“Are you trying to warn me you like freaky sex or something? Like tie-ups or…anal?”
He didn’t laugh. I’d extinguished the light in his eyes completely.
“Anything goes. Either you say yes or you say no. No pussying out later.”
“Yes,” I whispered.
He let out a long, anguished breath and tipped his head back. “I’m not hitting you in the face. Do you understand me? Nothing above the neck. No kicks either. It’ll be a straight wrestling takedown. No more, no less.”
Well, that would be a mighty fine show for the spectators. We’d shake hands and he’d force me to the mat. Then maybe we’d make out a little. Christ.
We’d just see about that.
“Fine,” I gritted out, hating that now I was a liar along with everything else. Because it wasn’t fine. He was going to fight me for real. I wanted that level of respect from him. That he knew I wouldn’t “pussy out” as he’d called it. That he understood I could damn well take it.
No one could break me. Not even him.
He stood and stalked over to my backpack. I was about to ask him what the hell he was doing when he took out my phone. His fingers raced over the keys before he tossed it onto the bed. “I gave you Coach Timmins’ number. Use it. If you’re getting in the ring with me, I expect a certain level of performance.”
Like a dope, I rose to the bait. “Why? So you can check my form when you swan dive me to the canvas?”
He picked up his jeans and pulled them on. “Other than the night we agreed to, it’s probably not a good idea we see each other anymore.”
Even lying down, I reeled as if I’d been sucker punched. If I hadn’t already had my arms around my midsection, they would’ve clamped there to try to stem the wave of nausea.
And I’d thought he couldn’t take me down. How wrong I’d been.
Get up. Get on your feet. One shoulder up, then the rest will follow.
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. What could I say? That he was right?
It hadn’t been a good idea the day he’d walked into Vinnie’s. Or the nights he’d waited for me. It hadn’t been a good idea that I’d set my sights on fighting him when he was obviously the only man who could bruise me internally without laying a finger on my skin.
My thighs were still wet from what we’d done together. And he was breaking up with me when we’d never even been a couple.
I’d never experienced what that was like. Probably never would. My mistake was forgetting my reality for a few moments. He was right to do this. We had nothing in common, except everything.
He tugged on his hoodie and bent to pick up the pieces of his T-shirt. I’d torn them off his body less than an hour ago. Without sparing them a glance, he dumped them in the trash.
Carmine wouldn’t like that he’d ruined his work shirt already. I’d have to add the cost of replacing it to the running tab I owed Fox. The number was already way too high.
Fox crossed the room to the door and bent his head, not looking at me. Funny, because I couldn’t look away. If this were my last glimpse of him like this, I’d take it without shame.
He’d made me into a junkie. The needle had just left me and I was already on the verge of begging for another fix. What would I be like tomorrow?
“Kick her ass,” he rasped.
For a full minute, I had no idea what or who he meant. Fighting had been one of my few reasons for living a few days ago. Now it was a footnote. An acknowledgement even I’d forgotten to read.
I rolled on my back after he’d gone. The rain drummed against the window. The relentless patter blocked out the static in my head and heart.
Then my eyes drifted to the bedpost, and the jacket still hanging there.
Chapter Eighteen
Tray
I had Friday off. One day of work, and I was already a free man until Sunday. Mia wasn’t working then. I’d talked to Carmine and told him we had a situation and should work together as little as possible.