His smile flashes. It’s tired, but it’s true.
He won. He fought fast and hard and avoided hits more than he absorbed them, but I have no doubt he’ll have a black eye tomorrow. He needs ice.
“Where did you learn to fight like that?” I take the towel from him. He’s not bloody, but he’s sweaty, and I gently wipe it over his shoulders and neck.
I move slowly, like he’s an animal that might spook. But I’m not sure if that’s for his sake or if it’s for mine. He watches me with eyes that look nearly black in this dim lighting.
If he wants me to stop, he doesn’t say it.
“At boarding school,” he finally answers.
“In the States?”
“Yes. I wasn’t very good at first.” There’s almost fondness in his voice. “It was for fun.”
“Forfun?”
“At first,” he says. “This type of fighting… that came later.”
I drag the towel toward the hickey on his neck. Thebruise. Someone hit him here. “So you’re not sleeping around, then.”
He keeps his eyes on me, and the distance between us feels charged. “I told you, darling.”
“Do you blame me for not believing you?”
“I want to,” he says hoarsely. “You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t know about this.”
“Is it a secret, then?”
“Almost no one knows,” he says. “The ones who do… don’t approve.”
I run the towel over his cheek. My movements have stilled, just a careful touch of cotton to damp skin. “I can’t imagine why,” I say, “someone who cares about you wouldn’t like this.”
He leans his face against my hand. “Good thing it won’t bother you, then.”
I think of the way he fought. The roar of the crowd and his quick, practiced movements. There was no hesitation. The hits he took, he absorbed. Like he welcomed pain like an old friend.
My hand rests against the side of his face. Outside the door, the crowd roars again. Rafe keeps his eyes on me. “You’re not scared of me now? Usually you can’t wait to bite back.”
“No,” I say, but I can’t tell whether he believes me. There is fear here, but it’s not of him. “Why do you fight?”
Rafe’s hand finds the end of my braid. He tugs at it lightly. “You came here in your pajamas?”
“I didn’t have time to change. I was following you. Do you know how fast you drove?”
“I’m aware. I don’t like that you did the same.”
“And you’re avoiding the question. Are you in trouble?”
His lip curves, and I see the hint of the dimple again. “Not in the way you’re thinking. I’m not forced to come here.”
“Youwantto fight.”
“I need it.” He slowly winds my braid around his hand. It’s golden against his tan skin. “You have your ways of handling anxiety, Wilde, and I have mine.”
My lips part. “What do you mean?”
“You can’t sit still when you’re overwhelmed.” His eyes are on my hair. “I fight.”
