“Oh, well, you went BIG in New York,” she turns back and winks at the guys, “quite often.” She lifts a glove mimicking a puppet, “Commit to me now. I know I haven’t seen you in over seven hundred days, but if you don’t say exactly the right thing in my time frame, I’m leaving, and I’m taking my big dick with me.”
She winces, tossing a look over her shoulder, “Sorry, Trevor.”
“Don’t be,” he quips, “just so you know, that runs in the family.”
“What the hell?” I protest as my entire corner snickers. “That’s so not how it went down.”
“Sorry,” Harper pipes, “foggy memory. It must still be a blur because of how fast you came and went.”
I step into her next jab. “You should talk.”
“I deserved that, two years ago, when it was relevant to our relationship, now I’m just pissed.” Another punch, this one lands squarely, and I have to give her a little credit, it had some pressure behind it.
“You’re delusional.”
“And you’re still a caveman. You might as well have thrown me over your shoulder and slapped me on the ass,” jab, jab, “oh wait, you did do that the first time we got together.”
“Is this some fucking joke to you?”
“Should it be?” She asks, lifting a brow. “You come to my city, turn my life upside down, demand once again that I commit without once letting me catch my breath.”
“That’s not how it—”
She lands another right on my lips, and it stings.
“You deserved that.”
Eyes blazing, I feel my anger brimming again. “You made your point yet?”
“Nope, gloves up, champ. You said you can’t fight without something to swing for, well, here I am.”
“Well, y
our time is up,” I say, throwing my own invisible punch, I see it land, but instead of giving in to her quivering lips, her eyes light fire.
“Wow, that was fast. And you expect me to believe a word you say?” she throws a right, and I lift my glove to avoid another blow to the face.
“Ah, there you are,” she says, too pleased with herself.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve.”
“Touché, Lance. Get your freaking gloves up.”
“I’m not fighting you.”
“You love fighting me.”
“I did.”
“You do.”
“Dancing, that’s where you need to be. Not here.”
“I am dancing,” she says, doing a perfect impression of a boxer’s footing around the ring.
“And she’s better than you,” Tony laughs.
This time I bite. “Why don’t you guys fuck off and give us some privacy?”