But there is no respite from the noise just as there is no respite from the torrent of emotion raging through me. Even after two weeks, I can barely make it five minutes without thinking about Jake and what I did wrong.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Over and over and over again. If I had a flyswatter, I would get rid of the damn phone once and for all. Since I don’t have a flyswatter, I answer it.

Shayla barks my name into the phone and follows it with an angry string of questions. “Where are you? What are you doing? Why haven’t you picked me up? Did you forget we are going to the Redemption prefight barbecue this afternoon at Blade Saw’s house?”

Oh God. The barbecue. Last thing I want is to spend the evening with the Redemption fighters. Especially since Jake will likely be there. I give her my regrets.

She calls me a few choice names. I compliment her on her foul mouth. She tells me that’s nothing. If I don’t show, I’ll be getting a personal tour of her foul mouth because she’s gonna eat me alive. Even when I tell her I’m an emotional wreck because Jake and I broke up, she doesn’t relent. She tells me she’ll get me so drunk I won’t even remember his name. Oblivion. Alcohol style. Oh, and by the way, Jake is outta town on business.

Two hours later, we are drinking champagne on the terrace of Blade Saw’s mansion, secreted away at the edge of a lake, the grounds lush with acres of flower gardens and beautifully manicured lawn.

“Can’t f**king believe it,” Shayla says for the hundredth time since we arrived. “Lookit this place. You see Blade Saw wandering around in his old clothes at Redemption, all quiet and unassuming until he gets in the ring, and you would never think he runs the biggest distillery in the U.S.”

On Sandy’s advice, she has purchased an actual dress, a straight navy sheath with a thin white belt. On anyone else it might look plain, but Shayla is super fit and has an amazing figure. The belt highlights her tiny waist and the short, tight skirt showcases her long, lean legs. Low-rise pumps, straightened hair, and the faintest brush of makeup make her look almost girly. Too bad her discomfort is so evident. She constantly shifts from foot to foot and smoothes down the dress, although we haven’t once sat down. I silently dare Fuzzy to thump her on the back, but he hasn’t shown up yet.

“So you really did need a wingman?” I wave vaguely over her dress and she nods.

“Not good with the girly stuff. But I figure if I can’t get Fuzzy’s attention being me, I need to try something more drastic. You’re so girly it makes my teeth ache, so I thought you’d be able to help me out. Plus, Sandy’s easily distracted when there are guys around.”

“Maybe he’s just not the right guy for you.” I take a long sip of champagne and let the bubbles dance across my tongue. At least one part of me is enjoying the party. “Maybe you need a guy who likes you for who you are.”

Glass in hand, Shayla beckons to one of the waiters carrying a tray of what appear to be mini éclairs. Hurrah! As I reach for a little bundle of heaven, my thighs rub together in warning. I take only two. When the waiter raises an eyebrow, I take two more. Then I take six.

“I’m depressed,” I tell him. “Nothing is better for depression than high-calorie, cream-filled, chocolate-covered snacks.”

Another waiter refills my glass. I sip and sip and sip. I eat and eat and eat. My dress starts to feel tight and I wish I’d worn my sweats, always good in times of depressive episodes and extreme self-indulgence.

Cheers and laughter from the doorway draw our attention, along with calls of “Fuzz” and “Renegade.” Shayla’s smile fades and she pats her hair. My heart sinks and I pat my new belly.

“You said he was out of town.”

Shayla shrugs. “I lied. Don’t know what’s going on with you two, but whatever it is won’t be solved by staying away from each other. You can thank me later.”

My heart hammers in my chest as the cheers get louder. I twist the gold rope belt on my white layered chiffon dress and wish I were actually an angel so I could fly away.

“Hey, Shilla.” Fuzzy pushes his way through the crowd and then pulls up short in front of us. His gaze rakes over her and then he frowns. “How are you going to fight in that getup? Blade Saw is setting up a ring out back and everyone’s gonna have a go at taking Rampage down.”

“Well, damn.” Shayla deposits her glass on a nearby table and holds her hand out to me. “I’ve got my fight clothes in a bag in your car. I’ll go get changed.”

“I’ll come with you.” I pull my keys from my bag. “I need to get going.”

Fuzzy frowns. “You can’t leave now. The party’s just getting started. You gotta have at least one drink with me and then have a go at Rampage in the ring.” He and Shayla share a glance and then he snatches the keys from my hand and tosses them to her. Before I even finish my “hey” of protest, she is pushing her way through the crowd.

“That wasn’t nice.”

His face softens. “Not nice, but necessary.”

Catching his drift, I quickly change the topic. “So, did you notice anything different about her?”

He shrugs. “Yeah. She’s wearing a dress. Totally impractical for fighting.”

Clueless. Poor Shayla. Definitely not the guy for her. And maybe Jake isn’t the guy for me.

Before I can make a quick escape after Shayla, the crowd parts and I catch sight of Jake, breathtakingly gorgeous in his snug, ripped jeans and hand-tooled leather belt. His thick, gold hair curls just above his collar, broad shoulders straining against his linen button-down shirt.