Chapter 4

4

GRIFFIN

“ Y ou don’t seem like the normal fight fan,” I say.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asks.

She pops a fry into her mouth and chews on it as she looks at me, waiting for my answer. Her green eyes sparkle, and her hair gleams like burnished copper in the diner’s bright lighting. After leaving the fight club, she took me to a small, simple spot near her dorm for burgers and fries. Frankly, she’s such a tiny, petite little thing I’m surprised she eats anything at all. She raises her glass of soda and slips the straw between her full, heart-shaped lips.

The girl is intoxicating, and I can’t take my eyes off her, imagining those pillowy lips wrapped around my cock instead of a straw. I’m getting so uncomfortably hard I shift awkwardly in my seat and try to get my shit together. It’s only because of her that I can stand sitting in this diner that’s half-filled with college kids and pop music. I’m so instantly and powerfully into Grace that as painful as it would be, I’d take her to a Taylor Swift concert if she wanted.

“Well? What did you mean by that?” she asks.

I clear my throat. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Okay, so tell me, what is a normal fight fan?”

I shrug, a half-grin tugging my lips. “Our usual demographic is guys. I’m sure you’re not so na?ve that you didn’t notice that.”

“Times and demographics change,” she replies. “There are a lot more women getting into and following the fight game these days. Don’t be such a sexist.”

“I’m not a sexist,” I say with a laugh.

“You’re only playing one on TV?” She smiles playfully.

Her voice is high and musical—I could listen to it all day. And her personality is fun and sparkling. I enjoy being around her. There aren’t many people I can say that about in my world. She’s sexy as fuck, and even though I would love to have her bent over this table right now, I’m actually having a good time sitting and talking with her. She’s clever and has a sharp, dry sense of humor. But beyond the quips and cracks, she’s smart. She seems able to talk intelligently about anything under the sun.

Honestly, as sexy as she is—and she really is the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen—Grace’s intelligence is her best feature. As much as I’d like to spend some time with her naked, doing outrageously filthy things with her, I could get used to spending time having a conversation with her. I could get used to hearing her views on any number of subjects. She has a view of the world that’s so different from mine that hearing what she has to say is refreshing. It’s interesting.

I wasn’t the best student when I was back in school, and I never went to college, but I’ve done my best to educate myself. I read. A lot. I’m so dedicated to learning and improving myself that I’ve spent time reading the goddamn dictionary, memorizing all the words and definitions. As best as I could anyway. But how many people can say they’ve done that? Some might call me a nerd, but whatever.

“So, what got you into fighting?” I ask.

“My dad,” she replies. “He and I used to watch fights all the time. It was our thing.”

“Used to?”

She looks down as her smile fades, and her face is lined with emotion. She’s barely twenty, more than a decade my junior, but in that moment, her eyes make her seem older than me. There’s a heaviness and a dark grief in them that makes me feel for her. She takes a minute, seeming to be gathering her thoughts, and finally raises her head.

“My mom died a few years back, and he hasn’t been the same since,” she says. “We still have a good relationship and all, but it’s different. We don’t talk like we used to. We don’t even really watch the fights together anymore. He still keeps up and likes to talk about it, but he’s not very social anymore and prefers to be alone most of the time.”

“I’m really sorry to hear that,” I say.

“Thanks.”

Grace runs a hand over her face to shake off the fog of emotion that’s trying to settle down over her. She looks up at me with a shaky smile on her face.

“Sorry,” she says. “Didn’t mean to bring the mood down.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about. I like that you’re real,” I tell her. “Too many people in my world aren’t. I appreciate authenticity. It’s rare.”

She eats another fry and tries to get herself out of her sudden funk. “What about you?” she asks. “You were an up-and-comer in the fight game. But you disappeared. Where’d you go?”

It’s my turn for my smile to slip. I barely know this girl. And yet, I’m compelled to be honest with her. There’s something about her that demands truth. Whenever somebody asks me why I walked away from the fight game, my natural instinct is to deflect and change the subject. And it’s what rises to my lips now. But Grace was authentic with me, and I feel like I owe it to her to be as genuine with her as she was with me. It’s not easy, though, since I’ve spent a lot of years avoiding the question. Drawing in a deep breath, I let it out slowly.

“Griffin?”

