stethoscope and he’ll have you disrobing before your starters even show up.”

She rolled her eyes at him.

“He’ll probably want to dress you in one of those paper robes and get freaky with the tongue depressors.”

Steph leaned way back, reveling as Rich winced. His turn came to pull, and she let him tug her all the way forward until her arms and chest met the floor.

Rich laughed and eased her up. “That ain’t natural.”

They got to their feet and Steph could feel the past couple hours’ exertion in her muscles. She should be exhausted to boot, but with every minute that ticked by, bringing her date closer and closer, her heart beat quicker. She’d hoped the workout would burn off the nervous energy, but nope.

Still, she was prepared. She’d taken Jenna’s advice, finding herself an overpriced pair of stylish jeans and a pretty cashmere sweater. The promised snow had arrived, so heels were a non-option, but Steph had brought a pair of dressy black boots that looked good under the jeans.

“Okay!” Rich shouted to the group. “Everybody hit the showers, stat. Steph’s got a hot date and needs to make herself pretty.”

A bunch of the guys taunted her with seedy whistles.

“Make it quick,” Rich added. “He’s a doctor.”

They chided her with extra oooohs before dutifully heading for the exit and locker room.

Steph looked to where The Worst Electrician Ever was messing around with the security panel. “Why is he still here?” she murmured to Rich.

“The locks aren’t engaging or something. He said it’d be fixed in ten minutes.”

They walked to the edge of the mats, and Steph turned on her heel and gave the workout area a quick bow, the respectful reflex ingrained by years of jujitsu. “When exactly did he say that?”

Rich made a face. “’Bout four hours ago?”

Misgiving squirmed in her middle.

Fifteen minutes later, the members had all cleared out and she and Rich exchanged an uneasy look.

“My sister’s car’s in the shop,” Rich said. “I’m supposed to pick her up from her shift at ten-thirty.”

She eyed the clock. She absolutely had to be out of here by eleven sharp, but that gave Patrick forty minutes to fix whatever he’d messed up. “You go ahead.”