Page 13 of Obsessed with my Temptation

“You do know your future is on the line, here, don’t you?”

My molars ground against each other before I exhaled. “I do.”

Coach’s furry eyebrows moved as he gave me his ‘motivating speech’ face. “Then start acting like it.”

“I’m still the best, anyone can see that.”

I was a broken record at this point.

“You’re the best inthisarea, but if people see you’re flagging at the ripe old age of twenty-two, they’ll wonder if your career as a pro will last long enough for their coffee to go cold.”

He was right. I knew it, he knew it, and the fucking paperweights on his desk knew it.

The thing was, lately, I’d stopped caring as much. I’d started wondering if being a pro boxer was really all that life had to offer me. And there were few things that killed careers and futures faster than doubt did. Especially in this arena.

“I’ll re-center,” I said, brushing my hand-wrap-covered knuckles. “You don’t have to worry about me, Coach.”

“And I don’t want to,” he said, standing up and gaining two inches on my six-foot-one. “Which is why you’re going to win the competition.”

I restrained the urge to groan.

“There is more to winning or losing than justwanting to, Coach.” I knew a bad day could affect anyone. A lucky streak could too.

Not to mention it was acharitycompetition.

Technically, there would be no winners.

“I don’t care about wishing and wanting, Ashford, I want you to get your head in the game, remember who you’re doing this for—what you’re trying toprove, and then I want you to show the guest managers that will be coming that their investment in you is not only a good option—it’s the best fucking one,” he said, putting his big paw on my shoulder.

“You think there’ll be anyone interesting?”

“I know for a fact there will be.” He looked deep into my eyes. “Do I have your word?”

Was there another option?

The truth was, it didn’t much matter what I wanted. I may be getting a college degree, but it was nothing I was really interested in. Boxing had been my water and air for the past four years, my saving grace, and it would be the only thing that kept me afloat for the foreseeable future.

“Yes, Coach.”

Now I just needed to stop floundering. Doubt had gone out the window. I had a goal, a mission, and the only thing between me and my prize was the damned Prince shaking me off my game and giving me bad ideas that would only rattle my confidence.

“What did Coach want?” Andy asked, falling into step beside me, his sandy blond hair pushed back and a little sweaty from the workout.

“He gave me a pep-talk,” I said but didn’t bother elaborating.

Andy’s lips stretched into a grin. “One of those, huh…”

Andy and I had been friends since freshman year of college. We both loved boxing, we were both tough guys who didn’t care for popularity contests or being seen as ‘nice’ or ‘approachable’, and we seemed to understand each other on a fundamental level.

Which was why he knew where to poke.

“So…today’s lack of focus has nothing to do with the Prince I saw going out into the alley last Saturday, does it?”

I glared at him.

“Nothing at all.”

Andy was fucking perceptive. He also knew about the staring games the Prince and I had been getting into, and because one night weeks ago I’d been buzzed and dumb, I’d also told him about finding him attractive. About some of the things I noticed about him.

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