“Shit, I’m sorry,” she says as I grab her, yanking her back towards me hard enough that she slams into me again. Her small, soft hands brace against my bare chest. I feel bad for a second because I am so nasty right now, though I suppose it comes with the territory.
When she looks up at me, she freezes, and I get a full glimpse of her now. She’s pretty. Scratch that. She’s stunning. Long, shimmering brown hair that is so dark it’s nearly black. Brown eyes that are the same color as the Old Fashioned I drank last night. She smells amazing. Fruity and floral all at the same time. Her dress is emerald and hugs her in all the right places. She’s gone a little overboard on her makeup, though I don’t mind. She’s gorgeous. And I almost knocked her over.
“No, it’s my fault,” I tell her, something I don’t say very often. Not that I’m never sorry, but I’m not usually in the wrong. Thisgirl could be the clumsiest woman on the planet, and I’d still count this as my fault. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
She nods. Then, as if she’s just now realizing she is touching me, her hands snap back so fast you’d think they’d caught on fire when they landed on my chest. “Of course,” she says with a small smile. There is something familiar about her mouth, her lips to be precise. It flashes through my mind like a dream, or maybe even a memory.
“Have we met before?” I ask. She smiles, taking a step back.
“You mean you wouldn’t remember me if we had?” she asks, and it pulls a smirk out of me. Lucky girl. Being here is usually my twisted version of R&R, but Rafe has been peacocking around like he owns the place, which makes my mood less than congenial. It’s nothing swinging at him in about ten minutes won’t fix.
“As much as I hate to admit it, I’ve been hit in the head a couple of times. My memory might be a little fuzzy, but I guarantee I won’t forget.”
The girl bites her lip, and my jaw unhinges slightly as every primal instinct in my body rises to the surface. I need to know who this girl is. Before I can ask her, Andrew comes out of the woodwork and grabs my shoulders.
“I hate to interrupt,” he says.
“Then don’t,” I say.
“But you have a date with your favorite person in about five minutes,” he grins. His eyes sweep over the girl before landing back on me. She hurries off into the bathroom, and Andrew pulls me in the other direction. “Who was that?” he asks.
“I wouldn’t know. You scared her off before I could ask,” I snap. Right now, I half wish I was about to spar with him instead of Shaeffer.
“If she’s here to watch the fights, I’m sure you’ll see her again. Listen. Rafe is in a mood today,” he says.
“No shit? That makes two of us,” I mutter as we round the corner towards the ring.
“Seriously. Didn’t you catch the cheap shots in there? I’m thinking he might be paying to get away with shit,” he says as we come to a stop.
“Lovely. Always putting his money where my mouth is,” I mutter, checking the tape on my hands.
“Just keep an eye on him,” he says.
“I was thinking I’d keep a fist on him,” I say, and he claps a hand on my shoulder as I climb into the ring.
My eyes scan over the room one last time before I prepare to fade it all out. That is my M.O. when it comes to fighting. It’s like a long-distance swimmer before they go underwater. Deep, measured breath, and then it all fades away into unimportant noise. Before I finish sweeping the room, my gaze stops right in the middle of the crowd. The girl from earlier is sitting at one of the high tops. She’s far enough away that she’s out of the politics of it all, but close enough that the light gives away that it’s her.
I swear I’ve seen her before. But I know I’d remember her if I had.
“Watching butterflies, Old Man?” Rafe’s voice pulls me back to the present. I zero in on him, his smug smirk specifically.
The bell sounds and the round starts. His hard eyes land on mine, and we circle one another. Our movements are precise and rhythmic, almost like a dance. A dance I know well. But I also know Rafe well enough to know how deceptive he is. Like a snake ready to strike, he makes his first jab. I dodge it with success and raise my guard, closing the space between us and swinging at him.
I clip him in the jaw, but it’s only a brush. And now that I am close enough to make that jab, he hits me back, catching more flesh than I managed to. He smirks, and we pick up the pace. He punches; I dodge. I swing; he ducks. After another thirty seconds of impressive defense, I slam my knuckles square into his mouth, hard enough that his mouth guard knocks loose.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath as it flies across the ring. He’s motioned by the cutman to step out for another guard and probably to get his teeth counted. But Rafe ignores him.
“Playing dirty tonight, Old Man?” he asks, and I pull my guard loose.
“Figured I’d stoop to your level for once, Shaeffer,” I tell him as we pivot in the other direction. Rafe takes it the way I expect him to–as a challenge.
His hips rotate slightly to fuel a thrust as his fist snaps toward me. A half a step back is enough to avoid the contact, but I know this kid. He’s famous for following his lead hook with one from the rear, a killer punch if he can land it. Luckily, it’s a miss.
“When are you going to stand down, Wolfe?” he asks. “Make this easier on yourself and back off. Here, and with the Golden Rule bid,” he says, dodging a jab.
“I would, except I don’t want to make things easier for you,” I say, following up the jab with a cross. His head swerves, and I catch him on the shoulder. It throws my stance, and he gets me good with an uppercut.
It catches me across the bottom of my jaw and is almost enough to knock my lights out.
