Page 6 of Fighter Daddy's Girl

“Lila is great. I love her to death,” I tell him. “It’s one of her many quirks. It’s annoying, but I guess we all have those idiosyncrasies, right?”

His lips curl wryly. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

“It wouldn’t be such a big deal, but she left me without a ride back to the dorms—something she promised me she wouldn’t do.”

“That’s even shittier,” he says.

“No biggie. I’ll call an Uber. I’m a strong, independent woman,” I tell him confidently.

“I don’t doubt it.”

We stare at each other for a moment, the air between us crackling with an awkward tension. His eyes bore into mine, burning with an intensity that takes my breath away. I shift on my feet uncomfortably as my juices spill down the insides of my thighs. Dear God, I need to get out of here. I need to get home and clean myself up. I’m probably going to have to burn this pair of panties. Except I don’t think something this wet will actually burn.

As I stand there awkwardly, caught between wanting to stay and knowing I should get the heck out of here, I notice a thin rivulet of blood trickling down his face.

“Oh, you’re bleeding?” I say and point to the crimson streak.

He dabs his finger in the blood, smearing it slightly and frowning as he looks at his fingertip. Griffin wipes his finger on the towel he’s wearing, accidentally pulling it slightly open and giving me a view of his upper thigh, and I find myself hoping to see more. He pulls it closed again as he grabs a crumpled-up paper towel sitting on the bench next to him and wipes the blood away.

“That’s not going to fix that,” I say.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

I walk around the room and find a small first aid kit in one of the lockers. Opening it up, I frown at the scant contents inside. It will have to do. Taking the kit with me, I walk over and sit on the bench next to Griffin and get to work. My heart is racing, my hands are trembling, and the heat between my thighs is almost unbearable, but if I hadn’t been busy with the distraction of tending to his wounds, sitting this close to him would have been so much worse. Still, sitting here in my soggy panties is so awkward and uncomfortable.

As barren as this first aid kit is, I thankfully find what I need. Griffin winces and draws in a sharp breath as I use the alcohol pad to clean the cut at the corner of his eye, making me giggle. “You get punched in the face for a living, and you’re going to cry about a little alcohol pad?”

He flashes me a smile that nearly stops my heart. “Getting punched in the face doesn’t sting that bad,” he says. “Besides, I don’t really do this for a living anymore.”

“No?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. I’m thirty-two now. Probably missed my shot at the big time.”

“What are you talking about? You’re still in amazing shape?—”

Realizing how that sounds, I bite off my words as my face flushes. I lower my gaze to the kit in my lap and pull out a couple of small Steri-Strips, which, frankly, I’m surprised to find. When I raise my eyes to apply them, I find myself staring into Griffin’s gaze, and my heart swells so big, I’m afraid it’s going to pop in my chest. Our faces are so close, it would be so simple to lean forward and kiss him. And my God, everything in me is begging me to do it. To kiss him. To shove my tongue in his mouth and taste that mintiness that’s on his breath.

Griffin smiles at me wolfishly. “Thanks for noticing.”

That only deepens the flush in my face, and I work quickly, applying the Steri-Strips, desperate to get out of there.

“Are you a nurse?” he asks.

I shake my head, doing my best to avoid his eyes. “I’m majoring in Kinesiology. But I’ve had some basic first-aid and nursing courses,” I say as I apply the final Steri-Strip. “There. All done.”

“Thanks for patching me up.”

“You’re welcome.”

I close the kit and get to my feet, darting over to the locker I pulled it from and returning it. Turning back to him, I offer him a smile, ready to tell him I need to go. But he speaks first.

“Want to go grab a bite to eat with me?” he asks.

My heart and everything south of my waist are screaming “YES,” but my brain is screaming “NO” even louder. Nothing good cancome from going out with him. I mean, something good could come out of it—something really good, I’m sure. But I’m not going to give my virginity to a man I only met a few minutes ago, no matter how badly my body is aching for me to do so. Smiling through gritted teeth, I open my mouth to politely turn him down.

“Yes. I’d love to,” I say instead.

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