Chapter 5 #2
Part of the reason? I want to laugh because she’s the entire reason.
And though I’ve been trying to appear indifferent since I sat down, I haven’t been able to take my eyes off Romilly since I arrived.
I stare into her eyes, hoping she’ll take notice of my excellent bone structure and let my charms penetrate her disinterest in me.
But she flips open the cover of her Bible instead. She smiles fondly, faintly, at it, like she’s never seen one before when she probably reads from it frequently, just like I do.
“So tell me,” she says. “How do you know Logan Henry?”
I blink in surprise. “Logan? He lives on the same block as my parents’ lake house where I’ve been staying. I met him while I was on a jog, and he was working on his car. Why?”
“No reason. Just curious.” She clears her throat. “He mentioned to me you’re possibly in the market for a job?”
It takes me a moment to process her words. “He—what?”
“We’re pretty short-staffed for our upcoming autumn homeschool retreat,” she continues. “If you’re interested, we’d love to have you as a camp counselor.” The words come out in a rush, like she’s afraid she won’t say them if they don’t come out fast enough.
“What’s an autumn homeschool retreat?” It’s all I can manage at the moment.
Her cheeks become an adorable shade of pink.
“Sorry, I should have explained. It’s…” She drifts off, her expression turning dreamy.
I stare at her, transfixed. “Well, it’s like a high-energy, week-long experience for the homeschooled kids in town.
We even get some kids from out of town, too.
It will be this October over at Cranberry Pines Campground, right before the snow comes in.
We do fun nature activities, have chapel time, and connect with others.
It’s really fun. The purpose is to give the homeschoolers an avenue to build and deepen long-lasting relationships with each other through the church. ”
“And you want me to be one of your leaders?” The idea is so comical, I’m almost certain I’m misunderstanding her.
Anyone from my church back home would scoff at the idea of me being a camp counselor.
All because of the rumors. All because of my appearance.
And if I were approached with this job back home, I would rather be a test subject for open heart surgery without anesthesia than spend an entire week stuck in a cabin with any of them.
Yet, here this woman is offering me this opportunity while not even knowing me.
I can’t help but laugh. “Are you sure you want me?”
“Only if you’re interested. We’d pay you, of course. You just need to be vetted and go through a background check.”
“Romilly. Please don’t take offense to what I’m about to say. But I doubt the parents of these high schoolers would ever trust you again if you hired someone like me.”
She frowns. “Why? What’s wrong with you?”
“Well, there’s the fighting, for one. And if that’s not enough, there’s always the cigarettes, the tattoos, or the?—”
“Fighting?” She widens her eyes at me. “What kind of fighting? Like, hurting random people?”
I grin, because she looks so alarmed it’s adorable. “I fight professionally for Munera. It’s just for sport. But Logan was right…I do need a job. At least, until my next fight. And that’s two months away.”
She winces. “And the retreat isn’t till next month.”
“Yeah, I figured. You can count me in, but I don’t know how much help that will be to me at the moment.” I keep my voice gentle, because the last thing I want to do is disappoint her when she’s being so…kind. Generous. Non-judgy.
Romilly crosses her arms and stares off into the distance like she’s trying to think.
Something wet touches my elbow. I glance to the right, where a Labrador retriever stares at me expectantly. It licks my elbow again, and I offer it a gentle pat on the head.
“Sorry about that,” the owner, a middle-aged gentleman, says.
“It’s no problem, mate. I love dogs.”
When he leaves, I turn back to Romilly. She’s analyzing me in a strange way that has my eyes narrowing.
“What?” I ask.
“It’s nothing.”
“Oh, no it’s not. Not with you looking at me that way. Tell me.”
She blushes. “Um, well…I was just thinking since the church position is so far away, how about a job as my assistant dog bather?”
I clear my throat. “Your what, now?”
“Assistant dog bather. I’m a dog groomer and I desperately—” She breaks off to clear her throat. “I mean, I guess I could use a hand around the shop.”
“Dog bather.” I’m not sure which idea is worse. Not having any money, or this job.
Grow up, Bash. Stop acting privileged, because you aren’t anymore.
And I can’t deny that being part of my old-money family without any real responsibilities at twenty-five has unfortunately left me with a very narrow pool of work experience.
I dropped out of college. I’ve never had a common job in my whole life.
I’ve only ever done street fighting before I went professional, which is how I got noticed on social media and scouted by my agent, Max, who got me my Munera contract in the first place.
And sporadically assisting with my parents’ prestigious auction house also doesn’t count as a common job, not by a long shot.
But even then, my participation was limited to occasionally attending events, helping with private viewings, or mingling with clients.
I would make a terrible employee.
Romilly pulls her bottom lip between her teeth as she watches me ponder. It makes warmth flood my chest and my brain go foggy.
“I’ll do it,” I say. “I’ll take the job.”
“Which one?”
“Both. Even the dog bathing one.”
For the first time, her smile slips from her mouth. “Wonderful.”
“Does that…upset you?” I search her face. “Because you don’t exactly seem thrilled.”
