The Beat and The Pulse Box Set 2 Page 2

  I watched as she wrote on it, wondering if I was about to get in her pants and trying to gauge how wild it would be, when she said, “You’re not getting lucky, FYI.”

  “Damn, and here I was picturin’ you naked.”

  She winked, her eyes twinkling. “Was it as good for you as it was for me?”

  Damn.

  She slid the coaster across the bar with a long, slender finger. Her nails were painted black, and I suddenly realized she was kind of cool. A no bullshit kind of woman. One hundred percent not Josie and one hundred percent not interested in banging behind the bleachers. I couldn’t remember the last time I was ‘just friends’ with a chick. I don’t think I was ever just friends with one to be totally honest.

  “What can I say? You’ve caught my interest,” she said, filling my glass again. “If you ever want to talk like human beings, give me a call…Goblin.”

  “And what’s your name?” I glanced up, but she’d already moved down the bar, serving the next lot of customers.

  Peering at the coaster, I grinned. She’d scribbled her name and number on the coaster in blue pen. Lori. Suited her down to the ground.

  Lori.

  She didn’t even look back and bat her eyelashes at me. There hadn’t been boobs in my face when she’d served me, either. She was genuine and said shit like it was. I wondered how long she’d been here, hiding behind this bar where I never saw her. One little conversation and it was like I was looking at a diamond in the rough, its surface uncovered and the depths it went to still waiting to be excavated.

  Glancing down the bar, I watched her reach up and grab a bottle from the top shelf, her T-shirt riding up and revealing what looked like a large tattoo across her back. Not one of those ugly tramp stamps but an entire back kind of badassery.

  Lori, huh?

  Somehow, I reckon I’d just learned a lesson in not being a self-absorbed asshole.

  The coaster was burning a hole in my jacket pocket.

  I guess going to The Underground to get drunk was a good thing—even though I’d left mostly sober—because my eyes had been opened. I’d been lording it around that place like I was a king, never looking outside of what was right in front of me.

  Josie was always straightforward and to the point. She had directness down to a fine art, but I supposed that’s why she was so good at her job as PR manager for the Hayes Twins. At the thought of those pansy-ass wankers, my blood began to boil. My girl had feelings for another man. She hadn’t said it, but I saw the way she’d looked at Dean at the wedding. She looked at him like she wanted to drop to her knees and suck his cock.

  Pulse Fitness was quiet this morning. The gym my best mate, Ash Fuller, ran was top of the line, but I didn’t expect anything less from the man. When he opened up the place, I’d come to check it out because that’s what friends do for one another, but now I was a regular. It was a proper fighter gym and catered for hard-asses like me.

  After a couple of turbulent days, I was keen to hit the weights and think about nothing but repetitions for a couple of hours. Things had been good for months, then all of a sudden, they’d gone boom. If it weren’t for gravity, I wouldn’t know which way was up.

  “Hey.”

  I glanced up as Ash appeared beside me. I wasn’t surprised to see him here at the ass crack of dawn considering he lived in his fancy apartment upstairs.

  I’d been fighting at The Underground for something ridiculous like five or six years, and I’d known Ash since the day he’d walked through the front doors. He’d steamrolled everyone in that joint in record time, including my ass on several occasions, and somehow, we’d become friends despite the time he’d broken my ribs in six places.

  We were the same height, but he was a great deal heavier than I was. His muscle mass was off the charts compared to mine. If this were the AUFC, I’d be in the welterweight division and he’d be in the heavyweight. Two vastly different worlds.

  I didn’t want to bulk up anymore than I already was. It worked for me, so I ran with it. Brawn didn’t always equal a guaranteed win against a smaller guy or create equal ground with a dude in the same weight class.

  “I didn’t expect you until later,” Ash went on.

  “I needed to feel the burn,” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant about it.

  “So,” he began, crossing his arms over his chest. He was wearing a navy blue T-shirt that said trainer over his right man boob. To Ash, the word translated to therapist when it came to dishing out advice. It was always unsolicited, too.

