Brynn smiles. It might be real too, though it’s too soon to tell. Then she shoves a tray toward me.
“Alright, newbie. You’re on.”
I take the tray and turn to the floor, walking with confidence. Actually, I’m just walking in a way that won’t spill the drinks, but I like to think it looks like I’m walking with confidence. As I make my way towards the sea of suits and ties, Brynn calls my name.
“Mila!”
I turn and look over my shoulder.
“Smile!”
Oh right.
I force a smile as I weave between the tables, passing off the drinks to the men in reverse order. Luckily, I seem to get it all right. I get a nod from Sanchez, Max’s glass is at a steady half, and I’m not wearing a glass of bourbon. I head back to the bar, and I’m feeling pretty good.
“Not bad,” Brynn says as she heads out with her own tray. “Why don’t you wait on some people in the back, and then I’ll tell you about the fighters.”
“Carlos is the one with the sleeve tattoos,” she says once we have a moment. “He’s a bit of a wild card. Not a bad fighter, but not the best. Ramon is the one with the shaved head and the scar on his face. And Rafe is the blonde with shit eating grin. He’s the one you spilled a drink on the other night. It was one of his off nights.”
My eyes widen, and I turn to her. “You heard about that?”
But Brynn just grins. “Sweetie, everyone heard about that.”
Of course, they did.
My heart catches in my throat when I see a figure moving around near the stage. I’d know his strong, square shoulders anywhere. I also know his black hair with streaks of silver. He’s in his black shorts, black shoes, and black tape.
“And that,” Brynn says with a smirk as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Is–”
“Dominic,” I say before she does.
“Dom,” she says. “You know him?”
“A little,” I say. It’s the truth. I feel like I know at least a little about the man…and in very different capacities. I know him as his housekeeper, as thefighter Iwatched in the ring, and Dom in his Maserati. I’m slowly peeling back the stubborn layers of this multi-faceted man.
“He’s fifty,” she says as he flexes his muscles and stretches. “The oldest fighter at the Cockpit. But you wouldn’t know it just by looking at him.”
You wouldn’t guess it by fucking him either.
“He has beat everyone at least once. Most bidders put their money on him. The only fighter who has ever given him a run for his money is Rafe,” she says.
“Rafe beat him?”
“Only once, but it was pretty bad. He caught him with an uppercut that Dom didn’t see coming. A strong move for sure, but?—”
“Strong enough to leave a scar?” I ask, and she looks at me.
Fuck.
“I mean, I assume there’s a scar,” I say.
“Yes. Some people think Rafe cheated,” she says.
“How could he cheat?” I ask, my eyes still on Dominic.
“By wearing something on his hands under the tape. A ring. Anything metal or sharp.”
“Is that legal?” I ask. “He could kill someone doing that.”
