“Thank you.” He checked the time, came forward to give her one last kiss on her forehead, and headed out.

She didn’t mean to, but she asked, “When will I see you again?”

Pausing in the open doorway, he thought about it. “I don’t want to take a chance on calling and waking you up, so how about you call me in the morning? We’ll figure it out from there.”

“Okay, but—”

“Sleep. Rest.” He stepped out and started to pull the door shut, but at the last second, he smiled at her. “And think about everything I’m going to do to you once you’re back in fighting form.”

When the door closed, she curled up tight on the bed. Holy smokes, if Denver kept making those dark, sultry promises about things he planned to do, she just might have to hurry along her recuperation.

That is, if her foster brothers didn’t ruin her life first—as they probably planned to do.

CHAPTER EIGHT

ON HIS WAY UPSTAIRS, Denver passed Merissa coming down. “She’s resting,” he said, hoping Merissa wouldn’t want to have a gabfest, as the ladies so often did.

Merissa struggled to keep her attention on his face. Twice she failed as her gaze dipped down his body to zero in on his crotch.

Shaking his head, Denver stopped and crossed his arms. “Sorry, but it’s not performing tricks right now.”

“Wha...?” Surprise gave way to exasperation and she punched his shoulder, mumbling, “Shut up.”

“Then quit eyeballing me.”

Her mouth twitched. “Sorry, just curious.” After flipping back her long dark hair, she went on down the stairs. “But I’ll get the nitty-gritty from Cherry.”

He watched her tap on the bedroom door, slip in, and seconds later both women roared with laughter. Cherry’s cough immediately followed.

Women. Smiling, Denver bounded up the rest of the steps and followed the voices down the hall and to the kitchen. He found Armie and Cannon sitting at the table drinking coffee and eating cupcakes. Cannon lounged back in his seat, at ease in the family home he’d gifted to his sister after much success in the SBC.

Armie, however, still looked wound too tight—meaning Merissa must have been with them before leaving the room to visit with Cherry. Every time Armie was around her, he struggled like a sweet-toothed fighter in a candy store trying to make weight for an important match.

Did Cannon see it? Everyone else did—except maybe Merissa herself.

Not that Cannon’s little sis was obtuse. As a bank manager, she put in a respectable amount of hours growing her career. While Cannon might have gifted her with their family home after they lost their mother, she kept her own budget and lived within her means. And she understood more about the fight world than many competitors Denver knew.

But when she chose to, she completely ignored the finer points of being a professional athlete—like her refusal to take into account their specific healthy diets. Merissa Colter was a junk-food junkie who loved to bake, and did so often.

Being the generous sort who liked to share, she usually left a plate of her irresistible desserts sitting around as temptation.

Knowing he’d indulge, Denver glanced at Armie as he headed to the coffeepot. “Havoc wants you to give him a call.”

“I’m not—”

“He said to quit running from him.” Denver poured a cup, black. “He wants you to man up and talk with him.”

Predictably, Armie went coldly defensive. “What the—”

“I agreed about the running part, of course. Told him you were probably home sniveling, hiding under the covers, whimpering and shit like that.”

As Armie came halfway out of his seat, Cannon laughed at his outraged expression and grabbed his shoulder. “Don’t start brawling in my sister’s house. She won’t like it.”

At the reminder of Merissa, Armie looked more ill at ease than a badass ever should. He also retreated. Ribbing Armie was easy and Denver didn’t have to feel guilty about it; everyone knew Armie cowered from no man.

Now women, or more specifically one woman...Yeah, Denver wouldn’t go there.

Pulling out a chair, he sprawled into his own seat and gave a “whatever” shrug for Armie’s decision. “I passed along the message. My responsibility has ended.”

“Thanks for nothing.”

Done with that futile effort, he looked at Armie, then over to Cannon. “I have a problem.”

“Honey-blond hair?” Armie guessed. “Big boobs?”

He took a cupcake off the table. “I told Cherry we wouldn’t be discussing her body, so shut up.”