11. Nadia
11
NADIA
I can’t believe how well things are working out with Dalton.
With the curtain creating a bedroom, we manage more privacy. We get a blow-up mattress for the nights we’re both there. He happily takes it when there’s a conflict, even though every time, I try to convince him to alternate.
Catzilla won’t approach him, even as time stretches to a month together, but she will be in the same room with him without bolting.
It’s progress.
We don’t have any other repeats of his naked apartment walk, and while there is an undercurrent between us since then, it doesn’t seem to affect anything.
He might be the perfect roommate.
On a Friday in early August, Max and Camryn invite me to a gathering at a dive bar in East LA near the gym where Max works out. They think I’m not meeting people, always either working at the deli or holed up in my apartment alone.
They still don’t know about Dalton.
Camryn warns me to dress down for Aces, which has a rough crowd, but their friends like it.
It’s the first time I’ve been out on a weekend night in LA. Max and Cam’s friends are all mixed martial arts fighters, trainers, and promoters. She used to do professional tans for their competitions until she got pregnant and wanted to limit the chemicals.
I wear an artfully ripped pair of jeans that shows my knees, and a white tank top beneath a thin red cardigan that falls off one shoulder. It’s cute, but not fancy or attention-grabbing, especially paired with red Converse.
I lowball the jewelry, just a stack of red bracelets and a gold chain. I leave my hair straight and long, like I didn’t bother with it even though I painstakingly roller brushed it smooth with the hair dryer.
Dalton isn’t around when I leave. His shift will end between ten and midnight. I let him know I won’t be home until late, off with my cousins.
Since we’ll both be home tonight, the air mattress is already set out, although not blown up yet, as we never know if Catzilla might dig her claws into it while we’re gone.
I don’t take my car. Max suggested I grab a ride to the bar, since parking is terrible, and it’s not exactly the safest place, anyway. He’s not risking his.
Is it that bad? I peer out the window of the Uber at the blocks of small businesses lined up in long, low buildings. Laundromats. Vape shops. Coffee. Tiny restaurants with the windows covered.
It’s definitely not Rodeo Drive.
But the people look the same as anywhere, sitting at bus stops, talking in groups on corners. Cyclists zoom by, ignoring the red light.
“You sure you want to go to a bar down here alone?” The woman behind the wheel taps her phone while we’re stopped.
“I’m meeting four MMA fighters, a bodybuilder, and their friends. I’ll be all right.”
“Oh yeah, MMA is a big scene down here.” She turns to peer at me. “You happen to know Colt McClure? He’s my favorite.”
“I don’t, but I think my cousin Max does.”
“If you see him, you tell him Valerie Corellli thinks he’s great.”
I bite back a smile. “Will do.”
The light turns green and we dart forward.
“That’s where he used to train,” Valerie says, pointing at the darkened windows of a place called Buster’s Gym. “They used to have this big ol’ banner over it with his picture. I loved those days.”
“My cousin works out there.”
“Who’s your cousin?”
“Max Pickle.”
“Oh, I know him! He’s not a fighter. He does those muscle competitions. Now he’s a looker. He single? I’m single.”
“He and his wife Cam are having a baby soon.”
“Well, rats. The good ones are always taken.” She signals and pulls over to the curb. There are two metal doors in the long brick wall, no windows. “This is the bar. Make sure they’re here before you go in there. I don’t want to drop you off alone.”
I text Max. You here? I just pulled up.
After a moment, Max steps out of one of the doors and waves a hand.
“Oh, you weren’t lying! That’s him!” Valerie practically lies forward on the front seat to peer out the passenger-side window.
“Thank you for the ride.” I close the app and open the door.
Max rushes forward to help me out.
“Hi, Max Pickle!” Valerie calls. “Tell your friend Colt McClure that he’s the greatest!”
Max leans down. “Who should I say thinks he’s so great?”
Now that he’s staring right at her, Valerie looks like she might faint. She opens her mouth but no words come out.
