Page 7 of Fighter Daddy's Girl

Internally, I am shrieking and kicking my own behind. That is not what I meant to say. My body betrayed me yet again. I open my mouth again to decline, but when I see the bright, almost boyish smile on his face that makes him look ten years younger, my words wither and die on my lips.

“Great,” he says. “I’ll give you a lift back to your dorm after that.”

“That’s really nice. Thank you.”

“Least I can do to thank you for patching me up.”

“It was nothing.”

“It was something to me,” he says.

We stand there staring at each other, and the way he’s looking at me, almost expectantly, I get the sense there’s something more he wants to say. I lean forward, waiting.

“Umm, I mean, you’re welcome to stay if you want while I get naked, or you can wait for me to get dressed out there,” he says.

I’m so mortified, I want to crawl into a deep, dark hole somewhere and die. Giggling nervously, my face burning so hot I’m sure it’s steaming, I turn away and dash for the door.

“Sorry,” I call over my shoulder. “I-I’ll wait out here.”

When I get back into the main room, I lean against the wall beside the door to the locker room and bury my face in my hands, laughing to myself.

My God, I’m an idiot sometimes.

4

GRIFFIN

“You don’t seem like the normal fight fan,” I say.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asks.

She pops a fry into her mouth and chews on it as she looks at me, waiting for my answer. Her green eyes sparkle, and her hair gleams like burnished copper in the diner’s bright lighting. After leaving the fight club, she took me to a small, simple spot near her dorm for burgers and fries. Frankly, she’s such a tiny, petite little thing I’m surprised she eats anything at all. She raises her glass of soda and slips the straw between her full, heart-shaped lips.

The girl is intoxicating, and I can’t take my eyes off her, imagining those pillowy lips wrapped around my cock instead of a straw. I’m getting so uncomfortably hard I shift awkwardly in my seat and try to get my shit together. It’s only because of her that I can stand sitting in this diner that’s half-filled with college kids and pop music. I’m so instantly and powerfully into Grace that as painful as it would be, I’d take her to a Taylor Swift concert if she wanted.

“Well? What did you mean by that?” she asks.

I clear my throat. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Okay, so tell me, what is a normal fight fan?”

I shrug, a half-grin tugging my lips. “Our usual demographic is guys. I’m sure you’re not so naïve that you didn’t notice that.”

“Times and demographics change,” she replies. “There are a lot more women getting into and following the fight game these days. Don’t be such a sexist.”

“I’m not a sexist,” I say with a laugh.

“You’re only playing one on TV?” She smiles playfully.

Her voice is high and musical—I could listen to it all day. And her personality is fun and sparkling. I enjoy being around her. There aren’t many people I can say that about in my world. She’s sexy as fuck, and even though I would love to have her bent over this table right now, I’m actually having a good time sitting and talking with her. She’s clever and has a sharp, dry sense of humor. But beyond the quips and cracks, she’s smart. She seems able to talk intelligently about anything under the sun.

Honestly, as sexy as she is—and she really is the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen—Grace’s intelligence is her best feature. As much as I’d like to spend some time with her naked, doing outrageously filthy things with her, I could get used to spending time having a conversation with her. I could get used to hearing her views on any number of subjects. She has a view of the world that’s so different from mine that hearing what she has to say is refreshing. It’s interesting.

I wasn’t the best student when I was back in school, and I never went to college, but I’ve done my best to educate myself. I read.A lot. I’m so dedicated to learning and improving myself that I’ve spent time reading the goddamn dictionary, memorizing all the words and definitions. As best as I could anyway. But how many people can say they’ve done that? Some might call me a nerd, but whatever.

“So, what got you into fighting?” I ask.

“My dad,” she replies. “He and I used to watch fights all the time. It was our thing.”

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