He pulled his attention away from me, his eyes soft, “I will be. I certainly have someone to fight for. Right by me at ring side.”
“I’ll be a distraction,” I said, continuing to stuff my face with food. I almost missed his reaction, but his fingers found the edge of my shorts, toying with the material.
“Not a distraction, more inspiration.”
“I’ll make sure I’m off in time.”
“Oh I know, I made sure you were getting off in the afternoon that way you had time to come home and shower,” he said, nonchalantly as he drank his beer he had brought.
“And how did you do that?”
“I have my way, peaches.” He lifted his eyebrows.
“Shooter.”
“Amelia.”
“I had it under control.”
“I’m sure you did. I made sure in case someone didn’t understand where you wanted to be on that day.” His fingers continued to trail along my shorts, right toward the zipper. Instinctively, I crossed my legs, trapping his fingers. I quickly realized the errors of my ways.
He stared at me. “Think we need to have a little talk?” Shooter suggested.
I shook my head. “Um, nope. I’msohungry. I need to finish this plate.”
“Mia, you looking a little flushed there, my friend,” Melody teased.
“Must be this Tennessee heat,” I faked the laugh.
“I think I need to cool you down, inside,” Shooter said before standing up, and cradled me into his chest. “Excuse us, ladies, I must take care of my girl.”
Well, I now knew to trap his fingers more often.
Chapter 39
Shooter
Days were passing by, and more and more, I started to believe that nothing was going to stand in my way of winning. Between patrolling the streets, taking care of club business, and spending an ungodly amount of hours in the gym, the hard work hopefully would pay off.
Flashbacks of the last fight would play in my head. I was trapped in that memory. I could feel everything from that day, my heart racing in my chest, the blood pumping in my veins, my mind racing to figure out how to take my opponent down. I unleashed the anger that had been pent up for so long, but I didn’t realize that I was blind to all that was around me.
“Come on, try your last combo again, your timing is off,” Hank commanded as his hands went up in position for my combination.
I had less than two weeks to get my shit together. The more I realized that I wasn’t perfecting different combinations or I underestimated certain fighters that helped me out, I started second guessing. I was feeling like I was back in my rookie season, fresh out of the locker room.
I grunted and pushed through the combination, my body feeling like it was on the brink of exhaustion. I could hear Hound now riding my chain, telling me I was overdoing it. Every throw to the mitt reverberated through my body. Every muscle screamed for a break, but I couldn’t do that, not with everything at stake.
“Alright, kid, take a break.” Hank unvelcroed this mitt.
I shook my head. “No. A few more rounds.” I raised my gloved hand.
“Forget it. Five minutes ain’t gonna kill you. Jesus, you’re worse than the rookies. You’re doing fine.”
“I don’t think I am.”
“Then get out of your damn head. You’re smart enough to know by now that it takes enough work and strength for this.” He raised a hand to my shoulder. “So when I say take a break, take a fucking break,” he growled out.
I huffed but decided not to fight with him.