I raise my gaze to hers, the sight of her emerald green eyes nearly stealing my breath. I trace the curve of her lips with my eyes and imagine them pressed to my mouth. Imagine her soft, curvy body held tightly to me. Imagine the warmth and wetness of her depths. My cock stiffens in my jeans again, getting so hard, it’s painful.

“Yeah. Sorry,” I say with a cough. “I had to step away from the game. I had some … family issues. It was a tough time.”

“What sort of family issues?”

I’m silently kicking my own ass, knowing how evasive and opaque that answer was. I said I’d be transparent and honest with her. And my answer was anything but that. Clenching my jaw, I steel myself. I’ve never talked to anybody about this before, and I don’t know why I’m so compelled to share this with Grace. I just do.

“It was about two months before the fight that, if I’d won, would have been a stepping stone to a title fight,” I tell her. “But my mom was diagnosed with cancer. My dad died when I was a kid, and I have no siblings, so I had to make a choice—give up the fight or take care of my mom. Obviously, I chose my mom.”

“Oh God, Griffin, I’m so sorry.”

A wan smile flickers across my lips. “Thanks.”

“Is … is she okay?”

“She died about a year ago. She lasted longer than the doctors thought she would, so there’s that.”

Grace reaches across the table and takes my hand, and the minute she does, every nerve ending in my body crackles with electricity. My cock is so hard, I’m half-afraid it’s going to bust right out of my jeans, and though I’m forced to shift awkwardly in my chair again, I hold on to her hand like my life depends on it. It’s like being a kid back in school again and being called to the front of the room with a really inappropriate hard-on. I’m suddenly grateful mine is hidden below the table.

“I’m really sorry,” she says softly.

“It’s all right. I’m working through it,” I tell her. “It’s part of the reason I do these underground fights.”

“So, these fights are therapy for you?”

“Yeah, kinda. I like to fight. It’s really the only thing I’ve ever been good at, and it’s nice to blow off some steam.”

“Do you ever think about getting back into the game?”

“Nah. That window’s closed.”

“You’re still pretty young, Griffin?—”

“That dream is over,” I say tensely.

A strained silence hovers over the table, and Grace looks away. I immediately feel like an asshole for snapping at her like that.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I … sometimes it’s hard to accept that it’s over.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about. I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

“You didn’t.”

She glances at her phone and frowns. “It’s getting late. I should probably get back to my dorm. I’ve got an early class tomorrow.”

I can’t say I’m not disappointed that our evening is coming to an end, but I understand it. She’s a college girl and has a schedule she has to keep. I get it. As much as I wish I could keep her out all night, I’m not going to get in the way of her education.

“Yeah, sure,” I say. “Let me walk you back to your dorm.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“It’s late, and it’s dark. I’m not going to let you walk alone.”

She gives me a soft smile. “Thank you.”

We get up and head out of the diner, walking through the campus until we come to the tall building where she lives. We stop beside a set of benches near the front doors, and she turns to me. We stand face to face for a couple of moments, her green eyes burning through my soul.

“Thanks for walking me back. I could get used to having a bodyguard,” she chirps brightly. “And thank you for dinner.”

“Hey, thanks for patching me up after the fight.”

“It was my pleasure.”

“I want to see you again,” I say.

Her smile is sweet but enigmatic as she holds her hand out. “Give me your phone.”

I slide it out of my pocket, unlock it, and put it in her hand. She quickly adds her number to my contact list and hands it back to me.

“You have my number now.”

“That I do.”

“Then use it.”

“I will.”

Our gazes are locked, and the air between us is heavy with a sense of anticipation and desire. Seizing the moment, I pull her to me and kiss her. Grace’s full lips are as soft as I imagined, and I can taste the cherry soda and fries on her tongue. She leans into me, giving herself over to the moment, but quickly tenses up and pulls back. She looks up at me, her eyes wide, her expression shocked. It’s as if she can’t believe she did that.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I should go.”

“I’ll call you.”

Her smile wavers but steadies for a moment, and she giggles before turning and dashing to the doors. As she slips her school ID into the electronic lock, she looks over her shoulder at me and flashes a smile that’s absolutely adorable. With another giggle, she pulls the door open and slips inside. I watch as she crosses the lobby and disappears into the elevators.

“I will definitely call you,” I say before turning and walking away, whistling to myself as I walk back across campus.