Caged (Mastered, #4)(63)
“Cardio and endurance. Why?”
“Just wondered if you’d recovered from Courey’s hit yesterday.”
“Oh, you mean from his cheap shot? Yeah.”
“I know you don’t like him.”
“He’s an arrogant prick.” Deacon pushed to his feet. “So I can see where you two would get along famously.”
Maddox laughed. “There’s method to my madness. I swear.”
“Tell me.”
“Not yet. Yours is not to question; yours is to do.”
That shitty Yoda impression always cracked him up. “How much longer will Courey be training here as your guest?”
“Depends.”
More of the usual cryptic bullshit from Maddox. He liked the guy, but sometimes he f*cking hated him too. “That cleared things up. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Did you hit the strip club last night for Beck’s birthday party?”
Deacon shook his head. “Now that I’m with Molly, my strip-club days are over.” He narrowed his eyes at Maddox. “And if you tell anyone that, I’ll tell everyone you’re cruising nursing homes for your new girlfriends.”
Maddox whistled. “Low blow, my friend.”
“Hey, you’re the one who confessed hooking up with your senior-citizen lady friend after I told you about my strip-club fallout with Molly.”
“Because I thought we were male bonding over our woman problems,” Maddox shot back and batted his eyelashes.
“Fuck off.”
“You’re too easy. And FYI: Alicia does not qualify for senior-citizen discounts.”
“Yet,” Deacon stressed. “But her hitting that golden-age milestone next year will make your date nights cheaper.”
“You’re an ass. I don’t know why I tell you anything.”
Deacon grinned. “Now you’re getting it, Jedi Master.”
“Get outta here.”
“I’m goin’. See you tomorrow.”
He shouldered his bag and left Black Arts through the back door. Two o’clock. Normally he’d go home, shower, eat, and spend the rest of the day watching fights on the UFC channel or destroying his opponents at WoW.
But that seemed like a waste today.
Deacon wanted to be with Molly. And he hated that she’d acted cagey last night when he’d asked about her plans today.
She’s your girlfriend. It’s your right to know what she’s doing. And aren’t couples supposed to be joined at the hip and shit on weekends anyway?
With that justification in mind, he headed to her place.
? ? ?
MOLLY needed a personal spa day.
She waxed and shaved. She soaked in a lavender-infused bath while deep-conditioning her hair. Then she coated her skin with a coconut-oil-based lotion.
As she plucked her eyebrows, saggy, sallow skin stared back at her. Yuck. It was past time for a toning mask treatment. She slathered a thick layer of clay on her face. While that dried, she decided to give herself a pedicure.
She settled on her sofa, surveying her spa-day essentials. Miranda Lambert playing on her iPod. A detoxifying kale, spinach, cucumber, and lemongrass shake for lunch. The latest issue of InStyle magazine queued up on her tablet. Her nail buffer and the glittery orange polish for her pedicure.
Time alone to reflect on the recent changes in her life while she pampered herself was the perfect way to spend her afternoon.
She jammed the pink foam spreaders between her toes and slicked on the first coat of nail polish. After she propped her feet on the coffee table, she hummed along with “Gunpowder & Lead” and sipped her shake. It tasted like crap, so it had to be good for her.
Four loud, hammering knocks rattled her apartment door.
Had to be Nina. She’d sent Molly several text messages since she’d run into her Friday night.
Molly tightened the belt on her robe as she carefully walked on her heels, trying not to smudge her toenail polish. She detached the safety chain and unlocked the door, not bothering to check the peephole. She should have.
Because it wasn’t Nina standing in the hallway, but Deacon.
A wide-eyed Deacon as his gaze roved over her from her forehead to her toes and back up. Then he said, “Babe. Why did you hit yourself in the face with a cream pie?”
She screamed and slammed the door in his face.
This was not cool. He did not just show up unannounced and interrupt her personal time after she’d told him last night that she couldn’t see him today!
Two knocks sounded, less forceful than before.
“Molly, let me in.”
“Go away.”
“I’m worried about you.”
She frowned at the door. “Why?”
“Did you hurt your feet or something? I saw those splints between your toes.”
For the love of god. Seriously? He thought she was injured? Had he never seen a woman give herself a pedicure before?
Then she remembered his confession she was his first girlfriend in fifteen years—so he’d probably never seen this girly shit, either in real life or on TV. She doubted Deacon McConnell watched anything that didn’t have explosions, car chases, gratuitous sex, and violence.
But the pie-in-the-face comment was insulting.
So educate him.