7. Rook
Chapter seven
Rook
Rule #9: Ask before inviting friends over.
I dodged 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 in footwork, 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 are not meeting 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.
"I bet she's hot and you're just trying to hide her from me." He tapped the code into the stairwell lock pad and wrenched open the door. He didn't have an elevator key card, but he could get into my apartment anytime through the stairs.
I was too tired to tackle him. "It's bad manners to ambush a woman on her day off, man."
"Oh, now she's a woman, is she?" Spencer jogged up the two sets of stairs, his mirth over the situation practically a taste in the air. "I'll knock first." He did just that at the top of the stairs, but he didn't wait for her to answer. I had to hope that Gemma didn't walk around the apartment naked or something nutty like that. I wouldn't put it past her, but surely if she was living with a man…?
Spencer opened the door that led directly into my apartment, and I followed with a weary sigh. "Maybe you'll run her off. Have at it."
That only made him laugh again, and he strode into the foyer, his sneakers squeaking over the black marble flooring. He panned a look around the open living space until he spotted her gaming setup to the right. Gemma had tucked herself into the enormous, black leather chair, and she had a fluffy pink blanket cocooned around her body. Her headset blinked with a steady, purple light, and she wore a pair of blue-light glasses as she kept her attention fixed on her fantasy-based game. Only the sound of her clicking mouse and tapping keys filled the quiet space.
Spencer rotated an O mouth to me. "She's a geek? " Mini barked suddenly, skidding out of my bedroom and making a beeline for Spencer. "Oh shit." Spencer stumbled back.
I had to admit, if I hadn’t known Mini was a spineless bunny rabbit at her core, I would have been intimidated, too. She looked ferocious, and she stopped two feet from us with her lips drawn over her sharp canines. A growl rumbled from her chest and straight to my fight-or-flight response. "Mini, chill," I drawled.
She twitched a look at me, her ears pricking and expression falling into one of immediate docility. She whined. Spencer gave me an eyebrow quirk. "You have a pet werewolf?"
"Not me." I gestured with my chin to the still-oblivious Gemma. "Roommate."
Spencer slowly eased behind me like I was a shield between him and Mini. She hadn't taken her keen gaze off him, and her muscles bunched like she was ready for a fight. Spencer bent around me to look at Gemma again. "What's the point of having a guard dog if she can't hear her bark?"
Good question. Gemma, so far, had displayed a shocking lack of self-preservation, if you asked me. She'd thought nothing of signing a lease she didn't fully understand, and she'd almost gone for a walk alone at night in a major city. Shaking my head, I crossed the living room and came to a stop behind her chair. I spun it, startling her, and she stared up at me with her thick-lashed, cornflower blue eyes. I mimed taking off headphones, and she obliged, letting them hang off her neck.
"Hey, you're back."
I gestured with my thumb behind me. "That's Spencer. He wanted to say hi."
Spencer gave a wave, flinching away from Mini as she growled at him again. "Hi."
"Mini, bed," Gemma ordered.
The dog gave her a look like she was crazy. I stifled a laugh. I had to begrudgingly admit that Mini had the right idea in this instance. With one last stink eye for Spencer, Mini skulked off to her bed, but she stood at attention next to the kennel instead of lying down.
Gemma stood, taking off her glasses and unearthing herself from her pink, fluffy cloud. She was wearing a pair of low-slung sweats and a crop top that had the band of her sports bra sticking out from underneath it. Irrationally, I almost swathed her back in the blanket, and I was sure it was because Spencer's eyes went silver dollar huge. She waved. "Hi, I'm Gemma."
"Gemma," Spencer said slowly, like he was tasting her name. "Well, this is a surprise."
I glared. "Gemma, Spencer. Spencer, Gemma. You happy?"
Spencer grinned wolfishly. "Oh, I'm happy. How is it living with Dr. Crabby?"
Gemma snickered, sauntering across the living room to come stand in her bare feet with him in the foyer. "It wasn't my first choice." She had put her long blond hair into a style I recognized from my past interactions with her—two little half-up buns on top of her head and the rest of it sweeping the middle of her back. She looked like a mochi dessert, and Spencer looked like he wanted to eat her for a post-workout snack.
