Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 822(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 822(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
Her body has filled out a lot more. Her tits are bigger, fuller. Her hips are a little wider, her waist so damn narrow I know it might be possible to bend her over and break her in half, if it came down to it.
Everything in me wanted to shred out of my fighting robe, drop out of the fight, and sweep her away. Because the fight no longer mattered once I saw her.
The Slayer was an issue for another time. The one thing I wanted to make my priority was Jenny fucking Roscoe.
But I couldn’t do that. I’d come so far. People knew me all over the world now. I had one more fight until off-season—the one tonight—and I wasn’t giving up on the last lap.
I wanted her to know I was great. I wanted to show her what I was still capable of. The plan was to show off—make the fight a good one—but then some fucker came up beside her, and it was like a switch turned off inside me.
That light I felt inside vanished, and transitioned to darkness. I completely flipped the fuck out.
Who was this motherfucker? Jenny wouldn’t end up with someone like him. She was against boys like him, from what I remember.
He was too preppy, with his blonde hair and ironed, button-down shirt. He was probably the type to think the world revolved around him.
I couldn’t take it—watching him murmur in her ear. Watching him look at her. I didn’t know what the fuck he was saying, but he was too fucking close to her.
I finished The Slayer like he was nothing to me. I wanted to make it a good one. Make it last at least four rounds so people could get their money’s worth. My manager, Leo, told me to try and drag it out—don’t go for knockouts.
But did I listen?
Fuck, no.
I needed to know who that little shit beside Jenny was.
I needed to talk to her before she could get away.
I know I have no right to be so jealous. I have no right to be so pissed that another man was touching her. What the fuck did I expect after all these years? That she’d still be single after me? Still waiting for me?
Nope.
Not Jenny.
That’s why I’m glad I have her here now. We’ve met again. This is no coincidence. I don’t care if she wants nothing to do with me. I’ve spent years trying to reach out to her, but with this job, it’s been difficult.
I’ve just climbed out of my ice bath, which is why I’m standing naked in front of her. Not a great first (or genuine) impression, but naked is better than not being here at all.
After she agrees to wait for me for her measly five minutes, I shower up quickly. The truth is, I’m not sure what she’s capable of now.
Though she’s still just as beautiful—hell, even more beautiful—I don’t think she has the tolerance or patience for my bullshit anymore. I have to play it cool. I have to win her over again.
Shit, after what I did to her, I don’t blame her.
I didn’t have much of a choice then.
I couldn’t explain things to her. I tried to call to reschedule our meet-up at the bridge, but I was already on that plane and out of Fox River before I could even take a deep breath.
I have a lot to tell her. A lot to discuss. I need tonight with her, at least. She doesn’t have to take me back, but I do hope she can forgive me.
Walking around the corner with a pair of briefs on, I pick up my gym bag and then glance at her. She’s sitting on the bench by the door with her legs crossed. I run my eyes up and down the length of her.
She fidgets, pulling her line of vision away from me.
“How have you been?” I ask.
Her phone buzzes and she picks it up to check the screen. She swipes over it to end whatever the alert is and then whips her head over to look at me.
“I’m sorry… what?”
“I said, how have you been?”
Her left eye twitches, then she narrows her brows as I pull my shirt over my head. “Is that what we’re resorting to now? Small talk? If so, I didn’t come all the way back here for that.”
“What do you mean?”
She stares at me blankly before blinking. Then she stands with a sigh. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll just cut to the chase. How did you get the cross?” she demands.
She holds it up in the air by the chain and it sways gently. I drag my eyes back up to hers, tugging on a pair of jeans.
Sitting on the bench, I blow out a sigh and put on my shoes.
“I went back for it.”