Rook's implacable calm took on a scalpel-sharp edge. "The right answer."
Chapter seven
Rook
Rule #9: Ask before inviting friends over.
Idodged a right hook, barely managing to keep Spencer's glove from pelting my nose. But then he jabbed with his left and landed a glancing blow to my cheekbone, which smarted but left him open. I'd already set up my takedown with my hands, which was why I'd allowed the strike to land. I lunged forward, grappling my arms around Spencer's middle, wrapping my leg around both of his, and taking him down to the mat. If we were doing anything but shoot boxing, I might not have risked a knee to the face with that maneuver, but legs were off-limits in shoot boxing.
Spencer went down with a muffled "Oof," through his mouth guard. He tried for a kimura lock, and I slid away. Passing Spencer's guard was my downfall usually. What he lacked infootwork, he made up for in control and defensive maneuvers. As soon as I attempted a pressure pass, he locked his legs around me, rolled us, and had me in an armbar in two seconds. I could fight it, but in a sparring match, it wasn't worth the sore tendons. I tapped the mat, and we both leaped to our feet.
Breathing hard, Spencer slid his mouthguard into his MMA-gloved hand and stared at me through the long strands of sweat-drenched brown hair that had escaped his top knot. "Dude. Who pissed you off? I think you bruised a rib."
I panted hard, resting my hands on my hips and not bothering to take out my own mouthguard. "Hands up."
Spencer barked out a laugh. Ignoring me, he walked across the blue mats in my building's gym and swiped up his white water bottle from the wooden bench. Behind him, the wall of mirrors reflected my sweaty, drooping appearance back to me. My hair was plastered to my forehead, and I had a V of sweat from my shoulders down to my navel that darkened my gray shirt. Even for me, I looked a bit rough. MMA gave me goals to work towards, and it was the only time I didn't feel intensely uncomfortable about another person touching me. It could be a little tough on my body at times, though.
I used to swim in high school, but I didn't do that anymore. Not after the coach I'd had in senior year. I knew trauma when I saw it, even if it was mine, but I wasn't interested in examining it. I did MMA with Spencer now. That was the end of it.
Spencer squirted water into his mouth, draining the last of his water bottle. "I'm done. You're just going to keep slamming me into the mat. I've got a date tonight, and I don't want to show up looking like Rocky Balboa in the ninth round."
Sighing in disgust, I ripped off the Velcro band around my six-ounce gloves. "Fine."
As I spit out my mouthguard and tossed it into the utility sink on the other side of the gym, Spencer asked, "For real, man. You're off. Did you lose a patient?"
I hesitated a touch too long. "Yes."
"Lies," Spencer accused loudly. He had a matching sweat pattern down his red, sleeveless shirt, and he grabbed a towel from the bench to swipe down his arms. The guy was huge, objectively. He added a regular weightlifting routine to our twice-weekly MMA sparring sessions and liked obstacle course races. If he hadn't stumbled his way through med school and become a pediatrician, I was absolutely certain he would have been an obnoxiously cheerful personal trainer instead.
I wiped a towel around the back of my neck. "Fine. I have a new roommate."
Spencer froze, his towel still on his bicep and his brown eyes doing a rapid double blink. "What, like… someone who lives with you? Or a girlfriend? Is this Rook-speak for fuck buddy?"
"See, this is why I wasn't going to tell you," I glowered. "I'll tell you how it happened, but you arenotmeeting her."
"Her?" he asked with incredulous joy. While we put away our gear and wiped down the mats, I told Spencer about my mother obsessing with getting me married, the way she'd tricked Gemma into cohabitating with me, and the marriage clause in our contracts. As we set the folded mats against the mirror wall, Spencer frowned. "So, she's stuck with you for two years?"
"I'm trying to convince her to marry me," I admitted.
Spencer looked like a sweepstakes winner. He grinned with sadistic glee. "Did you say ‘marry?’ Oh my God. Your mom won. She actually did it."
"It's not real," I growled, bending down to swipe up my gym bag. "We'll get a divorce as soon as we manage to break the lease."
"Yeah, but what if you end up actually liking her?" Spencer had that ribbing tone he took up when he saw a soft target. Spencer was one of those men who looked tall, burly, and intimidating. He wore his dark hair shaved along the bottom and in a top knot on top, and it gave him an unapproachable, Viking-like appearance. But on the inside? He was warm and gooey like brown sugar oatmeal. And he gave more to his patients than any other doctor I knew. But he also delighted in pranks and teasing, and there was no one easier for him to needle than me.
I laughed humorlessly. "No."
"No? Why? She dresses in all camo? She still attends Sunday school with her parents?"
"No, she's just… no." Honestly, I didn't believe myself, there. Although I had a hard time admitting it, I'd been attracted to Gemma since the first moment I'd met her over a month ago. She had almost careened into me coming down the stairwell of our building, and instead of catching her, I'd side-stepped her. She hated my guts, but I couldn't help but admire her despite that. I was attracted to her bubbly enthusiasm like lightning to a ten-foot pole.
Spencer laughed darkly. "Now I have to meet her."
"No."
He sucked in a fake, wincing breath. "If only you hadn't shared all your keypad codes with me."
"Spencer," I warned.