  I rolled my eyes. “Don’t even say it, mate.”

  “How can I not say anything?” he asked. “Everyone saw…and heard.”

  Remembering how everyone’s eyes burned into us while Josie ripped out my heart like a pro, I scowled. “Don’t remind me.”

  “Are you good?” he asked. “Because I’m around if you need—”

  “Spot me,” I interrupted, nodding to the bench press.

  Ash raised an eyebrow but didn’t try to rub it in. “Right.”

  Once I’d secured the weight I wanted to lift, I laid down on the bench and gripped the barbell, positioning my spine and shoulders. Last thing I needed was to add a couple of torn muscles to the pile of things that were already broken.

  Doing a couple of lifts, I felt the familiar burn through my muscles. The movement was so familiar I let my mind wander a little. Instead of going to the obvious source of my heartache, it went to The Underground and Lori. That was a mystery if I ever saw one.

  “Hey, did you ever know that chick behind the bar at The Underground?” I asked as Ash helped guide the barbell back into the brackets so I could take a short breather.

  Ash grinned. “You trying to get over Josie by getting laid?”

  “Fuck you. You’re such an asshole.” I lifted the barbell off the brackets again as he spotted. “I did that on Saturday night after the weddin’.”

  He let out a laugh. “Dude. How did that work out for you?”

  I rolled my eyes. “How do you think, asshole?”

  “Who behind the bar?” he asked after a moment.

  “The one with the black hair. I think some of it is blue, too.” I knew her name, but I wasn’t keen on letting Mr. Muscle know that I’d already spoken with her. It seemed a little soon after Josie to be chasing another woman even though Lori implied she wasn’t looking for anything sexual.

  Ash snorted. “You mean the rocker chick behind the bar? The one with the tattoos?”

  “Shit, even you know her.” I slid the barbell back into the bracket and sat up. I was thoroughly annoyed now.

  “Yeah, but you never go to the bar.” He shrugged. “Until Josie broke it off with you.”

  I scoffed. “What else was I meant to do? I got my dick wet, and that didn’t help. I tried to get drunk, and that didn’t help.”

  “Want some advice?”

  “I never understand why you ask,” I complained. “You just dish it out anyway.”

  “True that,” he said. “Look, Hamish…I know you had your heart set on her, but she wants different things. I never saw her giving up her career, and I definitely never saw you giving up The Underground.”

  He was right. I’d always known my life was too small for Josie, but I had tried to make things work. I couldn’t give up fighting, but that was my burden to bear. It was also my choice. I couldn’t force that on Josie if it made her unhappy. I also couldn’t force her to love me.

  “I know,” I said, wiping my palms on my shorts. “You don’t have to lay it out like that.”

  “So you’re cool with this?”

  “No, I’m not cool,” I snapped. “She ripped my heart out in the middle of the dance floor at your weddin’. She’s all about timin’, that one.”

  “Ren wasn’t pleased with her,” he said. “Causing a scene like that.”

  I grunted. It didn’t matter anymore. Going after Josie again after our umpteenth split was suicide. Even I was smart enough to realize this was the
last time. There’d be no obliterating make up sex in our future.

  “Why were you asking about the bartender?” Ash asked, doing a complete one-eighty and changing the subject.

  I shrugged.

  He thumped me on the back. “Don’t hold out on me now.”

  “Nothing happened or will happen.” After the disastrous one-night stand I’d had on Saturday night, I wasn’t keen on a repeat performance.

  Ash raised an eyebrow. “So?”

  “What do you want me to say?” I barked.

  “What do you want me to say?” he shot back.

  “She gave me her number,” I blurted, fed up with this whole bloody conversation. “But she just wants to be friends.”

  “And what’s wrong with that?”

  “Since when have I been friends with a woman?” Never in my entire life. Women were for fucking and for marrying when you found the right one. Damn, did I really think that was the right way to treat them? God, no wonder I couldn’t keep my mitts on Josie.

  “You’re friends with Ren,” Ash stated.