She shakes her head. “No. Of course not. I’m just thinking of all the training you’ll need.”
I try to muster up some false confidence. “I’m sure it’s not as hard as it seems, washing a dog or two.”
Her mouth twitches. “I’m sure you’re right. Can you start Wednesday?”
Training outdoors isn’t at all ideal. MMA is a sport only the strongest can endure, and not being able to prepare for my next match properly makes me feel on edge.
I should be in a gym.
I should be sparring right now and maintaining my jujitsu and kickboxing skills.
But all I can manage is running and using my body weight or objects around the woods to build muscle.
I could ask Logan to spar with me, but he’s gearing up for a surfing competition and can’t risk possibly getting injured.
And thanks to the lack of protein at the house, I’ve already dropped weight.
If I can’t maintain my current weight, I might not qualify for my weight class, Middleweight, anymore.
The pressure from my agent should be enough to keep me moving, especially since his last message, which let me know my former opponent got injured in a match, and I’ll now be fighting Connor Stronghold—someone slightly more experienced than me and undefeated.
But I can’t deny, it feels amazing to get the sweat pumping during my run.
Jogging always helps me feel calmer. It’s one of my favorite ways to drown everything else out.
So I keep doing it. And after spending the rest of the afternoon training, I grab burgers with Logan—his treat, bless him—before I head home.
When I get inside, I set the Bible down on the kitchen island and flip the lights on. The modern, black cabinets come into view, but I almost jump at the sight of Ingrid slumped over in one of the seats, her face pressed against the sparkling, black quartz countertop as she snores.
She’s still in her waitress uniform. I can’t help but notice how exhausted she looks, even while asleep.
She must be working long, difficult shifts.
Something in my stomach tightens. My poor sister.
She’s only nineteen and this is her first job.
Hopefully accepting Romilly’s offer will help to take some of the pressure off her.
I turn from the kitchen, about to head upstairs, when she opens her eyes. Stretches. “When did you get back?” Her voice is still a sleepy haze.
I grin. “Just now. And guess what, little sis? I got one of those job things, just like you.”
I have her full attention now. She sits up straight. Opens her eyes all the way. Frowns. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“I’m officially an employee of The Paw Spa.”
A moment of silence ensues, and then she bursts into laughter. She holds her stomach, almost tipping out of her stool.
I frown. “It’s really not all that funny.”
But she doesn’t stop laughing. Not until a full minute passes. Her laughter finally dies down, and she breathes deeply, like she’s trying to prevent another bout from starting up. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I thought you said you got a job at a pet salon. ”
“Romilly’s pet salon,” I growl. “And be grateful. Because now you won’t have to work so hard.”
“Where did you meet this Romilly gal, again?”
“Logan’s church.”
She holds up a hand. “Bash, if you really want to spend all your time around a bunch of judgmental jerks, then I’d just move back home with Mum and Dad.”
Against my will, my thoughts immediately go to Romilly at the words judgmental jerks.
To Logan. The two of them simply don’t fit the stereotype.
But I know she’s not wrong about many of the others.
“You have nothing to be afraid of, Ingrid. I’m only in this for the money.
” And the woman I can’t seem to stop thinking about.
“I mean, come on. We need to buy quality food eventually, you know.”
She rolls her eyes, folding her arms against her chest. “Speaking of buying things, I got you more goodies.” She nods toward the coffee table in the living room, beside the fireplace. From here, I can already see a colorful pile of lollipops and fidget spinners.
“Thanks, Ingrid.”
“This time, don’t lose the spinners in the woods, and take your time on the lollipops.”
“You must really hate the smell of my cigarettes.”
She rolls her eyes. “I do. Everyone does. Now, no more excuses about smoking again, you understand?”
I silently mourn the near-empty pack in my pocket. “Cross my heart.”
She eyes me with suspicion, so I walk over to the low table and pick up a bright red fidget spinner. I spin it in my hands a few times and pluck a grape lollipop from the table as well, unwrapping it and popping it into my mouth. “You’ll be in a smoke-free home again by morning.”
Her body visibly relaxes. “I’m going to bed.” She stands from her seat and goes upstairs, leaving me alone with my new treats.
When eighteen-year-old Bash took up cigarettes to make his parents angry, he never thought he’d still be struggling with it, at twenty-five.
And eighteen-year-old Bash certainly never suspected that a childish stack of things like fidget toys and candy could effectively curb the cravings.
If I hadn’t lost my last spinner and burned through all the candy before the store had a chance to restock, I doubt I would have been so tempted to turn to this latest pack.
I settle into the leather armchair beside the fireplace.
The heat relaxes me as I play with the spinner in my hands.
As much as I hate to admit it, I very much enjoy smoking.
But if I want to be as healthy as possible for my next fight, it’s got to go once and for all.
I can’t let this vice ruin the one thing that makes me feel unshackled in a world full of structure.
I can only hope the same thing will happen Wednesday morning at my new job—the job that will help me afford to finally get back in the gym.