Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
The spotlight shifts to highlight another man coming out of the locker room, and the walk-out music switches from hip-hop to the heavy drum beats and driving guitar of a hard rock band. As the music reaches a thunderous crescendo, another man in a robe with a hood pulled low bounces out of the tunnel.
“All right, now, let’s give it up for the God of War,” the announcer bellows. “Put your hands together and make some noise for Griffin Harris!”
The Warehouse erupts with applause, and I find myself watching the man carefully. Surely, it couldn’t be the same Griffin Harris I’m thinking of. He was on the professional MMA circuit for a little while and had a real shot at being a champion. What would he be doing in an underground fight club like this? Maybe the better question is, when he had so much going for him and a chance at immortality, why had he up and disappeared like that? I haven’t heard his name in a while and always wondered what happened to him.
As he passes me, our eyes meet, and my heart drops straight into my stomach. My skin tingles and my pulse begins to race as electricity crackles in the air between us. Griffin’s gaze lingers on mine for a long moment—long enough that Lila notices and nudges me in the side with her elbow—before he turns and finishes the brief journey to the ring.
As he ducks beneath the ropes, throws his robe off, and starts to warm up, his crystal blue gaze finds mine again. My heart is beating so hard against my chest; it’s almost painful, and my panties are so wet, it’s uncomfortable. I’ve never had this kind of reaction to anybody before, and though I try to turn away, I can’t. My eyes are glued to him.
Griffin finally looks away as he focuses on the task before him, and I can finally breathe again. I take a moment to let the fuzziness in my head fade.
“My God,” I mutter to myself.
2
GRIFFIN
“Focus, idiot. Get your fucking head in the game,” I mutter to myself.
As the ring announcer goes through his spiel, I bounce around the ring, warming up and getting my shit together. I’ve got a fight to win. But like an involuntary reflex, my eyes find their way back to the girl in the front row. No more than five-two with hair the color of an old penny, she’s got eyes that sparkle like emeralds and smooth, pale skin. She’s fucking gorgeous. She’s wearing a black, vintage-style thigh-length dress with white polka dots that accentuate the full, round curve of her tits and showcases toned legs that seem longer than a girl her size should have.
I need to turn away, but I can’t. She’s fucking mesmerizing.
She’s probably no more than twenty—a college kid like most of the people in this fucking building—which means I should probably stop thinking about her. I’m thirty-two and too old for a college girl. But there’s something about her that’s captured my attention. Captured it and won’t let me go.
Every time I try to avert my gaze, I find myself turning right back toward her again. It’s not helping that every time I do turn her way, she’s looking back at me with flushed cheeks and a sultry, sexy expression on her face. I need to focus on this fight, but all I can think about is spending the rest of the night balls deep inside of her.
“Dude, what’s up? You with us?”
I turn and see my opponent, Tommy James, standing in front of me with a smarmy smirk on his face. I’ve known Tommy for years. We’ve trained and sparred together more times than I can count. He’s not a bad guy, but he’s not necessarily a good guy, either. I get along with him for the most part, but he can sometimes be a real asshole. Especially when he thinks he can get an edge by getting under your skin. He’ll say or do anything to exploit any chinks in your armor, real or perceived. It’s all part of the game.
Fighters are always trying to find an edge. Find some way to knock you off your game enough that it gives them room to get inside and blow you up. I’ve done it myself. Once upon a time, I was going somewhere and had to learn to control myself and not let people get under my skin. I learned to blow it off. But when a mid-level fighter who really isn’t going anywhere like Tommy tries to get under my skin, it’s the only trick they have in their bag. And since they can’t rely on their skill, it’s more annoying than anything.
“I’m fine,” I tell him.
“You seem distracted.”
“I said I’m fine.”
He smirks at me. “You sure? We can call this fight off if you’re—”