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I duck my head and shake with laughter. “You got me.” Between school, her job, my job, and all the extra stuff Diane’s had me doing, I haven’t had as much time as I would’ve liked to spend with Molly this week.
“Hope you found time to order your tux,” he warns. “Prom’s around the corner.”
I burst into welcome laughter. “Thanks, Dad. I’ve got it under control.”
“You better. You disappoint her, I’m gonna kick your ass.”
I pull out a stool at the bar and knock my knuckles against the counter. “I never knew you had such strong feelings about high school dances.”
“I have strong opinions about my sister’s happiness.” The severe expression on his face loses some of its edge. “Thanks for taking her to that interview with Mr. Fisher.”
“Yeah, no problem.”
He rests his elbows on the table and leans forward. “We still hosting fight night this weekend?”
“Hell, yeah. Why?” I grin at him. “You need me to knock you around?”
“In your dreams.”
“One thing, though.” I plow ahead to cut off the sarcastic what he’s about to ask. “I want Molly to come with us.”
“Why?”
“Because she wants to see the fights.”
“You mean she wants to see you fight?”
“No, I’m not going in the cage this weekend.” Diane specifically asked me not to take on any fights until the show starts filming. She hadn’t been amused when I’d asked if that was supposed to be the fighter’s version of revirginizing myself.
“I’ll need you to help me call the fights and ref,” he says.
“That’s fine. She can hang with Eraser and Ella.”
His face twists with doubt, but he lets out a sigh of resignation. “Most of the challengers on the roster so far are kids from Greene Pointe, Empire U, and that academy in Ironworks. So I don’t expect it to get too rowdy.”
“Is that going to draw in enough betting action?” I rub my fingers together.
“Yeah, it should be good.” He pushes away from the counter. “Did you eat?”
I glance around the empty bar. “Is the kitchen even open?”
“Not really, but I have a sub in the fridge if you want to split it.”
“Yeah, sure.”
He jerks his head toward the booth. “Grab a drink and go sit.”
“Thanks.” I duck behind the bar and open the small black fridge under the counter. I’m not in the mood for beer or soda. After those two options, pickings are slim. I pull out a small, unopened bottle of cranberry juice and take it to the corner table we usually use.
Remy returns a few minutes later and sets a plate with half a roast beef sub and a handful of pickles on it in front of me.
“Looks good.” I reach for my half. “Where’d you stop? Harry’s?”
“Yeah.” He drops into the chair across from me. “I threw some wings in the oven too. Won’t be as crispy as the fryer?—”
“Nah, I like ’em any way I can get ’em. Thanks for doing that.”
After a couple bites, Remy sets his sub down and stares at my face. “What’s up? You seem extra pinched and squinty-faced tonight.”