  Fucker. “I hate how you’re always right.”

  “I think you should take a stab,” he said, thumping me on the back again.

  “It wasn’t a pickup,” I complained.

  “Exactly. Being mates with a chick might give you some insight.”

  “Insight into what? The feminine mystique?”

  Ash laughed like I’d delivered the punch line in a joke. “Nah, I meant you need to get out more. All you’ve ever done since I’ve known you is fight and chase women. Mostly Josie. I’ve never seen you take a beat, you know?”

  “No, I don’t know,” I said with a scowl, bristling at the mention of her name.

  He rolled his eyes. “Trying to explain shit to you is like banging my head against a brick wall.”

  “Are you sayin’ I’m stupid?”

  “Dude, just be friends with the chick. Lori was always nice to me, and if she wants to be mates with the likes of you, then she’s got just as many balls as Ren does, and Ren’s got giant steel ones.”

  Damn, he even knew her name. How had I been so self-absorbed all these years and never realized I was an elitist asshole? Here I was under the impression I was an ‘all for one and one for all’ kind of guy.

  “Get up off your ass and go message the woman,” Ash said, shoving my shoulder. “I’ve got shit to do, anyway. Training those numskulls Cole and Ryan.”

  “How’s that goin’?”

  He laughed, shaking his head as he walked across the mats. “Did you not hear me say the word numskulls?”

  Drawing in a deep breath, my chest rose to capacity, and then I let the air out in one big whoosh. Should I text Lori? I was mostly worried about the whole separation thing. I’d have to put a muzzle on my dick because it was hardwired to find the nearest female opening like a heat-seeking missile. Once it was locked on target, there was no stopping it.

  Lori had been clear on what she wanted from me in five words or less. She was another kind of direct, and I liked her balls. She was a chick, she had all the parts that said she was, but her resolve seemed to be built like a steel wall. Maybe this friends thing could work. Maybe it would be good for me, all things considering.

  Rising to my feet, I strode into the change rooms. I pulled my gym bag out of the locker I’d stashed it in and retrieved my phone. I knew it was probably too early to text since she worked nights and all, but I figured she’d wake up later and see my message then.

  Taking a deep breath, I thought about what I should write. What did you say to women you were trying to be friends with? All I knew were pickup lines.

  In the end, I went with, Hey, it’s Hamish. You said to text if I wanted to talk. I’m texting.

  Then I tossed my phone back into my bag and went back out into the gym, trying not to be the clingy asshole who checked his messages every two seconds, agonizing over getting a reply or not. Lori would text back, or she wouldn’t.

  I’d reached out at her request, and now it was up to her.

  4

  Lori

  I didn’t hear from Hamish after that fateful Sunday night.

  A few days had passed since I gave him my number. I’d seen him at The Underground a few times, which just rubbed salt into the wound I’d opened to take a chance on him. He’d been fighting as per usual but hadn’t come back to the bar once. He hadn’t used my number either, and I began to think he was everything everyone said he was supposed to be—a macho male asshole who only looked at women when he wanted a good time.

  Maybe he was worth knowing, or maybe he wasn’t. Who was I to pass judgment on a guy I only knew at face value.

  I guess I was disappointed. My life revolved around this stupid bar and trying to scrape together enough coin to pay the rent. Not everyone who scored a gig in this hole was lucky enough to earn the big bucks.

  Staring across the tiny kitchen of the little miner’s cottage in the depths of Clifton Hill, Melbourne—the little cottage that was so old it was falling down around us, but the landlord still charged a premium for—I jumped a mile when my housemate, Belinda, appeared in front of me.

  “Shit, don’t do that,” I cursed.

  “Do what?” she asked, flipping her hair back over her shoulder. “Walk into the room?”

  Bel was a stereotypical twenty-something with a trendy office job in the city, long mousy brown hair with bleached blonde tips, naturally tanned to perfection, tall and slender like a catwalk model and the wardrobe to match. She even had the bloody thigh gap that all women wanted because fashion magazines told them it was desirable. The first time I saw her stuff a double cheeseburger into her mouth like a football player was the moment I realized I could be jealous of another woman’s biological makeup.

