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)
“Okay, so tell me, what is a normal fight fan?”
I shrug, a half-grin tugging my lips. “Our usual demographic is guys. I’m sure you’re not so naïve that you didn’t notice that.”
“Times and demographics change,” she replies. “There are a lot more women getting into and following the fight game these days. Don’t be such a sexist.”
“I’m not a sexist,” I say with a laugh.
“You’re only playing one on TV?” She smiles playfully.
Her voice is high and musical—I could listen to it all day. And her personality is fun and sparkling. I enjoy being around her. There aren’t many people I can say that about in my world. She’s sexy as fuck, and even though I would love to have her bent over this table right now, I’m actually having a good time sitting and talking with her. She’s clever and has a sharp, dry sense of humor. But beyond the quips and cracks, she’s smart. She seems able to talk intelligently about anything under the sun.
Honestly, as sexy as she is—and she really is the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen—Grace’s intelligence is her best feature. As much as I’d like to spend some time with her naked, doing outrageously filthy things with her, I could get used to spending time having a conversation with her. I could get used to hearing her views on any number of subjects. She has a view of the world that’s so different from mine that hearing what she has to say is refreshing. It’s interesting.
I wasn’t the best student when I was back in school, and I never went to college, but I’ve done my best to educate myself. I read. A lot. I’m so dedicated to learning and improving myself that I’ve spent time reading the goddamn dictionary, memorizing all the words and definitions. As best as I could anyway. But how many people can say they’ve done that? Some might call me a nerd, but whatever.
“So, what got you into fighting?” I ask.
“My dad,” she replies. “He and I used to watch fights all the time. It was our thing.”
“Used to?”
She looks down as her smile fades, and her face is lined with emotion. She’s barely twenty, more than a decade my junior, but in that moment, her eyes make her seem older than me. There’s a heaviness and a dark grief in them that makes me feel for her. She takes a minute, seeming to be gathering her thoughts, and finally raises her head.
“My mom died a few years back, and he hasn’t been the same since,” she says. “We still have a good relationship and all, but it’s different. We don’t talk like we used to. We don’t even really watch the fights together anymore. He still keeps up and likes to talk about it, but he’s not very social anymore and prefers to be alone most of the time.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that,” I say.
“Thanks.”
Grace runs a hand over her face to shake off the fog of emotion that’s trying to settle down over her. She looks up at me with a shaky smile on her face.
“Sorry,” she says. “Didn’t mean to bring the mood down.”
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about. I like that you’re real,” I tell her. “Too many people in my world aren’t. I appreciate authenticity. It’s rare.”
She eats another fry and tries to get herself out of her sudden funk. “What about you?” she asks. “You were an up-and-comer in the fight game. But you disappeared. Where’d you go?”
It’s my turn for my smile to slip. I barely know this girl. And yet, I’m compelled to be honest with her. There’s something about her that demands truth. Whenever somebody asks me why I walked away from the fight game, my natural instinct is to deflect and change the subject. And it’s what rises to my lips now. But Grace was authentic with me, and I feel like I owe it to her to be as genuine with her as she was with me. It’s not easy, though, since I’ve spent a lot of years avoiding the question. Drawing in a deep breath, I let it out slowly.
“Griffin?”
I raise my gaze to hers, the sight of her emerald green eyes nearly stealing my breath. I trace the curve of her lips with my eyes and imagine them pressed to my mouth. Imagine her soft, curvy body held tightly to me. Imagine the warmth and wetness of her depths. My cock stiffens in my jeans again, getting so hard, it’s painful.
“Yeah. Sorry,” I say with a cough. “I had to step away from the game. I had some … family issues. It was a tough time.”
“What sort of family issues?”
I’m silently kicking my own ass, knowing how evasive and opaque that answer was. I said I’d be transparent and honest with her. And my answer was anything but that. Clenching my jaw, I steel myself. I’ve never talked to anybody about this before, and I don’t know why I’m so compelled to share this with Grace. I just do.