I chuckle as I pull on my gloves. “You’re hurting my feelings. Friends have secrets.”
“We’re not friends.” She tugs at the straps of her gloves, testing them. “Just because I’m your babysitter.”
“Ah, well, babysitters have secrets too.” I flash her a wicked grin. “Bribing kids with candy. This is the same. You’re just bribing me with kisses and the bosses never have to know.”
I wink.
She rolls her eyes so hard I think she sees the back of her skull. Once we’re in the ring, though, I see a whole new side of Luisa. She’s not just full of piss and vinegar like a possum—she’s got finesse, skill, control.
If I hadn’t been doing this since I was sixteen, she’d have me on my ass in seconds.Her punches are quick, her footwork sharp. She ducks like she’s been trained by the best.
I grin. Neither of us has landed a hit yet. “Have you realized the loophole yet, Topina?”
Her focus doesn’t waver. “What loophole?” Then she fakes a headshot and jabs me so hard my shoulder nearly dislocates. I try to sweep her legs, but she stumbles back just in time.
I chase her down, pressing the attack—only for her to jab me in the abs and throw herself to the ground, rolling away as loose strands of hair fall into her face.
I’m still grinning. “I didn’t give us a time limit.”
“You son of a-”
“Careful. Insult me, not my parents,” I warn her.
Her nostrils flare, but she keeps moving.
We keep sparring, teasing each other between punches, though she’s less vocal than I want her to be. I like her awkward side. It means I’m getting to her.
Ten minutes in, she’s landed plenty of hits, but she was right—she dodges like hell. Every time I come close, she disengages, rolling away, diving to the floorrather than letting me get in even a glancing blow.
She’s fast. Smart. Fucking infuriating. When I tease her about her form, she slugs me across the face.
Hard.
Instantly, she freezes. I blink, shock flickering across my face before I can stop it.
She laughs. Full, unrestrained amusement. “I wish I could save that face as a picture.”
That’s it. I grit my teeth, stop holding back, and close the distance fast.
We grunt and yell, bodies colliding, breath ragged, until I clip her shoulder. She goes down. I take out her legs—but she drags me down with her.
She rolls on top of me, slams a hit into my ribs, but I’m already ripping my glove off with my teeth. I flip her, pinning her beneath me.
She rips off her own glove off, tries to swing again, but I catch her wrist mid-motion. She thrashes, her breath ragged, but I hold firm, locking my grip.
I jerk my other hand free, grunting from the effort—and somehow boxing becomes wrestling.
She’s damn good at counterbalancing her weight, shifting just enough to keep me from fully subduing her. Every move I make, she counters, her body twisting, legs pushing, forcing me to adjust, restrain, react.
The second she gets her feet under her, I sprint to reclaim her—but pause when she grabs me first.
I drop to the ground before she can flip me. Luisa lets out a surprised noise as she tumbles down after me. I grab her wrists and pin them above her head.
She fights back, arching beneath me, trying to regain control. When she wraps a thigh around me, trying to flip us, I dig my knee into her thick thigh.
I feel the sound in my veins, making her gasp.
“Angelo, get off me!” she yells.