“She’s Valerie Corelli,” I say.
Valerie points at me and nods. She still doesn’t seem able to speak.
“I’ll pass it on.” Max stands and closes the door. “Shall we?”
I take his arm. “You know, she knew you, too. Is it hard being famous?”
He leads us into the dimly lit bar. “My fame is limited to bodybuilding and pickles.”
I spot Cam sitting on a stool, surrounded by enough tricked-out muscle to fill a beefcake wall calendar. “These are all your friends?”
“The boys who work out at Buster’s, mainly.”
“But not Colt McClure.”
He laughs. “No, he’s scarce these days. Parker’s here, though. Those two are tight.”
He points out a short-haired man in a tight, pale-blue polo, his arm wrapped around a petite woman. There’s a whole cluster of people clumped next to the bar, half of them sitting on tall stools with their backs against the counter.
“Max!” Another man, who is somehow taller than my cousin, approaches, smacking Max on the shoulder. “Who’s this?”
“Nadia. My aunt Caprice’s daughter. She just got her MBA, so don’t think your dimly lit bulb is going to have a damn thing to say to her.”
“Ahh, a brain in the family. I didn’t think you Pickles were familiar with that variety.” The man nods at me. “I’m Luca. I work out with Max, mainly spotting him when he’s too pathetic to make a lift.”
Max slides onto a stool next to Camryn. “And Luca’s ego grows three sizes every workout, despite the fact that his opponent mopped the floor with him in his last match.”
“My first match.” Luca settles on a stool next to Max and drags another one forward with his foot for me. “I wasn’t as ready as I’d been led to believe.”
“You got that right,” says Parker, who has turned toward us. “The Lukinator got dropped in forty-six seconds.”
I swivel my head between the two men. “Lukinator?”
Max takes a cup from Camryn. “His fighter name. We told him it was going to be bad luck.”
“I’m changing it,” Luca says. “We should get an outsider’s opinion.” He grins at me.
“An opinion for what?” I ask.
“The new name.”
“I don’t think I know anything about fighter names.” I nod at Camryn, who is pointing at a frozen margarita machine. I need something if I’m going to manage these completely foreign conversations with outrageously hot men.
“It has to sound fierce,” Luca says.
“And not like you lukinated all over the floor,” Parker says with a laugh.
“It wasn’t a very good choice,” says the woman next to him. “And hi, I’m Maddie.”
“Nadia.”
“You haven’t introduced her around,” Camryn tells Max, “And I’m having to order her a drink.”
Luca stands. “I’ll get her a drink.”
“Sit down,” Max says. “All you punks keep your paws off my cousin.”
“Unless she likes their paws,” Camryn adds, motioning to the bartender behind her. “Max, we asked her here to meet people, not scare them off.”
Max grumbles as Camryn orders a margarita for me and a Sprite for herself.
“Get another margarita for me,” Maddie says. “It’s the only way I can deal with all these blowhards.”
They’re all casual in jeans and graphic T-shirts. But everything else about them is beautiful. Carved features. Muscles for days.
I accept my plastic cup of margarita from Camryn and take a sip. Euwww. Dive bar margaritas. Barely drinkable.
Luca shifts on his stool. “Back to my fighter name? I’m thinking of changing it to…” He pauses for emphasis and holds up his hands like he’s revealing a marquee. “The Totaler.”
“My grandma was a teetotaler,” Parker says. “Never drank a drop of booze.” Laughter breaks out over the group.
“Or a totaler like an accountant?” Max asks. “Because I can total up the number of times you’re going to lose with that name.”
Luca frowns. “It’s that bad?” He turns to me. “In your unbiased opinion?”
I take another sip to buy me some time. I don’t want to insult these people I barely know. “I get what you were going for. You’ll total someone. But I think they might be right that there are too many other connotations.”
Luca frowns, and I feel bad. “I’m sure we can workshop something.” I turn to Parker. “What’s your fighter name?”
