Caged (Mastered, #4)(127)
“Aunt Suzette,” Deacon said coldly to the dark-haired woman who’d slithered between Clark and Sissy. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Of course I wanted to be here to welcome your new girlfriend.” Suzette offered a slim, bejeweled hand. “I’m Suzette Atherton. Deacon’s aunt. This is my husband, Leonard.” He was so tall he had to crouch a little to shake her hand. Then Suzette said, “And this is our son, Clive.”
A good-looking, dark-haired man close to Deacon’s age, overdressed in a three-piece camel-colored linen suit, ambled closer with obvious reluctance. The slight sneer twisting his mouth lessened his attractiveness. His blue eyes, a shade darker than Deacon’s, scrutinized Molly for what seemed an eternity.
Deacon’s fingers tightened on Molly’s. “Clive. Are your mom and dad paying you to put in an appearance?”
“Of course I wasn’t invited, but when has that ever stopped me? My curiosity overruled the potential boredom of this family dinner. But now I think”—he shot Molly an unreadable glance—“it will prove to be a very interesting evening.”
How was she supposed to survive this? They were all looking at her like she was a green-skinned alien.
Bing cut through the group and stopped in front of Deacon, clapping him on the shoulder. “Tell us about your next fight.”
“He doesn’t know who he’ll fight next,” Warren said from the sitting area.
So the boy could speak.
Deacon faced him. “Actually, being that the fight with Needham ended so fast and I’m still in fighting shape, I’m fighting Duke Watson next weekend. His original opponent is out with an injury.”
Molly forced herself not to react. So soon? Why had he dropped this bomb in front of his family? Was she supposed to act like she’d known?
“Duke Watson is tough. Tougher than his record indicates. I’ll bet he’s not about to have a four-course French meal, regardless of who he’s fightin’,” Warren drawled.
Deacon moved closer to his cousin. “Yeah? According to Watson’s PR team, he eats nails for all three meals anyway.”
Warren snorted and didn’t look up from his phone. “And his press team swears he drinks the bitter tears from his enemies to wash it down.”
“Watson likes to think he’s invincible. I’ll prove him wrong.” When Warren didn’t respond, Deacon said, “You a fan of Watson’s or something?”
A blushing Warren looked up at Deacon with worshipful eyes.
That’s when Molly knew she’d found an ally in this family. She sidestepped a stunned Deacon and sat across from Warren. “I believe Warren is a fan of yours, Con Man.”
Warren blushed harder.
“That’s cool, Warren,” Molly said with a grin. “I’m a big fan of Con Man too. Have you seen him fight live?”
He shook his head. “Just on YouTube.”
“It’s scary. When he fought Needham last weekend, I thought I might throw up when he took that hit.”
“That was the only hit Deacon took,” Warren reminded her.
A serious fan, then. “The first time I watched him fight, he used this beautiful spinning back fist to knock out his opponent. So I asked him to show me how to do it in his kickboxing class the next week.”
“Did he show you?”
“No. He made me run through all the punching and kicking drills two extra times for even asking him.”
Warren completely charmed her with a shy, crooked grin. “So he’s a hard-assed teacher?”
“You have no idea.”
“You take jujitsu too?”
“Nope. Just kickboxing. It’s therapeutic to pound out my frustrations a few times a week.”
Deacon set his hand on Molly’s shoulder. “That’s where we met. It took her a while to agree to go out with me.”
“Only because you tried to kill me first.” Damn. Given his history . . . wrong thing to say. She quickly backtracked. “I’ve got a much higher aerobic threshold now. I don’t start wheezing the first minute of class.”
“I’d probably be wheezing too,” Warren said. “I don’t need an aerobic threshold for golf.”
“You golf for fun? Or on your school team?” Deacon asked.
Molly couldn’t get over Deacon’s interest in his cousin. He had a puzzled look, almost as if he’d never seen him before. And he was being . . . chatty with a teenager. Very odd behavior.
“Warren is ranked a top-twenty player for high school golf for the state,” his father inserted proudly.
“He’s already garnered the attention of some top scouts from Ivy League colleges.”
Warren scowled. “One scout, Ma. Don’t make it out to be something bigger than it is.”
“Watch your tone with your mother,” his father warned.
“Geez, don’t act like I’m something special in front of Deacon! He’s a professional athlete. He’ll probably fight for the world title in the next couple of years. The world title!” he repeated with awe. “That’s impressive. Competing in the Texas high school state golf tournament doesn’t compare.”
“You’re right. Fighting uses brute force versus the skill and finesse used in golf.”