“That’s not a real thing.”
“It absolutely is.”
I smiled.
“See? You’re having a good time.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He wasn’t wrong. I was sore, but I felt good—warm from the beer and relaxed in a way I hadn’t been in weeks. Maybe part of it was the win from the night before. I’d felt sharp in the ring. Strong. In control. Between the success I’d had last night and the alcohol I’d consumed tonight, it had become easier not to think about how badly I’d wanted to stay back in my room with an ice pack.
Bradford rested an arm on the table. “So besides boxing and acting like this is all a burden, what do you do?”
I lifted a shoulder. “Work. Train. Sleep.”
He laughed. “That’s depressing.”
“I didn’t say it was exciting.”
“What do you do when you’re off?”
I thought about it for a second. “Training, mostly. Running. Lifting. Trying not to waste my only day off.”
“That’s it?”
“Pretty much. You?”
“Gym. Basketball. Hooking up with guys I meet on The Click.”
“The Click?” I arched a brow.
“You know, the dating app?”
“For gay guys?”
He shook his head. “Not only gays. You can specify who you want to match with.”
I took a sip of my beer. “That sounds more fun than my answer.”
He smirked. “That’s because your answer sounded like a punishment.”
“It’s not.”
“You sure?”
“Most days.”
That got a laugh out of him. He took a drink, still watching me. “How do you like San Antonio?”
“It’s not new to me.”
“No?”
“My dad was stationed here when I was a kid.”
“No shit?”
