"Nice car."Nice car." "Thank you." "I don't guess you'd consider a trade." He patted the roof of his Mazda, and said, "With a paint job and a rebuilt engine, this one would get you around." She smiled, her brown eyes sparkling in the glow of the overhead halogen light. "I'll pass." An awkward silence followed, as she fumbled with her hands and exhaled. He considered asking her out for a drink, but decided to wait until she'd made her intentions plain. He could tell she wasn't a groupie, but he doubted her sole reason for approaching him was to praise his victory. "Mr. Bradley," she said finally, clasping her hands. "You're probably going to laugh at what I'm about to suggest, but I have an offer for you to consider." Tom didn't like the sound of her statement. He'd heard the same thing too often from well-meaning churchgoers trying to herd in the strays. "Offer away." "I'd like to wrestle you at my private facility, and for each pin you win, I'll pay you one million dollars." Tom smiled, slightly dumbstruck. This was more like the indecent proposal he'd been hoping for. "Wrestle me? What do you mean?" "Just what I said. I have a wrestling ring on my grounds, and I'd like to compete with you. All the moves and rules you're used to would apply." He considered what she'd just said: that she wanted to face him in real wrestling competition, and that she'd pay him seven figures for every pin he won. His dates often used playful Greco-Roman freestyle action as foreplay--matches he enjoyed letting his girlfriends win--but Ava was calmly discussing a head-to-head confrontation of a coldly professional kind. |