He laughed out loud, flipping his blinker on as he moved them onto the exit ramp behind a lifted F-250. “When I’m training, sure. But I don’t fight professionally anymore, so I’m not as strict on myself as I used to be.” He patted his stomach for emphasis, covered in the material of the hoodie. “This isn’t what it used to be.”
He took pleasure in watching her mouth drop open in shock, a grin tugging at his mouth again. He couldn’t remember a time he’d smiled as much as he did when she was around. It was both concerning and somehow freeing. Her mouth worked, and then she squeaked, “What do you mean? Like, you used to bemorein shape thanthis?”
Travis laughed again, nodding, as he turned into the parking lot of Salty’s Steakhouse. “My only job was to train hard, fight hard, and win.”
She shuddered lightly in her seat and he chuckled, shaking his head. He unbuckled, climbing out of the Bronco. He rounded the hood of the car just as she was sliding out of the seat, and he took her elbow lightly, just to make sure she wasn’t stillwobbly on her feet, and shut the passenger door. His fingers felt electrified where he had made contact with her, even through the material of the thin jacket covering her arms.
They made their way toward the doors, and Travis made sure to open it before she could, allowing her to pass in front of him. They both still wore their gym clothes; her skin-tight, ass hugging athletic leggings delineating every curve of her backside and thighs. The leggings she wore were a dark teal color, the same color as the matching sports bra she had on—now covered by a fitted zippered athletic jacket in a lighter teal—and it complimented her coloring in a way that had made it damn difficult for him to concentrate during class earlier. He’d found his eyes roving toward her every chance he could. Her wild curls were piled on top of her head, a few stray strands falling out to frame her face. He had pulled on a pair of sweatpants over the gym shorts from earlier, and the hoodie he had pulled on had the sleeves cut off of it. Part of why he’d chosen Salty’s was because it was low key and casual. Their attire didn’t attract too many strange glances as they were seated by a harried looking server.
It was decently busy inside, loud enough with the music playing overhead and the din of other customer voices that they would be able to talk and not be overheard, but not too loud that they would have to shout at each other from across the table. The booth they were directed to was along one wall toward the back, and Travis gestured for Roxy to slide in before he took the bench opposite her. Laminated menus were set down in front of both of them, but the server that had sat them disappeared quickly.
He watched Roxy over the top of his menu, cataloguing her face and pleased to see that some of the color had returned to her cheeks; was no longer ashen and pale, and the trembling in her hands had eased. Her hazel eyes drifted over the menu held in her hands, and in the dim lighting they looked more brown than green.
He knew how they shone with the prettiest shade of jade green when the sunlight hit them, such a gorgeous contrast to the dark auburn eyelashes that framed them. She glanced up at him, catching him staring, though he didn’t drop his gaze. He watched as her throat constricted as she swallowed, her tongue darting out to flick across her bottom lip and that damn white scar that he wanted to run his tongue over. He wanted to know where it had come from…who had given it to her.
A different server stopped at the edge of their table; a black t-shirt stretched across his chest. A black apron was tied around his waist, and he wore jeans and black sneakers. A small notepad was flipped open, and a pen was poised in his fingers. “What can I getchya?”
“Roxy?” Travis prompted, turning his gaze back to her. She set the menu down in front of her and tapped a fingernail on an item listed. “The grilled salmon, please. Can I get double vegetable and no potato?” The server nodded, writing down her request. Travis watched as the guy—who couldn’t have been older than twenty-three or twenty-four—stared at Roxy, his cheeks heating as he took her in. Even dressed down in athletic clothes fresh out of a workout, she was the kind of stunning that made men pay attention. “I’ll take a sweet tea, too. And a water, please.” She smiled and handed her menu over, and the poor schmuck tucked it under his arm, still dazzled by the small smile she graced him with. “Thank you.”
Travis cleared his throat and the server turned toward him. Travis handed over his menu, leaning back against the back of the booth as he said gruffly, “I’ll take the ribeye, medium, with sauteed mushrooms. Baked potato and whatever the house vegetable is, please.” The kid jotted everything down, his eyes flicking over Travis’s face and then down his tattooed arms, which he’d crossed over his chest. “And I’ll take a tall Lone Star, please.”
The kid disappeared after a mumbled, “Sure, I’ll be right back with those.”
Roxy glared at him over the scuffed wood tabletop. “You didn’t need to intimidate the poor kid. He’s just doing his job.”
He leaned forward, leaving his arms crossed, and braced them on the table. He raised his eyebrows at Roxy and murmured, “He didn’t realize I was even here; he was so dazzled by your smile.”
She laughed out loud—a scoffing, self-deprecatory laugh—and shook her head. “Yeah, okay, buddy. I don’t dazzle.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “You don’t believe me?”
She rolled her eyes and glanced around the busy restaurant floor, ignoring his question. The waiter was back then, placing her sweet tea and water in front of her, and his tall beer in front of him. They each said thank you, but the server was off again, and she hadn’t paid one lick of attention to the way the kid’s eyes had tracked over her face.
Travis let it go, instead fully enjoying the flush of heat that crept up her neck to stain her face whenever she caught him staring at her. He couldn’t help it. He could say it was because he was watching her to make sure she didn’t pass out again, but in reality, it was simply because he wanted to. She was fire and light and sunshine… and dynamite. All rolled into one. He’d kill to watch her go off. All fireworks and heat.
She folded her arms on the marred and scuffed wood table top, leaning on them as she returned his stare. “You can look at me like that all you want, Travis. I’m not going to pass out.”
“Can’t blame me for making sure,” he answered drolly, reaching out and wrapping his hand around his beer, bringing it to his lips. He watched her eyes dart from his to his mouth, and fought the urge to smile knowingly. He couldn’t keep the laughter out of his eyes, though, and when she brought her gazeback to his, she scowled. “You have a bad habit of not taking care of yourself.”
That scowl deepened. She was fun to rile up. “I don’t need to be taken care of.”
“I didn’t say you did.” He set his beer down and leaned closer again. “I said what I said; you don’t take care of yourself, Red.”
“I take care of myself just fine. It’s just been a rough few weeks.” She leaned back as the waiter arrived with their food, setting first the salmon in front of her, and then his steak in front of him. They both said thank you to the waiter, who disappeared again quickly. She unrolled her silverware, placing the paper napkin in her lap. “I’ve been on my own since I was sixteen. I know how to take care of myself.”
“Is that why you’re scared all the time? Because you can take care of yourself?”
Her hand froze, fork poised to stab into the grilled salmon, and he knew he’d hit the nail on the head. She was afraid of something.
“You can talk to me, Roxy,” he said gently, quietly. Beseechingly.
“I’m not scared of anything,” she countered, not raising her eyes to his as she stabbed her fork into the salmon, breaking off several pieces of the flaky fish. She placed the bite in her mouth, chewing, her eyes trained on her plate. “And yes, I can take care of myself, Travis. I don’t need some hulking macho man to swoop in and play the hero.” She swallowed, then continued, almost as an afterthought, “Because there’s nothing wrong.”
Prickly thing.
He nodded, digging into his own plate of food, though he continued to watch her closely. The color was returning to her face fully now, no longer pale, and her hands had stopped trembling finally. She polished off most of her meal, the salmon had disappeared quickly, and only a few heads of broccoliremained on her plate as she pushed it away. He reached over the table with his fork, stabbing the remaining florets with the tines and bringing them to his mouth. She just shook her head, a half-smile tugging at her mouth as she watched him clean his plate.
The waiter returned, clearing their plates. “Did y’all save room for dessert?”
