“Me too.”
“Good. I’ve got plans for us as soon as you get that dirt off your face and I get cleaned up.”
“What kind of plans?”
“There’s some flower show, farmers’ market thing at the Botanical Gardens. I thought we could stroll around. See what’s what, since you like flowers and shit.”
Flowers and shit. She fought a grin.
“Oh, and I used all the tickets we won from last night and got this for you.” He dug in his bag and handed her a box.
“For me?” Molly grinned so widely more clay crumbled from her face. She tore open the end of the box and tipped the object into her hand. Her heart clenched at seeing the retro, miniature black cat with a curved plastic tail, complete with oversized cat eyes that moved back and forth with every tick of the clock centered in the cat’s belly. A larger version of this clock had hung in Grams’s dining room for as long as she could remember.
“I saw you looking at the one in your grandma’s house when you walked through the last time. I thought about stealing it for you, but I figured your asshole cousins would get pissy and blame you. I saw this last night and . . . figured it’d be the next best thing.”
She swallowed hard, completely undone by Deacon’s sweetness. No one had ever taken such care and consideration in giving her a gift. “It is perfect. Thank you.”
Molly knew right then she could totally fall in love with this man.
• • •
THE look on Molly’s face when Deacon strolled into kickboxing class on Tuesday night was priceless.
Surprise, babe.
He surveyed his students. Then he grinned. “Miss me?”
A loud chorus of no’s rang out.
“Aw, now my little feelings are hurt. And if I hurt, you hurt. Push-ups. We’ll start with twenty.”
“Start with?” a young guy he’d never seen before repeated.
Liv elbowed him and shook her head.
“You’re right, newb. Twenty ain’t near enough. Forty.”
No one dared complain.
“And, ladies, none of those ‘on your knees’ girl push-ups. Everyone does everything the same in my class unless I say differently. Drop to plank position.” He wandered between the rows, making them hold plank, just for fun. “And . . . go.”
By the end of the hour, newb looked ready to puke, Presley was red-faced and breathing hard, Liv was actually lying on the mat groaning, and Molly . . . Well, good thing he was wearing a cup.
Hell yeah, he’d missed teaching.
* * *
FRIDAY afternoon Molly cut out of work early to make Presley’s roller derby match in Colorado Springs. Since they had a photo shoot scheduled for Saturday, she and Presley planned to stay over.
Deacon insisted on attending the match, but he had five-a.m. training Saturday, so he’d drive back to Denver afterward. Which was why they were in separate cars.
Molly hadn’t seen the need to caravan to Colorado Springs, but Deacon insisted. Of course, he insisted on being the lead car in his fancy-ass, fast Mercedes. He’d started off nine miles an hour above the speed limit. She’d followed him at that pace for ten minutes, until paranoia about higher insurance rates forced her to return to the speed limit. Within five minutes she’d lost sight of his car completely.
Her phone rang. Hmm. Wonder who that was. She answered, “Yes, Deacon?”
“Where are you?”
“Behind you. Driving slower than you because I can’t afford a ticket.”
“They’re not gonna ticket you for nine over, babe.”
“I’m a rule follower, babe, which means I obey traffic laws. I don’t care if that makes me lame.”
His sigh indicated he thought it was lame. “I’ll slow down. Speed up until you catch me.” He hung up.
Tempting to ignore his order. Instead she cranked on the radio and sped up, passing cars until she reached his. She pulled in behind him and waved like an idiot.
Mr. Badass NASCAR didn’t wave back—big surprise.
That night the Denver Divas kicked serious ass. The bout was a rout and the ladies were ready to celebrate, so it sort of sucked that all the Divas except for Presley hopped in their team van and returned to Denver.
Molly checked in at the front desk, while Presley and Deacon waited in the lobby. When she returned with the room keys, she winced at seeing her friend’s injuries.
The right side of Presley’s mouth was swollen. Two spots of blood remained crusted beneath her nose. A bruise had started to form on her cheekbone. Presley managed a wan smile. “Looks worse than it hurts—doesn’t it, Con Man?”