"Yeah, I did it in med school. Nearly killed me." Spencer held out a hand for her to shake. "Sorry for your trials."
Gemma took his hand, her eyes sparkling. "I might need to hit you up for survival tactics."
"Sounds like a date," Spencer said with a straight, white smile.
"Don't you have a date tonight?" I reminded him. Why did I sound so bitter? Why did I care? Why was I coming to join them instead of showering and getting dressed? I had this insane need to stand here and babysit Gemma like she wasn't a grown woman who routinely handled her own shit.
It was because Spencer was a charming predator, and she didn't know. That was all. He had a trail of broken hearts a mile long behind him, and I didn't want Gemma blaming me for my best friend's idiocy. Yes. That made perfect sense.
Spencer gave me a side look. "Thanks, bro."
"Some other time, then," Gemma smiled affably. Did anything affect this chick? "It's nice meeting one of Rook's friends—I honestly didn't think he was capable of having them."
Spencer looked at Gemma like she was the winning set of numbers to his lottery ticket. "A fair assumption, really."
"Do you come around often?" she asked, putting her blue-light glasses on her head.
I said, "Never," at the same time that Spencer said, "All the time." We exchanged surly glares.
Gemma snorted. "Well, hopefully, I'll see you sometime between never and all the time."
"Hopefully," Spencer agreed with a disgustingly charming wink.
Gemma's cheeks went pink. My neck got hot. Suddenly, Gemma's face drained of color, and she winced like she'd been hurt. Bending slightly at the waist, she said, "It was nice to meet you. I need to take Mini on a walk, but we should definitely meet up."
"For sure," Spencer said.
I slapped the down button on the elevator panel. "I'll call you."
"You're such a tender lover, Rook," Spencer said with a bat of his lashes. "You promise?"
"Get out of my house."
Gemma waved again and turned to head toward the powder room. She'd stashed all her clothing in there, but I'd been meaning to talk to her about that. I only had one bedroom, but there was no reason for her to sleep on the couch and use the powder room for all her things. I could make room in my closet, and we would figure out a better sleeping arrangement. When I looked back at Spencer, he was giving me a WTF look. "So."
The elevator doors opened. I pointed to them. "Later."
"Okay, but you're not dating her?"
"No." I pushed him bodily into the elevator.
"You sure? You seem a little testy." He had that shit-eating grin on his face again, and I resolved to wipe it off his face the next time we were on the mat.
"I'm not testy, I want a shower. Get out of my house."
"Dude, last chance," Spencer said, raising his eyebrows and waiting for the doors to close. "I'm asking her out if you're not actually into her."
"Good luck," I bit out.
Gemma shuffled around the apartment behind me, and I turned to watch her. She'd put on a huge, pink sweatshirt and combat-style boots. Somehow, she looked cuter than before, slightly ruffled and ensconced in cozy fabrics, and she walked uncomfortably over to Mini with the leash. "Walk? You want a walk, girl?"
Mini got excited again, and with Spencer gone, she looked less tense. Gemma hooked her up, and not even sparing me a look, she took the stairs with her shoulders hunched and her face drawn. It wasn't like her to look so serious. Then again, I'd only had a handful of actual interactions with her. Maybe her bubbly personality was a front.
Shrugging, I went into my bedroom to undress and take a shower. I'd have to take some time today to empty out half my closet, and Gemma and I would need to talk about where she would sleep until we had our living arrangement sorted out. And then I needed to convince her to marry me because doing this nonsense for two years was not an option.
My mother had succeeded in her own way, really. I was getting married just like she'd intended. Only, it wasn't going to last, and I really doubted Gemma would find any of this to be anything but an enormous burden. If my mom had wanted me to find true, lasting love, then she'd failed at that. I wasn't sure how to handle my family just yet—my sister, Arabella would be livid on my behalf once she heard about this—but for now, I needed to keep my focus on the day-to-day management of this nightmare.
A familiar dog bark drew my attention after I'd shucked off my sweaty shirt and tossed it beside the laundry hamper. I leaned back to peer out of the glass French doors that led to my bedroom balcony. Off in the distance, maybe a quarter mile down the road, Mini bounded in circles around a hunched, neon-pink shape. It looked like Gemma was no longer standing. And she wasn't moving.