His eyebrows shoot up, then he narrows his eyes. “You want me to hang back while you go frolicking with Miles?”
I slap his thigh playfully. “Yes, because he’s just a friend. He’s always been just a friend. I thought . . .” I shake my head. “Maverick, I didn’t know the real thing.”
He narrows his eyes even more.
But, I admit, the possessive look I see there thrills me a little.
No, a lot.
Maverick not only looks possessive, but he sounds possessive too. “You’ll go out with them after the fight, but you won’t come to watch my fight? Reese?” he says, frowning and cupping my breast again, as if to remind me who makes me moan.
I drop on the bed, tug the sheet up, and playfully hide my breasts from him. “You said you didn’t want me there because I’d fuck with your head.”
He tugs the sheet back down to look at me, then he rubs my breast tips with the pads of his thumbs. “I said that before. Before I wanted you so badly on my side.”
My eyes close.
“What? No slap?” he teases.
I slap his shoulder, then set my hand there, possessively too. I squeeze his hard arm, with meaning, though it hardly budges at all.
“I’ll meet my friends tomorrow. And I’ll find a way to make it to the championship match. To see you.” I get up then and wait for his answer.
He nods at that, slowly, his gaze a little threatening. “Just remember.” He cups my butt as he stands and gently bites the top of my ear. “This ass is mine.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
SEMIFINALS
Maverick
I’m ready.
I’m tapping my foot restlessly on the concrete floor of the Boston warehouse. It’s the second night of semifinals in Boston. Tate fought yesterday and won. Still undefeated, still ranked at first. I’m currently third.
I’ve been training like a beast and eating like a caveman, and I feel primitive now. Ready to take my place in the Underground tonight.
Oz says the place is packed. He’s told me a dozen times that I need to take out every single fighter out there. Some bigger, some faster, all of them more experienced, but not a single fucking one of them is as determined as I.
Most of the fighters out there do it for the money. Yeah. Boatloads of green are fine, but green is the least of my driving forces.
I watch Oz finish strapping on my gloves and think of the run I had with Tate yesterday. We didn’t say a word for seven miles. The conversation with him began and ended when we finished and guzzled down our electrolyte drinks. The conversation went like this:
Me: Reese and I are dating. And it’s serious.
Tate: Good. I’m serious about what I said too.
Me: Good.
Tate: You love her?
Me: Adore her.
Tate: Then there’s nothing more to say except don’t cheat, don’t hurt her, and don’t make her regret choosing you.
And I won’t. I fucking won’t. Even if tonight, I’m simmering in frustration over the fact that my girl will be all around town with Miles.
I want her here. With me. Or anywhere safe. Anywhere but with Miles.
“That fucker won’t have a thing for you.”
“Hmm?”
“Toro,” Oz assures me.
I know I’m glaring, but I’m too mad to do anything else. “I thought you meant Miles.”
“Oh, dammit, Maverick, you think Miles holds a candle to you?” Oz scowls protectively. “Nobody does!”
“Oz.” I laugh at last, then run my hand through my hair. “Never felt this way before. You know? I don’t like not knowing what I’m up against. What he’s like. What she saw in him.”
“Give me that damn hand, I’m not finished.” He takes my wrist and starts wrapping my hand in black tape. I watch him closely, beads of sweat across his brow. I feel for Oz. I know that every hour he spends without his flask is costing him his soul.
“You kind of grow on a guy, you know,” I say.
“Yeah?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Does your girlfriend hate my guts? I don’t want either of you to think I was a dick to her the other day. I was irked. For good reason. My champ stood up at the airport after going through all the effort of first class . . .”
“She had good reason and she doesn’t hate you. Reese offered to be your sponsor, Oz. She’s anti-Wendy, like you and me. She’s one of us.”
Oz exhales as if I just lifted the whole city off his shoulders.
I test out my hand before shoving my fingers into the black boxing glove he extends. “You haven’t drank today. Right?”
“Not for a few hours,” he admits, opening the other glove for me. “But I’m craving it, son. I’m going to need a fix soon.”
“If you’re even tempted, tell me and we’ll find something funner to do.”
“Yeah. Go break a few noses for me.” He signals to the door and steps back to make room for me.