There’s a pause this time, and her voice is softer, sweeter, when she answers. “They’re good. I like my classes this semester. I got lucky with good professors.”
I want to know everything about her.“What classes are you taking?”
She lets out a thoughtful hum, and I hear some rustling in the background. I want to ask where she is and what she’s doing, but I don’t want to break the spell.
She starts to list off classes. “For my major, I’m taking social cognition, behavioral neuroscience, psychopathology. Human anatomy and physiology for my science requirement, then ethical theory and creative writing for my electives.”
“You’re takingsixclasses?”
“Two of them are GenEds,” she says humbly.
Yeah, we’ll have none of that.
“Baby, just accept the fact that you’re smart. It’s sexy as fuck.”
There’s a pause. But I canhearher smile when she says, “If you say so.”
“I do say so. I insist on it, actually.”
She’s quiet again, which lets my mind wander in a different direction. Toward something I haven’t really let myself think about.
“Do you ever think about doing something with your degree?” I ask carefully.
But what I want to ask is:do you ever think about doing something other than working as an escort?
I wish I could ask her that. So badly. Not because I want her to quit and be with me—which I do, but we’re not yet at that level of trust where we could have that conversation—but because I wish I could make her understand that shecoulddo other work. She’s smart and hard-working and could probably do anything she set her mind to, but I don’t think she sees that. She’s still so tied down by her self-worth issues that she won’tletherself see it.
“I don’t know,” she says in a casual tone I can’t read. “If you weren’t fighting, do you know what you’d be doing?”
I smother my sigh at her deflection. I could push her a little, but I’m not sure it would get me a better answer. I’ll settle for putting the idea in her head.
“I have no idea,” I answer honestly. “Ask me in a week.”
“I can’t believe you have a fight in a week,” she says, back to her normal warm tone. “And I can’t believe you didn’ttellme about it. Are you excited? Or nervous?”
“Honestly? None of the above. I don’t feel much of anything.”
It’s the truth, too. Minus the day after Scarlett got sick, I’ve been putting in the same amount of work as any other fight I’ve prepared for. When I’m in the gym, I’m focused. I’m on weight. I have my plan for the week of the fight. I’m doing everything I need to do.
And yet…one day with Scarlett, even half-unconscious, made me feel more than any of this fight prep did.
“My next week is going to be a little chaotic, though,” I say, bringing myself back to reality. “Fight week gets pretty busy. I meant to tell you that our date was going to be my last rest day.”
Scarlett makes anohsound. “So I won’t hear from you. Got it.”
“No, no, that’s not—” I swallow roughly. “Actually, I was going to say the opposite. That I won’t be able to make it up toNew York toseeyou, but that if you don’t mind the conversation, I’d like to be able to call you sometimes.”
She hesitates, but I can hear the smile in her voice when she says, “I’d like that.”
Hopefully, she can’t hear my relieved exhale.Lucas doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
Feeling emboldened, I add, “And maybe after the fight, I could take you out on a real date.”
This time, there’s no hesitation.
“I’d like that, too.”
It’s a sign of the grueling workouts I was put through today that a yawn sneaks out of me after she says that. Thankfully, Scarlett only lets out a soft laugh.