“Power Play,” he says.
“Good one,” I say. “Are they usually one word or two?”
“It varies,” Max says. “Colt’s dad was ‘The Cure’ and Colt was ‘Gunner’ because of his fighting style.”
I turn to Luca. “What’s your style?”
“Loser,” Parker says with another laugh.
I almost shoot him a look, but it seems like all these friends are tight, the level of closeness that allows you to insult each other in good fun.
Luca shrugs. “I’m not sure I have a style yet.”
“Enough on names,” Maddie says. “Who wants to shoot some pool?”
The group wanders over to the back corner of the bar where four pool tables stand, two of them empty. Luca carries my stool. I wonder if he’s been assigned to me, or if his attention has warned off the others.
“Shots before shots,” Maddie says. She stops a shot server with a holder full of test tubes. “Put them on Max’s tab.”
“Hey!” Max protests, but hands the woman a card.
A few of the men wave off the shot server. They have fights tomorrow. But most everyone but Cam takes one. So I do, too. So does Luca.
“And down!” Maddie cries.
I chug the shot. I haven’t done that in a while. We pile the empty test tubes on the woman’s tray.
“I’m going to grab a water,” Luca says. “Gotta stay one-to-one on the hydration.”
Camryn takes the extra stool. When Luca’s gone, she says, “Let me know if he gets too attentive. We can shoo him off you.”
“I’m not really in the market for a guy,” I say.
“Oh, but these are so pretty.”
“Hey!” Max says.
She pats his cheek. “You’re the prettiest one.”
“He kind of is,” I tell her.
Max stands behind Camryn as Maddie racks the balls. It looks as though she and Parker are going to play two of the other fighters.
“That’s Hudson, Jo’s brother,” Camryn says, pointing at a wiry fighter who looks like pure strength.
“Jo?”
“Colt McClure’s wife. Hudson’s wife Chloe will be here later.”
“And the other one?”
“Everyone calls him Hex.”
“Is that his fighter name?”
“Yes, and he won’t tell anyone his real one.” Camryn sips her Sprite and sighs as she rubs her round belly. “I’m wearing out already.”
“Can I do anything?” I ask.
“No, it’s just random exhaustion that hits unexpectedly. I’ll be all right.”
Luca returns with his water and a fresh margarita. “For you,” he says.
I’m about to protest when I realize I’ve finished the first one.
“Okay, thanks.” I tuck the new cup into the empty.
We watch the pool game. Maddie takes the first shot.
Camryn turns to Luca. “What about ‘The Interloper’? Makes you sound like you’re pushing your way into the big leagues.”
Luca nods. “Not bad.”
“What’s Hudson’s fighter name?” I ask.
“‘Reckless,’” Camryn says. “Although I think he started out as ‘The Contender.’”
“His sister was ‘The Hurricane’ before she retired,” Luca adds.
“You need to brainstorm synonyms,” I say. “Brutal. Fierce. Cut-throat. Ferocious.”
“Ferocious,” Luca says. “I like that.”
“Then add some alliteration,” I say.
“A litter of what?” Luca asks.
Max cuffs his shoulder. “I told you she was smart.”
“Alliteration,” I say again. “Where the first letter is the same. Like Ferocious Fighter. Or Ferocious Fiend.”
“Ferocious Fiend.” Luca nods. “I like it.”
“Keep thinking,” I say, not sure I want to be the one to name him in the ring, or the octagon, I guess. “Synonyms plus alliteration.”
Luca leans against the painted cinderblock wall, his mind clearly on the names.
Camryn leans in, “I think you’ve got him distracted.”
I shrug and take a sip of my margarita, only to be greeted with air. I finished the second one, too. When did that happen?
Luca hears the sound. “I’ll get you another one.”
“Oh! I’m not sure I should.”
“I’ll get it just in case.” He takes off.
Camryn winks at me. “He’s interested.”
“I’m not sure he’s my type.”
