Page 189 of The Trouble With Bad Boys

I don’t put my body through the rigors of kickboxing to be the loser.

My opponent talked a big game tonight, but he didn’t have the stamina to support his smack talk, something I never do. It’s a waste of energy. I’d rather let my body do the talking in the ring.

His coach climbs into the ring to tend to him while the referee holds up my arm and announces me as the winner to a roaring crowd. When I climb out, Ken hands over my water bottle and pats me on the back. “You looked great up there, Linc.”

“Thanks. Felt good. I thought this guy was supposed to be a challenge.” I smirk.

He shrugs, looking at the guy laid flat out. “What can I say? You’re on fire.” He chuckles as we make our way to the locker room. Once I’m changed into my street clothes, we head out. “You wanna grab a drink?”

I adjust the bag on my shoulder. “Nah, I need to go home and work on the books for the studio.”

He shakes his head. “Man, I don’t miss those days.”

The organizer, Mike, approaches us. “Congrats, Linc. You want the money deposited into the usual account?”

“Thanks. Yeah, always the same account.”

He nods and chews his thumbnail. “I was calculating. You’ve won almost a million since you started fighting ten years ago.”

My eyes almost bulge out of my sockets. I hadn’t been keeping track. “That’s impressive.”

“You could have bought yourself a fancy home close to the bay for that,” Ken says as he slaps my back.

I shake my head. “Nah. This is more important than buying a fancy house.” Ken knows how important this money is to me and how much it helps the people who need it more than I do. It’s the only reason I fight, even if I started fighting as a release when I was an angry teen.

* * *

It’s been a shit day.

April seventh is always a shit day, but my mood has been darker than usual. Ken normally ignores my moods, but even he had enough and called me out on my shit; something he hasn’t done since I first started working for him. I kicked my ass, reeled in my emotions, and concentrated on my art after apologizing profusely to my mentor and long-time friend.

Six o’clock sharp, the bell over the door rings and when I glance up, Sophie’s standing in the doorway, looking as stunning as I remember. When she sees me, her face lights with a smile, weirdly smoothing out a jagged piece of my heart. I groan under my breath because that smile is going to be hazardous for my sanity. I climb to my feet to greet her as Ken waltzes past me, straight for her with a wide grin and open arms. I swear, the guy is an enormous teddy bear.

“Hey, doll. Congrats on the job. I saw your work and can’t wait to see it permanently marked on someone’s skin. I may even let you ink me.” He winks and wraps his tattoo-covered arms around her, taking her by surprise.

Surprise gone, she smiles and raises her arms to return his embrace. “Thank you. I’m so excited to work with you guys.” She points behind him toward my office. “I saw your work on the wall in Lincoln’s office. You’re crazy talented.”

The old guy blushes at her compliment. Something I’ve never seen him do. I step closer to them and her attention finally falls back on me. Her eyes widen and she steps forward, raising her hand to my chin as her brows dip low over those gorgeous eyes of hers that are now filled with concern. “What happened to you?”

Her fingers make gentle contact and I suck in a breath at the electricity that sparks from that simple touch. She tilts my chin toward the light and I’m sure it looks bad. The guy got in a decent hit before I laid him flat. I shrug. “I was in a fight last night.”

She snatches her hand away like she’s been struck by lightning and her eyes narrow with suspicion. “Oh.”

When people discover I fight, they make assumptions about me and I rarely care to correct them. It’s not my business what people think of me. But for some reason, I don’t want her to think I spend my time brawling in pubs and bars. “It was a planned fight … in a ring … with a referee.” I rush to add.

One side of Ken’s mouth tips up as he raises a single bushy brow.

Her shoulders drop and the suspicion that colored her features a moment ago slides away. “What sort of fighting do you do?”

“Kickboxing. Usually, once a month. Maybe twice, if I’m lucky to have my name drawn out of the pool.”

She huffs. “Lucky?”

“Yeah, lucky.” I fold my arms across my chest and her eyes drop to my forearms. She scans the artwork with appreciation and I flex my muscle because the tiger’s eye looks fucking awesome when I do that.

Sophie gasps and glances up at Ken. “You did this?” He nods with pride. “It’s incredible.”

“You should see Linc’s back. Some of my best work.” She looks at me as if she wants me to turn around and expose my back. Maybe if she shows me hers, I’ll show her mine.

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