Holy shit.
Shirts off. Skin glistening with sweat. Jagger and Hawke go head-to-head in the ring as Roman waits on the side, his chest heaving as if he’s taking a break but will jump back in at any second. They all fight? Since when?
Winding up, Jagger leaps forward to hit Hawke, but he dodges at the last second, landing a quick jab to Jagger’s side. Jagger’s laughter mingles with the music as he jumps to the right, then connects his gloved fist to Hawke’s chest in a muffled wham.
“You’re getting faster,” he tells his little brother.
“Or you’re getting slower,” Hawke quips. He drives forward with another one-two hit, but Jagger blocks it, covers his face, sweeps around, and takes out Hawke’s legs. With a loud thud, Hawke lands flat on his back, but he responds in a flash. Twisting his leg under him, Hawke swings it hard, bringing Jagger to the ground with him. They roll on the mat, each fighting for the upper hand, though I’m not educated enough to know what it is. All I know is it’s hot as hell. Watching two grown men grapple with each other. And not in a dominating or angry way, either. It’s almost…playful. Like a pair of lion cubs or something. I guess it makes sense. They're brothers. Neither wants to actually hurt their opponent. It’s like all they want to do is learn and grow and practice and…Lexie would die if she saw this. Three grown men all sweaty and sexy and muscly and…she’s totally wearing off on me.
“Enjoying the show?” Ford teases from behind me.
I nearly jump out of my skin and turn to face him. “Oh. Hey. Sorry. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
A sexy smirk plays at the edge of his mouth. “Sure, you didn’t.” Slipping past me, he pushes open the door, then grabs a pair of gloves from the corner and steps onto the mat. “Hey, Jag, you have a visitor.”
Sweat clings to Jagger’s dark strands as he finds me in the doorway while I simply stand there like a paralyzed gazelle. Well, shit. Not exactly the way I wanted to start this conversation. Not that we’re even having a conversation. Nope. I’m still standing here. Unsure what to do or what to say. Clasping my fingers in front of me, I fight the urge to melt into the wall entirely. Why, hello, Jagger. Don’t mind me. I most definitely was not checking you out or anything. Nope. Because it would be weird. And totally inappropriate. Yep, yep, yep. Super inappropriate. Especially when you take into accounthow I most definitely asked you to stay with me last night after showing up on your doorstep out of nowhere.
Yeah, I’m seriously second-guessing the whole tracking-Jagger-down decision from five minutes ago.
Chest heaving, Jagger catches his breath, continuing to pin me with a stare I can feel from the top of my head to the tip of my toes. And suddenly, everything else fades away. There’s only me and him.
Me.
And him.
Okay, so the chemistry I swore I made up last night is apparently still very real. Got it.
“Be right back,” Jagger says. He jumps to his feet, steps off the mat, and strides toward me with a swagger I swear can’t be taught. Nope. It’s all him. Or maybe it’s genetic. Actually, considering how his brothers seem to operate in the same way, it’sdefinitelygenetic. How can he be so…casual? So confident and self-aware? So unaffected. By me or anyone else. Honestly, it isn’t fair.
“Hey, Little Thief,” he greets me.
The stupid organ in my chest flutters to life all over again at the use of his nickname for me.
Say something, Violet!
“Hi.”
Good one, Violet. Super suave.
My hand itches to slap my forehead, but I dig my fingernails into my palm instead.
He takes in my expression, his forehead wrinkling. “You good?”
Good? Am I good? Not exactly. I feel kind of tongue-tied, which is pretty out-of-character for me. I’m no Lexie, but—oh. He’s talking about my face looking like bruised plums and tomatoes.
“Uh, yeah?” I offer. “Yeah, I’m good. Sore, but good.”
His chin dips. “Makes sense. I’ll grab you some more pain killers.”
He goes to step around me, but I stop him. “I already took some. Listen.”
“Yeah?”
Just get this over with so you can leave and go back to everything being normal, I silently remind myself.
“Can we…can we talk?” I ask.
His frown deepens. “Why do I feel like I’m in trouble?”
