He grunted, which gave me momentary satisfaction. “Men don’t make hardly anything fighting, unless you fight so dirty that you draw crowds. Like Costas.” Since I happened to know his next match was with Costas, I didn’t comment. “Or unless you win practically every match and get in the promoters’ spotlight. It can’t be much different with women.”
“Was there a question in there somewhere?”
“You win a lot.”
“I’m no Fox Knox.” I smirked. “But I get by.”
His face turned stony. “Who?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes. And that was a question, so stop stalling.”
“Caliente Cross. She’s a weight class above me, been in the game a long time. If I beat her, I’ll collect the most money I have yet.” I jutted out my chin. “Until I fight you.”
He glossed right over that. “What do you weigh? A buck twenty?”
I hadn’t even weighed one-twenty in school when I’d actually had a steady food intake. In the dating world, a man overestimating your weight was cause for despair and an extra pint of Ben & Jerry’s. In the fighting one, it was a badge of pride. “You know, I’m starting to think that bath and massage isn’t worth it.”
Those were the magic words to get his feet in gear. But they didn’t close his mouth. “Kizzy’s in your corner?”
“Yes. She’s my trainer.”
“And that Jamison dude helps out?”
“When I need someone other than Kizzy. Which isn’t often,” I added, vaguely annoyed.
“I have someone I want you to meet.” He walked faster, probably anticipating the insult volley about to hit him square in the back of the head. “He trains me at The Cage. His name is Timmins, and I’m not sure he’ll take you on, but I think—”
“Full stop. You want me to work with your trainer?”
“I said I want you to meet him.”
“Damn, it’s true.” I slowly shook my head. “I’ve heard rumors that sometimes sleeping with a guy makes them go batshit and think they own your vagina.”
Instead of leering or sneering or any of the other possessive, egotistical expressions I would’ve predicted, his eyes shuttered. “Were you were a virgin?” he asked softly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. I thought maybe…”
I hated the concern in his voice. “No,” I snapped, crossing my arms and looking down the street. We’d finally reached his brownstone. This had been the longest walk in history. “I wasn’t a virgin. Far from it.” With effort, I dragged my gaze back to his. A small point of pride. “So don’t worry your pretty little head about that.”
“But—”
“Let’s get some stuff straight, okay? I fucked you. I liked it a lot. If I were in the market for more of the same, you’d be the first guy I would call. I’m not. I’m also not looking for a boyfriend. I’ve never needed one before, and I damn sure don’t now. So save the chivalry for someone who can appreciate it, all right?”
He remained silent for what felt like forever. Then he nodded and jerked his chin at his place. “Let’s go take a bath.”
Chapter Fourteen
Tray
She always chose the right move to disarm her opponent. Why use a simple jab to the chin when you could employ a flying kick to the groin? She had flawless execution a
nd excellent timing, but I made my living being fast on my feet.
She didn’t want a boyfriend. Had I volunteered? No.
I had volunteered to wash her back, though. And that would be happening. Soon.
I tossed my keys on the table near the front door and kicked off my shoes and wet socks. My toes had shriveled up and frozen during the endless walk from Shooters. “Want a beer?” I headed for the kitchen without checking to see if she followed.