“Fuck. Seriously?”

He nodded. “I asked Sensei about it. He said he’d gotten behind since he’d been helping Maddox scout training partners for the MMA club.”

“Which is where I got into it with Ronin,” Blue interjected. “I have three guys who are ideal training partners. It’d solve a couple of problems. One, the pay would help them out. Two, they’re already trained. Three, they’re fighters or teachers and it’d up their skill sets.”

It made sense to Deacon, so he didn’t understand why Ronin was dragging ass. “Who’re the guys?”

“Terrel. He’s in your weight class and he no longer has aspirations for an MMA career. But Ito told Maddox if Terrel became your training partner, he’d quit. And evidently Ito is untouchable—since he’s allowed to beat the fuck out of my instructor and he isn’t disciplined at all.”

“Ronin condemned Ito’s actions,” Beck said, “but he sided with Maddox that Terrel wasn’t a good fit for you.”

“Bullshit.”

“That’s what I said. Then I offered to be your partner—”

“Jesus, Blue. You’re far too fucking good for me.”

“Doesn’t matter. Maddox dismissed me out of hand. Which proved my point.”

Deacon looked at Beck. “What am I missing?”

“We’re not sure. This all came to a head Monday.”

“The day I left.”

“Yeah. I’ll throw out there that I was half joking with Ronin about you returning to teach the Tuesday-night kickboxing class, since you’ll be at the dojo glaring at any man who looks at Molly anyway. Maddox blew a fucking fuse and said you were done teaching. And I blew one right back. I said, according to the House of Kenji rules, you were listed as a jujitsu instructor and you were required to teach at least one class a week. Then I got really pissed the next day when I found out that Maddox had nixed both Blue and Gil as your training partners, but he just let that thug Micah Courey wander in off the goddamn street?”

“Dammit. I never wanted any of this to happen.”

“Not laying blame,” Beck cautioned. “Just filling you in on why Maddox wasn’t invited to my birthday party.”

Deacon laughed. “Since I choose how to spend my off hours, I’ll take over the kickboxing class. Maddox can suck it. We’ll have it be a surprise when I show up. As far as sparring partners, I’d love to rotate Blue, Gil, and Terrel in. I’ll bring it up with Ronin. He didn’t seem too happy that Courey was there today.”

“You’re right. But Ronin is the type to weigh everything from all angles. I’d guess he’ll keep Courey around another week or so to see how you react.” Blue drained his beer. “Enough. Let’s whip the birthday boy’s ass at a racing game. I know he sucks at Grand Theft Auto.”

For the next two hours, Deacon challenged each one of his friends to a game. Sergei kicked his butt in pool. That little fucker Blaze whipped up on him at the hoop shoot. Blue destroyed him twice in the virtual NASCAR race. Beck bested him at Guitar Hero. Ivan won the strongman contest. Even Fisher beat him at the shooting game.

He had fun, but the place was too loud, too many people running around, and what the hell was he supposed to do with all the damn tickets the machines spit out? He’d tried to leave them, but a sweet little girl pointed out he’d forgotten them. And he felt like she’d started following him to make sure he didn’t forget.

Stalked by a ten-year-old.

Deacon had briefly spoken to Molly as he’d been en route to the arcade. She’d worked a full day to try to catch up. And he hadn’t pressed her on her plans for the night.

After being together nearly twenty-four/seven for the last five days, he missed her.

When he returned to the party area to retrieve his jacket, he just happened to look at the monitor. He froze when he saw a woman who looked a helluva lot like Molly from the back.

Wishful thinking, man.

He watched, willing the woman to turn around. When she did and he saw it was Molly, he nearly whooped with joy.

What did it mean that she’d shown up at the exact moment he been thinking about her?

That you are one lucky bastard. And she can’t stay away from you any more than you can stay away from her.

Fuck yeah, it was on.

Even on the crappy monitor she looked like a million bucks in a summery floral number. She’d worn fuck-me heels the same deep orange as the flowers on her dress. She’d swept her glossy brown hair into a ponytail showcasing the curve of her neck. The cut of the dress did amazing things for her body, specifically her tits.