“You’re free to meet Hex if you want to,” Camryn says, gesturing to the far corner where the other fighter watches Maddie sink the last ball to finish the game.
“No way,” Max says. “Hex will try to nail her in the back alley. He’s not going anywhere near my baby cousin.”
I punch Max’s beefy arm. “I’m not a baby! And maybe I want him to nail me in the back alley!”
“Was I summoned?” Hex lumbers toward us with a smooth, powerful step that looks like it might shake the earth. He’s easily the widest of the fighter men, even though I think Max might have an inch of height on him. Even so, I barely reach his chin.
“No,” Max says.
“Who’s this?” he asks, taking in my bare shoulder, the hint of cleavage over my tank, and my jeans. I feel thoroughly evaluated.
Max steps forward. “My baby cousin Nadia, and if you even look at her the wrong way, I’ll break your face.”
“With what? Your pretty tan?” Hex laughs. He turns to me. “Happy to nail you in the back alley, but normally I like you to buy me dinner first.”
I ought to be intrigued by him, his white T-shirt straining against his chest and the short sleeves doing little to contain crazy biceps that defy the laws of ordinary human physiology.
But I don’t think he’s my type either. I imagine him over me, and all I can picture is me gasping to breathe under all that muscle.
Luca returns with the new margarita plus another test tube shot, the one I had before. He noticed which one I chose.
This is more attention than I’ve gotten in a good while.
He passes me the shot. “You seemed to like the last one.”
“I did.” I salute him with it and down it. I’m hitting my limit. I will sip slowly on the margarita. “Thank you.”
“Hey, Hex.” Luca says.
“What is it, Pukinator?”
Luca scowls, his face contorting like a toddler. “That’s not my name.”
“It is for me.”
I catch Camryn’s eye. She shrugs.
Luca and Hex glare at each other, as if I’m a prize they have to fight over.
I’m not used to this. I take another icky sip and realize I’m stress drinking. That’s why I’ve gone through these so fast, even though they’re terrible.
But as I try to think of something to say to either of them, my stomach turns. Great. Cheap tequila and crap ingredients. I grin and bear it, hoping it will settle down.
Hex watches my face with a scrutiny I didn’t expect. “You are very beautiful, Nadia, cousin of Max. Do you live in LA?”
Dang, he’s direct. “I do.” I forget and take another absent-minded sip of the drink and instantly regret it. Bile rises in my throat. Am I going to throw up? Panic courses through me, and I miss whatever Hex says next.
“Excuse me a second.” I set the drink on my stool and hurry for the back hall where I spotted a bathroom sign.
Couples are lined up along the walls in the darkened space, hands all over each other.
I push my way through. “Excuse me. Sorry.” And as I feel increasingly bad, “Move!”
I barely make it through the door and into a stall before I collapse, throwing up yellow-green margarita into the bowl. What was in those things?
I pick up my phone to text Camryn to come help me. What have I done, drinking them so fast? I know better. And those shots? What type of liquor was it? I chose it for the pretty green color.
My stomach heaves, and I throw up again. Ugh. This is the worst.
My eyes water and burn as mascara melts into them. My phone beeps with a text and in my rush to lift my head to look at it, I smack it on the metal box attached to the wall.
Shit, shit, shit!
I feel weak, throwing up again into the blurry bowl. I can’t hold myself up. I sink to the floor.
I have to tell Camryn. Or Max.
I fumble with my phone, blinking to clear my vision. But it’s no good, so I give up on texting and put through a call to my most recent contact. It should be Cam from when she told me what to wear.
The line connects, and a voice comes on. “Nadia?”
It’s not Camryn. It’s Dalton.
“Sorry, I meant to call…”
And I puke again. I gasp into the bowl. Jesus. What is going on? I feel awful, like I’m dying.
“Nadia? Are you at the bar?”
“I’m sick,” I choke out. “It’s bad.”
Then I clutch my stomach and drop the phone to the floor.
I can’t stop throwing up.