  Sitting on the countertop, I dangled my legs over the edge and swung them back and forth while I waited for my phone to charge enough so I could turn it on and check the plethora of messages I would have gotten between two a.m. and eleven this morning. Which would be zero, but I was a compulsive checker ever since I recklessly gave my number to Hamish, the Goblin.

  “Why aren’t you at work?” I asked as Bel opened the fridge and stared inside at the contents. Which was a carton of long-life milk and a couple of prepackaged cheese slices. “You feeling sick?”

  “Hung over,” she replied. “I went on a bender with the girls last night. Can you believe that bitch Jane picked up the hot bartender at Dark? Bitch.” She rolled her eyes and slammed the fridge door closed.

  I laughed to myself. Bel and I were housemates and friends to a certain point, but we couldn’t be any more different. Yin and Yang and all of that. She had her circle of friends who shopped at H&M and Topshop because it was the hipster thing to do, went out drinking fancy cocktails in six-inch heels and tiny dresses, and were in bitter competition with one another to see who could pick up the hottest guys they could find.

  In stark contrast, I was tattooed up to the eyeballs, more interested in going to see punk and metal bands, drank cheap beer, shopped at Savers and secondhand stores, and avoided men like the plague. Until…well, you know.

  “Is there any food in this house that’s not dairy?” Bel complained. “Like that’s not going to make me throw up.”

  “I think there’s some bread and jam in the cupboard,” I said as I switched my phone on. As it came to life, it pinged with a message. I guess Hell did freeze over on occasion if I, of all people, was getting a message.

  Hey, it’s Hamish. You said to text if I wanted to talk. I’m texting.

  I hesitated, my inbuilt flight mode wanting to shut off the phone and ignore the little blue square of text. Checking the timestamp, I saw he’d sent it just after seven a.m. What was he doing at seven in the morning? He’d fought last night. I’d seen him at The Underground where he’d pretended the bar didn’t exist and had pegged our whole exchange as a one-time affair. I’d had a little spark of hope, but I knew all about not letting it turn into an uncontr
ollable wildfire. Now he was messaging me, and I didn’t know what to do. I’d been so full of bravado the other night it was almost unnatural.

  I sat there watching Bel put some bread into the toaster and wondered what I should write back. What the hell did people talk about, anyway? Should I be clever, or nonchalant, or casual?

  My finger hovered over the keyboard, and finally, I punched in, I’m listening.

  Hours went by, and I cursed myself for being such a needy bitch. This wasn’t about romance. It was about the lost art of friendship. Everyone was so busy trying to get into each other’s pants to try out new positions to fuck in, they’d forgotten how to relate to one another. I just wanted to relate to someone who was like me. Problem was, I was just different enough not to fit into anyone’s idea of ‘like them,’ so I was basically screwed.

  “Hey,” Bel said as I shuffled into the lounge room. “I thought you’d gone to work.”

  No, I’d been in my room, headphones on and listening to angry music all afternoon. Hunger had been the only thing that had roused me from my stupid depression. I’d made myself vulnerable where Hamish was concerned, and I didn’t like it, being all needy and starved for attention within five minutes of meeting the guy. I was the tough rock chick who could play hardball like a pro with the big boys.

  Truthfully, I was lonely…but was I ready to come out of my shell again?

  “I’m not on shift tonight,” I said, flopping down onto the couch.

  “Want to watch a really bad movie? I’m still pissed at Jane and need to wallow. She texted me to rub it in, the bitch. Apparently, the bartender was good. Like she actually got an orgasm good. Ugh.”

  I was yet to meet a man outside of my ex who could give me an orgasm better than my right hand, so I just laughed and shook my head.

  “Don’t laugh at me. I’m totally jealous,” she said. “So. Movie?”

  “Depends on what it is.” Bel’s idea of bad movies were romantic comedies, which didn’t really float my boat being anti-love and all.