LITMIR.BIZ

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sworn she was done feeling toward guys like Patrick Doherty.

      “Okay,” he said. “Now all I have to do is make sure the security system’s working and we can get the hell out of here.”

      They walked to the front of the gym.

      “Green light!” he said as the panel came into view. But his smile drooped as they got closer. Not green—yellow.

      “What does yellow mean?” Steph asked, pushing on the bar of the door. Still locked.

      “I dunno.”

      They peered at the little digital screen. Custom settings lost. Enter access PIN to reactivate default settings.

      “That’s okay,” Patrick said. “It’ll only take a minute to re-program the hours.” He crouched for the manual, finding the label printed with the device’s serial number and code.

      “Four nine four, zero two two...” He hit Enter. The light turned red. PIN not recognized.

      “Hmm.” He entered the digits again. PIN not recognized. 5 incorrect PINs will result in system lockdown. Two chances blown.

      “Let me see.” Steph gave it a try, but he hadn’t misread the numbers. PIN not recognized. 5 incorrect PINs will result in system lockdown. “What the hell?”

      “It worked earlier. Maybe there’s some other code in here, for this situation...” He flipped through the booklet. “Or I could look up troubleshooting tips on my phone.”

      Dear God, the so-called expert they’d hired was going to Google his way out of this? Wilinski’s really did need all the help it could get.

      “This is still an improvement,” he said.

      “How?”

      “We’ve got power again. And lucky for you, I got that new flat-screen all wired up. Why don’t you watch a movie or something? I’m sure I’ll figure this out in no time.”

      Steph wished she believed him, but nothing he’d yet done had instilled her with even the tiniest speck of confidence. “Fine.”

      She dried her hair in the locker room then grabbed a sports drink from the fridge in the office, jotting it on the lengthy I.O.U. list Mercer kept taped to the wall.

      In the screening room there was a shelf lined with VHS tapes and DVDs—old boxing matches and MMA footage, plus a nice library of fight flicks. She picked The Karate Kid, her favorite from kindergarten. The movie had probably shaped the entire course of her life. She hit Play. Two recliners sat side by side, and she plopped into one with a weary huff.

      She was supposed to be at a bar, nursing a vodka and tonic and hitting it off with Dr. Dylan. Yet here she was, drinking Powerade at work well after closing time. Story of her life. The past couple years, she’d often lamented feeling trapped in the gym. This was just sick—the first week of her fight retirement and here she was, literally trapped in one.

      She was just nodding off, mouthing along with the movie dialogue, when a knock on the doorframe jerked her wide awake.

      Patrick was smiling in a way she didn’t trust one bit.

      “So?”

      “Yeah, so...”

      She groaned. “Seriously?”

      “I got nothing, here. If I punch in one more PIN and it doesn’t work, the cops get called.”

      “Can you call the security company?”

      “I did. They’re sending a guy out.”

      She relaxed back in her chair.

      “He’ll have a service PIN that’ll disarm the system from the outside. But he has to do it in person—it requires a code and a key. He can’t just give me the digits.”

      “Oh well.”

      “But the guy on call is over in Chicopee, so...”

      “What? Oh come on. That’s two hours away!”

      “Sorry.” Patrick unbuckled his tool belt, set it aside and sank heavily into the other recliner with a wailing of springs. “This time it really isn’t my fault.”

      Good God, two more hours...? But what was the alternative? Call 9-1-1 and get the door busted in, probably wind up stuck here answering questions and filling out police forms, with both the manager and owner out of town... Plus if this really wasn’t Patrick’s fault, it’d be a shame to drop him in trouble over whatever fees they might get charged if the fire department had to bail them out. She could appreciate that as lousy as her evening was turning out, at least she wasn’t worried about whether or not she’d still have a job come morning.

      “Okay,” she said with a mighty shrug of surrender. This night was just destined to suck. Might as well embrace it. “I guess we’ll just have to wait it out.”

      He turned in his chair, leaning his arm along the headrest. “I appreciate it. And I’m sorry.”

      “You’re still a terrible electrician,” she reminded him. “But maybe this could have happened to anyone, given how old the wiring must be. And maybe it’s the company’s fault the system’s not working. Though it’s weird both those things should have gone wrong in one night. To one man.”

      “Luck of the Irish.”

      “You would know, Patrick Doherty.”

      “Maybe it’s fate that we got trapped here together.”

      She raised an eyebrow.

      “I’m single,” he said casually. “You’re single, for as long as I can keep you out of that hot doctor’s clutches...”

      “Please don’t hit on me. This evening has been enough of an ordeal already. Let me just watch my movie and take a nap, and we’ll both pray the security guy can fix all this in like, two seconds. Then we’ll never speak of it again.”

      She shut her eyes, but Patrick didn’t make it even a full minute before interrupting her snooze. “So, your job...”

      She sighed, meeting his eyes. “What about my job?”

      “So are you like a pro-lady-wrestler, or...”

      If looks could kill, hers would’ve punched straight through his heart and out the other side. “I’m a jujitsu instructor.”

      “That’s what that’s called, all that rolling around in a karate outfit you were doing the other day? Joo jitzoo?”

      Lordy. At least he hadn’t called them pajamas, she supposed. “It’s called a gi.”

      “But it’s basically wrestling, right?”

      “Brazilian jujitsu evolved from judo, and yeah, it’s a grappling-based martial art. But I don’t get greased up in a sequined bra and booty shorts and body-slam other women.”

      “What do you do?”

      “Have you never seen cage fighting?”

      “Not really.”

      That would never do. She sat up straight, chair back snapping to attention.

      This wasn’t how Steph had planned on spending her evening, but she might as well make good use of the time by educating yet another person on what MMA was all about. She went to the shelf, finding a VHS of one of the best pro events there’d ever been from way back in the sport’s more lawless days. Patrick had to help her, switching the video input to the VCR.

      “See?” he asked, crouching beside her, switching cables, close enough for her to catch the annoyingly pleasant scent of his skin. “I’m not completely useless.”

      Steph hit Play and they returned to their seats. “Now pay attention and I’ll show you exactly how un-like pro-wrestling this is.”

      “Yes,

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