“But no, there hasn’t been. The high school guys were frightened of me because I hung around with grown men who could kick their asses. Then, in Thailand, I wasn’t exactly on the prowl. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t a virgin before Thaklaew, but I’d never been on more than a couple of dates with the same guy either.”
“Good.” I can feel his breath on my hairline when he speaks. “Does that mean I’m special?”
I smooth a hand over his chest. “Digging for compliments?”
“Shamelessly.”
“Yes.” Angling my face up, I kiss the line of his jaw. “I can honestly say I’ve never met anyone like you.”
I’m beginning to think I never will again, that regardless of how different we might seem on the outside, he’s it for me.
And that both thrills and terrifies me.
ChapterTwenty-One
Harley
For the next two weeks—except for when we part ways during the day, each going to our separate gym—Devon and I are practically glued at the hip. We run together, lift weights together, talk tactics together, and then screw against every available surface of his apartment. It’s insane. I should be tired of him, but I don’t ever remember enjoying myself so much, and he doesn’t seem to be losing interest in me either. Not to mention that I’ve had more orgasms since we started sleeping together than I’ve had in my life before him. My sexcapades have never been particularly successful and he puts every other man I’ve been with to shame.
Seth hasn’t come around yet, but I’ve been casually mentioning Devon on the occasions when I visit his condo to restock my clothing or do the laundry. Honestly, I may as well move into Devon’s place at the rate we’re going. I also drop his name into conversation at the gym. Mention what his training plans are. What strategy we’re working on for his fight. So far, I haven’t made much headway, but we have progressed from Seth raising an eyebrow each time I bring it up to grunting in acknowledgement and looking mildly interested, which means he’s desperately curious on the inside.
It’s a Friday evening, and Devon and I are cuddled on his sofa, alternating between watching Karson Hayes’s past fights and watching those of my potential opponents. We’re analyzing them. Sharing opinions, advice, and commentary. On the screen, Tammy Haddon—one of the women in my tournament—slams an opponent to the ground and straddles her.
“She’s too aggressive,” Devon comments. “Not great on defense.”
Rich coming from him. I watch as Tammy pulverizes the girl beneath her. “Can’t argue with the results.”
He shakes his head. “You can take her. She’s not one of the bigger threats.”
We’ve been coming up with a tactic for each girl I might face, and prioritizing them from smallest to biggest threat. This is probably stuff I should be doing with Seth, and I’m sure he’ll approach me about it at some stage, but there’s something comforting about talking it through with Devon first. He has such unwavering faith in me and seems invested in helping me come out on top.
The fight ends, and we switch to another one with Karson Hayes. I have to say, I like seeing the blond egomaniac getting punched in the face by some guy named Taz, who’s easily bigger than him. He seemed like a douchebag when he cornered me at Steel Angels, and having heard what happened between him and Lena only confirms that impression. I’m all about helping Devon kick his ass.
“He doesn’t like it when people get in the pocket,” I remark.
Devon nods. “Good spotting. I need to work on my uppercuts and knees.”
I love that he listens to my advice. A lot of men seem to think they can’t benefit by taking advice from a woman—even if that woman has had more than twice as much experience as them—but he just listens. No crying about his ego. To be honest, I think it’s rock solid, which means there’s no need for him to be bothered by my suggestions.
We watch Karson come out with the win—much to my disappointment—then swap to another girl from my list. The fight we choose has a lot of jiu-jitsu style grappling. The knot of nerves in my gut cinches tighter.
“I’m not sure I’m on her level when it comes to this stuff,” I admit. Showing weakness isn’t high up on my list of favorite pastimes, but I’m trying to get better at being vulnerable with him.
“You’ll get there,” he assures me, then adds, “Even if you don’t, I’ll still love you if you have cauliflower ears and a smooshed nose.”
My mouth falls open and my chest tightens. “You’ll what?”
I can tell he doesn’t even realize what he’s admitted. Slowly, he turns to face me, ignoring the action on the screen.
“What did you just say?” I persist, unable to think of anything except his absentminded comment.
He studies me for a long moment, dozens of micro-expressions flickering across his face before his mouth slowly curves up at the edges. “I’ll still love you no matter how much grappling messes you up.”
“You…” I can hardly manage to say the word. “Love me?”
“I do.” He seems almost as surprised by this declaration as I am, but then he shrugs and returns to being the Devon I’m used to. “I’ve never been one to hide my feelings, so why start now?”
I stare at him, my brain short-circuiting. He’s just dumped the “L” word on us. How am I supposed to process that?
