“No. It’s casual. And I don’t want you telling anyone about it.”
Whatever Scott and I had was, I was protective over it. Not just because I was still interested in keeping it secret—but because it made me feel things I didn’t know how to feel about yet.
“Of course not,” Layla said, leaning back against the door and crossing her arms. “I’m not that big of an asshole, Travis. Scott seems like a good guy, but I don’t want you getting hurt because some popular dude wants to keep you secret like his dirty laundry.”
My chest tightened. She was my older sister and concerned for me—but the real reason why she was…It made my throat want to close up.
Because of course I just had to get hurt by a good boy, didn’t I? Nothing real was ever going to happen.
And I didn’t want it to.
“No one’s getting hurt here. Case closed.”
She knew me well enough to know that she wasn’t going to be getting any more information out of me, so she changed subjects. “And how is boxing going?”
“Well enough.” I put my elbow against my car door, resigning myself to her questioning. She did this because I no longer disclosed too much while we were around our mother, and because I loved my sister and she was by far the most supportive person in my family—even when she probably should have given up on me— I let her be.
Family dinners were tense affairs, at least where I was concerned. Communication with my mother was sparse at best, but Layla talked enough for the both of us, and my mother seemed to be content that I was showing up at all. My relationship with her suffered a lot during high school, and it didn’t improve after my father left.
And good riddance.
I hadn’t talked to him in a long time, but his words still haunted me on a day-to-day basis.
I wondered for a second what my mother would say if she knew I was spending time with the ‘college Prince’, that I was getting involved with a good boy again.
My jaw hardened.
She would probably say I was a bad influence.
Shaking myself off the thought, I said, “The competition is getting closer, so I’ll have to start pushing it harder in training.”
The cupcake selling would be coming to an end soon enough anyway, which would be good for training. It would also mean I wouldn’t get to see Scott twice a week for a couple of hours without anyone questioning it.
And thisthingwould come to an end.
“Are you going to go pro, then?”
I blinked slowly, shaken momentarily by the turn of the conversation. “Of course I am. What else would I do?”
Layla scoffed. “Anythingelse?”
The urge to roll my eyes was strong, but I managed to contain it. “We’ve talked about this, Layla. I didn’t sign up for my stupid degree because I liked it, and I very much doubt anyone would take one look at me and think I’m office material.”
Office material was what my father had wanted me to be. He was a big-shot exec—or so he liked to think—at a company, and he wanted me to be the same money-making machine he was. His dreams had withered and died a gruesome death once I hit high school and started getting into fights.
I hadn’t been living that life for years now, butstillmy reputation followed me. It was like a dark cloud surrounding me, and I didn’t doubt it would do the same many years from now. I’d given up on trying to let people see that I wasn’t what they thought I was.
“You don’t need to work at a damn office, Travis, there is much more to the world than business and boxing!” She sounded exasperated, like she usually did when we talked about this, but I gave her a look that made it clear her attempts were futile.
Was a desk job what Scott was going for? Did he visualize a future of climbing up the corporate ladder, with his Princely smiles and charming attitude?
I didn’t doubt he would be good at it, too. He’d probably be good at anything.
An image suddenly popped uninvited into my head—of Scott living in a house with a white picket fence with a cute and hard-working wife. The perfect power couple.
I hated it on sight.
With a groan, Layla leaned in to give me a kiss on the cheek before opening the car door.