Chapter 2

Two

North

Dear God in heaven.

This girl tore me apart the second I saw her.

That was before I even got up close. With her cherry cola scent filling my head, I’m now marveling over a masterpiece. A priceless work of art. And I’m not a man who gets to a lot of museums, but hell, they’d have to make her a special one all her own.

I’d pay the admission every day of my fucking life.

I’d sleep out in the rain just to catch a glimpse through the window.

Is she made of silk? Her skin barely looks real, it’s so soft and radiant. She has long, thick brown hair that spills down her back, a few lucky pieces curling near her tits. And yeah, I’m trying real hard not to stare at that perky little rack, because there would definitely be no hiding an erection in these sweatpants. I’m halfway stiff already and if she keeps flashing me those innocently curious looks, I’m going to beg for one stroke of my lips across those soft shoulders. Just one. I could try and live off the memory for the rest of my life.

She’s short, but thanks to her high heels, the top of her head comes to my chin. I’d sell my soul to pick her up, get our eyes level and look my fill. Figure out the exact shade of her blue eyes. These hands, though…these busted, bloody, broken hands aren’t meant to touch a girl like her. Only trouble comes out from reaching across the tracks like that.

Trouble for me.

Trouble for her.

As if I’d have a shot.

That gray slip she’s wearing probably costs more than my rent—and that rent is due tomorrow. It comes due every damn month. That’s why I’m down here night after night, taking all comers. Fighting to keep a roof over my little sister’s head. So am I going to take this rich punk Collier’s money? Bet his ass I am. I’m going to enjoy kicking the shit out of him knowing he has a chance with this beautiful vision standing in front of me. All thanks to genetic luck.

God, this girl. What is she doing to me?

I’m only a senior in high school, but I’ve had my fair share of encounters with women. I’m big for my age. Strong as an ox. And I’m not an asshole. Apparently those are qualities women don’t mind in a man, so sex isn’t hard to come by when I feel like it. But no female has ever tripped me up, let alone made my heart rifle violently in my chest. My heart is never involved whatsoever. Right now, though? It’s roaring like a chained beast. My surroundings are gray, inconsequential. There is nothing but her angelic face and some intuition that I was supposed to meet her tonight. That I’ve merely been existing until now. Until her.

I’m caught between the impulse to protect her like a precious treasure…

…and fuck her until she deafens me. Rips my back to shreds with her nails.

When I suggested we use her as the wager, she didn’t like it. Her eyes turned into twin blue flames and now I want them focused on me from below, our bodies slapping together. Sweaty. Greedy. Desperate. How am I going to live without touching this girl when the impulse to do so is turning me inside out?

“What’s your name, beauty?”

She wets her incredible lips. “Grace.”

“Of course it is.” It’s the perfect name for her. She’s so elegant and smooth and soft-spoken, there should be a crown perched on her head. Jesus help me, I can’t help but step a little closer, watching her eyelashes flutter over our proximity. “You didn’t really think I’d use you as a wager, did you, Gracie?”

“I-I…” Color rises in her cheeks. “I don’t know what kind of man you are,” she whispers.

“Would you like to?” I whisper back, recklessly. Stupidly.

But Christ, I have this vision of us wrapped around each other in my bed. The image is so strong, it’s almost like I’ve seen it before. So while I know it’s idiotic to think I’d ever have a real chance with this wealthy, uptown girl, my mouth—and heart—apparently have minds of their own. There’s more to this intuition I have, as well, when it comes to her. For instance, right now, I can tell she’s trying to gather enough courage to say something to me.

“Do I want to get to know you? W-well. That depends,” she says, moving closer to me this time, nearly bringing the toes of her fancy shoes up against my ancient sneakers. “I won’t be gambled with. Not unless it’s my decision. Unless I’m the one doing the gambling.” She seems to quietly pep talk herself, straightening her shoulders, and Jesus, Jesus I might already be in love. Fuck. “If you win the fight, maybe I’ll give you my number.” Blue eyes pull me under and I go to my death willingly. “That way I can find out what kind of a man you are.”

I drag in a shaky breath, my dick starting to pulse painfully. Did she just say she might give me—North Whitlock—her number? To call her? If she’s willing to do that for me, it could be a precursor to more. And I can’t even wrap my head around that. Can’t even imagine what it would be like to take this girl out. Have her all to myself. “Are you fucking with me?” I rasp.

“Am I…” She is genuinely confused. “N-no. No.” Her palms mold to her cheeks. “Oh my gosh, was I wrong about you being interested? I’m sorry—”

“Hell no, you weren’t wrong,” I bark, shock nearly splitting me in half.

“What the hell is going on over there?” Collier the Chump whines.

I lean sideways and point a finger past Grace, spearing him with a glare. “Keep your mouth shut until I’m ready to kick your ass.” The idiot says something back to me, but I don’t hear what it is, because I’m one hundred percent zoned in on Grace. “If you mean what you said—that if I win, I get that number—he doesn’t have a chance in hell.”

Her gaze dips to my torso, before she blushes and looks away. “Did he have a chance before?”

