Driving Her Wild. Meg Maguire
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