Britt stops reading and tilts her head in my direction. “Is it okay if I sit here? I can’t deal with his chatter.”
Unable to think past the image of running my mouth all over her breasts, biting and leaving dark red marks in that creamy white skin to claim her as mine, I nod. Cheeks burning, I sink down in my seat, adjusting my hard-on as discreetly as possible stuck between the window on my left and her sitting six inches to my right, and close my eyes. I think every hideous, non-sexy thing possible to cleanse my mind of Britt and how badly I want her. I can’t have her. Not when I know I can never be worthy.
Britt
The schedule the week of the fight is so crazy, I’ve hardly had two seconds to speak to K even though we spend nearly all of our time together. There’s always something to be done or someone else with us—Gabriel, Max, Jack, journalists, AFL officials, fans—it’s insane. Even though he’s a rookie in his first fight, K has garnered massive amounts of interest. I’m not sure if it’s his unheard of training experience in Thailand and Brazil, the scouting reports, or if it’s just K, all tatted up and scary-looking, but excitement surrounds us wherever we go.
As do the women. Lots of them. Half-naked, desperate, clingy women all over K every minute of every day. Three days in Vegas and I want to scream, put my hand up, and shove them away by the face. Only the fact that K ignores every last one of them, his signature hood pulled down low over his eyes whenever we’re in public, keeps me sane and gives me smug satisfaction. It’s not like I haven’t noticed I’m the only woman he makes eye contact with.
I’m watching K spar in the cage at our Vegas training facility, a gym owned by a good friend of Gabriel’s. The week before a fight is crazy busy, but the workouts are cut back to about seventy-five percent to prevent burnout by fight night.
Truthfully, he doesn’t really need me here. K’s form is perfect. Every kick, punch, jab, and takedown is fluid and beautiful to watch.
Max drops onto the bench next to me, huffing. He motions towards K. “Jesus, you’d think he’s the second coming of Anderson Silva with all the freaking fuss being made.”
My mouth twists up, but I don’t acknowledge Max’s dig at K. He’s been unreasonably hostile this week when it comes to K, especially over the attention K is getting from the media and fans.
Naturally, Max continues ranting, clueless to the fact that we’re supposed to be here to help K succeed, not to cut him down over petty bullshit. “I mean, he’s not that special.”
I twist my head to face Max. He’s been my friend at work for the last two years, but I can’t let him continue to badmouth any member of our team. And we are supposed to be a team.
“Can you just shut up?”
Max’s mouth drops open in shock. Never in a million years did he think I would go off on him, but he doesn’t know I’ve been playing the passive-aggressive game with my mother for the last decade. I’m an expert at recognizing it.
“I… but… seriously?” he stammers. “You’re defending that stuck-up asshole?”
Now I’m flat-out fuming. “Stuck up? What on earth are you talking about?”
Max quickly works himself into a frenzy, his arms flailing all over the place. “He thinks he’s so much better than everyone else! Never speaking to anyone, turning his nose up at all of us! Fuck him for being such a dick.”
Don’t punch him.
I inhale deep, attempting to calm down enough to respond rationally instead of yelling. “Max, did it ever occur to you that maybe he’s like that for a reason?” I think of how tortured K looks sometimes and it makes me sad. I’ve spent hours wondering what happened to break such a strong man.
“Uh-uh. No way!” Max jumps to his feet, towering over me, still gesturing wildly. “He’s a fucking—”
I don’t hear the rest of Max’s tirade, because one of his flailing arms swings wide and he accidentally backhands me across the right side of my face. Stars explode behind my eyes and the hearing in my right ear fades in and out. His hand hit so hard I topple backward off the bench, landing on my shoulder.
Blistering white-hot pain shoots down my arm and I let out a cry.
“Oh my god, Britt! I’m sorry!” Max is kneeling beside me, hands hovering, unsure what to do.
I’m about to tell him to back off when a gust of air ripples over me and Max vanishes.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” At first, my hearing is still wavering, so I don’t know who’s shouting. Dazed, I begin to sit up, using my good arm to push off the ground. Gabriel appears at my side, helping me back onto the bench.
“Sit here, meu filha. I need to stop K before he disqualifies himself.”
Max’s panicked voice rings clear. “I didn’t mean to—”
Bewildered, I glance around and my stomach clenches at the sight in front of me. Oh no. K is holding Max up off the ground by his shirt, thumping him against the concrete wall like a rag doll.