Blake’s cool-guy expression turns bitter, and I muffle my laugh. I absolutely adore the fact that Blake found a woman who can stand toe-to-toe with his shit talk.
He pulls Layla to his side and kisses the top of her head. “Don’t remember any naked women, Mouse. Your sexy ass has burned away the memory of all the other women.”
She goes soft and leans deeper into him.
I can see the make-out session brewing and swing my gaze to Wade. “That’s where I know you from. You fought Blake last month, right?”
“Wade, this is Eve.” Cameron introduces us.
“Nice to meet you. Yeah, Blake got lucky. Won’t happen again.”
“Talk all the shit you want, man. We’ll get a rematch soon enough. Don’t come crying to me when I knock you out. Again,” Blake says.
Cameron interjects and Mason jumps into the conversation, which soon leads to a who’s-fighting-next debate. I tune them out when I see people moving around on stage. I focus on Ryder, who fits in perfectly up there with his punk rock hair, eyeliner, and jeans that seem tight but still sag off his hips.
“. . . when Cameron gets his fight.”
The words stab through my concentration.
I turn to Mason. “What did you say?”
Cameron’s body tenses at my side.
Mason’s mouth lifts with a small grin that doesn’t look all that friendly. “Cam’s fighting Faulkner.”
Layla’s eyes are wide on Blake, who suddenly finds the label on his beer bottle the most interesting thing in the room.
“When do you find out if the board approves the fight?” Wade chimes in. “Be a kick-ass card, man.”
The waitress swings by, dropping off new drinks and setting down a scotch for Cameron and a Corona for me.
Cameron shrugs. “I’ve been approved, but official word waits so they can announce it at a press conference.”
I jerk my head to Cameron. “What are you talking about? You’re going back into the octagon?”
“He is,” Mason says, “pending medical and board approval.”
Medical? I keep my eyes on Cameron. “What does that mean?”
Cameron opens his mouth to answer.
“Brain damage is no joke, Eve.” Mason jumps in, earning a scowl from Cameron. “Gotta make sure his noggin can take another hit, or they’ll be signing his death certificate.”
Death.
Cameron drops his chin, and his knuckles go white around his glass.
I lean in. “Hold on. Explain—”
The lights flash and electric guitar blasts through the speakers. A roar from the crowd makes the rest of this conversation impossible, and I hope I can calm my nervous stomach enough to enjoy the show.
Cameron back in the octagon. Why would he do that? Raven told me once that a thirty-year-old fighter is a retired fighter. It was something she was looking forward to so she wouldn’t have to worry about her husband. I’m sure there are exceptions, but Cameron is thirty-eight.
Back into the octagon. With them throwing words like brain damage and death around, I have too many questions and not a single answer. I watch Ataxia play but don’t hear the music. My thoughts are on the man at my side and why the hell the president of the UFL would even consider taking this kind of risk.
*
Cameron
“Good show, huh?” It’s my third attempt at conversation since we left The Blackout. She’s blown me off twice, and if she refuses to acknowledge me this time, it’s three strikes you’re out.
Mason—that little shit—and his convenient confession at the club didn’t seem to fuck up the night completely. Eve still seemed to enjoy the show well enough. She didn’t bounce around and sing into her thumb as I’ve seen her do in the past.
Ryder did his duty as roadie like a champion and was flyin’ high when he left the club to hook up with some friends, probably intent on bragging his ass off while celebrating his birthday. Eve really hooked it up for my boy.
I pull into my garage and throw the Maserati into park. She doesn’t move, her head still turned away from me and gazing out the window, this time at nothing but the interior wall of my garage.
“Yvette.”
She jerks her head around to face me, eyes tight.
I fight the urge to grin at her expression. A pissed-off Eve is feisty Eve, and damn, she’s fun when she’s feisty.
“Talk to me.”
“I hate it when you call me that.”
“I know.”
“But you do it anyway.”
I scratch my jaw. “What can I say, doll? I like pissin’ you off.”
“Psht.” She shakes her head and turns back to her window.
“You wanna sit starin’ at the wall all night or go inside and talk to me about what has you so upset?”
Mason bringing up my fight with Faulkner was clearly done to get under Eve’s skin or, more specifically, to drive a wedge between us. The fact that everyone at those tables knew about the fight except her clearly isn’t sitting well with my little ball buster.
“You’re gonna fight?”
There it is. “Yeah.”
She turns to me. “Why?”
“Old rival, back from the dead, callin’ me out—”
“You could say no.”