“Both.”
At least he was honest, and I was a little intrigued. What could be the harm listening to someone with fighting insight while getting a meal out of it?
“All right. I can eat.”
“There’s a diner about ten minutes from here. It’s open all night.”
I nodded. “Yeah … okay.”
I watchedhis taillights as I followed Devon to the diner. Once we parked, we went inside and took a booth near the window. We checked out the menu, and both ordered a cheeseburger, fries, and a Coke.
After the server walked away, Devon leaned forward slightly. “So what’s your story?”
I shrugged. “Nothing interesting.”
“Try me.”
“All right. I work at a pizza joint and pick up fights when I can. Then I crash wherever someone’s got an open couch.”
He frowned. “No permanent home?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
“Any family?”
I stared down at the table. “Not really.”
He didn’t push.
The server came back with our drinks, setting the glasses down in front of us.
Devon took a sip and then spoke again. “I own a gym.”
“Really?”
“Titan Elite.” He beamed.
The name sounded familiar, and I remembered passing by the place a few times while out on deliveries.
“In Sacramento?” I clarified.
“That’s the one.”
“That’s not exactly a small gym.”
“No, it’s not,” he agreed.
“And you’re just here?” I gestured vaguely in the direction of where we’d just come from.
“Not exactly. There’s a tournament in town this weekend,” he explained. “I’ve got a couple of fighters competing tomorrow.”
“And you just decided to hit up an illegal fight while in town?”
He smirked. “I like seeing what’s out there. Sometimes you find someone worth investing in.”
My brows furrowed. “And you think that’s me?”
“I think you’ve got raw talent, but you’re going to get yourself seriously hurt if you keep doing this without proper training.”
