Broken Beautiful Hearts(63)

“I’m not playing twenty questions. MMA isn’t my thing. End of story.”

“Come on. Give me something. Friends are supposed to tell each other stuff.”

“Aren’t you the guy who was giving me a hard time about the friends thing?” I ask.

“I’m not saying I wouldn’t go out with you if the option was on the table, but it’s not. I guess you’ll just have to wonder what it would’ve been like since we’re just friends.”

“So what happened to make you hate MMA so much?” he asks.

I hate lying to Owen, but everyone has secrets. I’m entitled to mine.

Telling him won’t accomplish anything. It won’t make what happened with Reed any less painful or frustrating or unfair. It will just stir up those shitty feelings again.

It’s not like every word I tell Owen is a lie.

This is one thing.

I told him how my dad died—something I usually keep to myself. He knows a lot more about me than I know about him.

“It’s my turn to ask a question. You said friends tell each other things, and we’re friends, right?” I’m using his logic.

“Unless you changed your mind.” He smirks and I poke his shoulder.

“Stop. I’m serious.”

“And you think I’m not?”

I roll my eyes. “Forget I asked.”

Owen reaches over and tugs my sleeve. “Of course we’re friends. Why?”

“Is everything okay with your mom? I wouldn’t ask, but I saw her crying in the car the other morning, and then she didn’t show up tonight.”

“It’s a long story, but the short version is that she thinks MMA is dangerous and she wants me to quit fighting. But she’s never done anything as extreme as what she did tonight.”

An LED sign up ahead reads: MMA REGIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP SEMIFINALS. I turn into a packed parking lot in front of an arena. It reminds me of the place where I saw my first concert.

Men and women carrying gym bags file through a side door while spectators line up at the main entrance. This is an amateur event, but the size of the arena and the number of competitors and trainers entering the building tells me it’s still big time.

I park and Owen looks at me. “Thanks for the ride. I mean it. You saved my ass. I’ll catch a ride back with Cutter, or I’ll figure something out.”

“What time does this end?” I don’t want him hitchhiking.

“Around nine. Why? Did you change your mind about watching?” He looks hopeful.

“No. But I’ll come back and pick you up. It’s only two hours, and I’ve always wanted to check out Nashville.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.” I shove his arm in a flirtatious move that would make Lucia proud. “I’ll meet you back here at nine.”

Owen’s eyes drift to the spot where I’m touching his arm. I move my hand, but he reaches up and presses his palm against mine, as if they’re lined up on opposite sides of a window. He interlaces his fingers with mine and rests our hands on his leg.

“Can I ask you a question?” he asks.

Any question that begins that way is one I probably don’t want to answer.

“Forget it. You won’t tell me anyway.”

For a girl who always picks dare in Truth or Dare, ignoring a challenge is impossible. “Reverse psychology? Am I that easy to read?”

“Just the opposite,” Owen says.

“What do you want to know? The name of the first guy I kissed? The worst thing I’ve ever done? My deepest, darkest secret? Hit me.”

“If you weren’t taking a break from dating and I wasn’t a kickboxer, would you have given me a shot?”

The inside of my mouth goes dry. What can I say? Admit that I’m attracted to him and that in an alternate universe I’d go out with him in a second? Doing anything other than making a joke or evading the question altogether is too risky.

“What kind of shot?” I’m giving him an out, even though I secretly hope he doesn’t take it.

“The kind that ends with me kissing you good night.”

I suck in a breath and end up coughing.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Owen stifles a smile.

“It takes a lot more than a good line to make me uncomfortable.” I throw him a sideways glance. “I bet you say that to all the girls who won’t go out with you.”

The corner of Owen’s mouth tips up. “Actually, there aren’t that many.”

“Like you’d tell me if there were.”

“That hurts, Peyton. Are you trying to break my heart?”

I shoot him an incredulous look, which isn’t easy when he’s fake pouting. “I’m not sure that’s possible.”

Owen brings our joined hands to his chest. “Every heart can be broken. Some just break more easily than others.”

“Do you always flirt this much?”

“Only on fight nights.”

I laugh. Owen makes me forget about the weight I’m carrying, and it feels good.

“What are you smiling about?” he asks.

“A girl can’t smile?” I’m flirting again.

“If the girl is you she can do whatever she wants.” Owen doesn’t take his eyes off me, and it feels like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Are you sure you don’t want to come inside?”