“Nah.”

She laughs.

And I almost propose.

It’s the purest, sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. It belongs far, far from this life of mine. This gritty, grinding, day-to-day struggle that I’ve known since birth. Yet I find myself taking one last look at her and striding toward the ring, determined to win the best prize I’ve ever been offered. Grace’s phone number.

Cheers start going up around me, men laying bets and throwing money around. Shouting encouragement. Slapping me on the back.

Before I reach the ring, I nod at one of my boys. “Make sure no one goes near her.”

“On it, North.”

Possessiveness toward Grace is already running wild inside of me, no hope of being penned in. That’s a bad sign. She might be sweet and innocent, but she’s still a rich girl looking for a thrill on her way to marrying an even richer man. I have to keep that in mind. I can’t forget or start getting my hopes up that we could be together in the real world.

Whatever she is offering me, I’ll take it. Even if it’s just a phone call.

Even if it’s just a stroke of that soft shoulder.

She’s not for you. Not for keeps.I know that—but I don’t have to like it. Hell, for the next few punches, I’m going to let that unfairness fester, let it stub my humanity out like a cigarette. I’m going to hate that I can’t have her for good. That I don’t have the money or stability or pedigree to win her—but this smug fucker does?

Once his hands are taped, Collier ducks beneath the ropes, shadowboxing, dancing in a circle. Waving to his fancy friends. When he turns to me, whatever he sees on my face makes the blood drain from his.

The bell dings.

I smile.

He’s flat on his back in one punch.

The referee, who is basically there just to check pulses and declare winners, lifts my hand up into the air. But I’m not really interested in celebrating—I want that phone number. More than I’ve ever wanted anything. With the chump groaning and curling into himself on the mat, I exit the ring, nodding absently at the people calling my name, thanking me for their winnings. I cut through the crowd in the direction I left Grace, eager to see her again. To hear that voice. And finally I reach her, stopping a foot away, caught off guard once again by how fucking beautiful she is. What the hell was Collier thinking bringing a girl like her to this place? I could climb back into the ring and knock him out all over again.

“I don’t see your phone…anywhere.” Her gaze skates over my chest, a blush erupting on her face. “How am I going to give you my number?”

“Are you kidding me? Your number, beauty?” I duck my head to bring us eye level. “Tell me once and I’ll remember it until my dying day.”

She breathes a laugh. “You have an impressive memory.”

“A man who’d forget a single thing about you isn’t worth a damn.”

A beat passes wherein we gravitate closer, our fingertips brushing together, the noise muffling around us. “Do you talk like this to other girls?”

I shake my head slowly. “What other girls?”

We’re so close now, there’s no air. I can’t breathe for being so close to all of her perfection up close. I’m sweaty and bloody and she’s a fucking angel. How is this happening?

She goes up on her toes and I brace for a kiss, positive I’m dreaming. No way this flawless masterpiece is putting that mouth on mine. And I’m right. At the last second, she goes past my mouth and whispers her phone number in my ear. Her breath on that sensitive part of my body turns my dick to stone and I have to clench my hands until they shake to keep from touching her. Take what you can get.

Suddenly I’m jerked back by the shoulder. Away from her.

Whoever is accosting me? That was their first mistake. Because taking me away from this girl is like waving a red flag in front of my face. I turn just in time to see Collier rear back with his fist—and I block it with a bellow, using the momentary opening to head butt him square in the nose, once again knocking him flat on his back. I don’t stop there. I pounce on top of him and lock a hand around his throat. “You could have hit her.” I tighten my grip until he starts to turn purple. “If your fist came any closer to her, you’d already be dead. Do you understand me? I should end your miserable life for bringing her here in the first place.”

“Stop talking about her like she’s yours,” he spits, blood oozing from his nose, eyes blazing. “She’s not.”

Collier is right. Grace isn’t mine. I met her fifteen minutes ago and I’m behaving as if I’ve got a permanent claim on the girl. When in truth, she probably wouldn’t want that in a million years. A long-term relationship with a bare-knuckle boxer from Southie? Yeah, right. I’m a thrill. A flash in the pan. She’s slumming it for the night.

So be it.

I open my mouth to say…what? I’m not sure. Maybe that she isn’t mine, but she sure as hell can do better than this punk. But Grace speaks up from behind me.

“Stop talking about me like I’m a trading card, Collier.” She steps into my periphery on the right, her long, smooth legs taking up my vision. “I’m nobody’s until I say I am. But…” She pauses, shifting in her heels. “I’d like North to drive me home tonight. So I guess that makes me more his than yours, doesn’t it?”

The place erupts in a series of hoots and ooohs, turning Collier’s face red.

Christ. This girl is fucking dynamite. For some reason, she’s giving me the gift of her time and attention. And I can’t help it. A guy like me doesn’t get many moments this good, so I have no choice but to savor it to the fullest. “And that was your third knockout for the night,” I say to Collier. “Might want to stay down this time, regional champ.”

Then I stand, watching in awe as Grace threads her clean, graceful fingers through my bloody, filthy taped ones and lets me walk her out of the Hellmouth.