“Well, you’ve heard the news. I banged the enemy.”
My mom sighed exaggeratedly. “But honey, now of all times? When this fight is so important?”
“Your loyalties are skewed,” my brother said, breezing past me in his own team jacket. His shock had simmered into a resentment, I could taste it in the air. We moved toward the front door, where the car had pulled up outside. We got in quietly, and nobody said a word for at least a mile.
“It was just a one-off thing,” I said, as though the conversation hadn’t completely stalled.
“Let’s hope,” my father said ominously.
I shook my head, glowering out the window. This was only a big deal because of my brother’s career; it had nothing to do with Hawk himself. They didn’t even know him.
I fingered my phone inside my purse, already feeling the burbling urge to send Hawk a text. I couldn’t go four hours without contact? If that was the case, I had a bigger problem on my hands. I shoved my purse away, resolving to stay strong. It would just be a few days before I stopped thinking about Hawk. Or maybe a few years. Either way, it had to die off eventually. Once I stopped watering the metaphorical garden of my desires, all these weeds would wither off.
At the studio where weigh-in was scheduled, the street swarmed with fans desperate for a glimpse of the fighters. This was a ticketed event, yet another moneymaker in the fight schedule. Brute raised his black hood, obscuring his face before he opened the door. A swell of cheers flooded the SUV, and Brute launched himself down the red carpet, raising his fists victoriously.
The rest of us were taken to the back of the building. We entered without fanfare. The back hallways of the studio were hushed and cool. We stopped by Brute’s dressing room, where he was already stripping out of his jacket and sweats. A studio assistant brushed powder over his bare chest once he ripped his shirt off. His black spandex shorts said BRUTE along the waistband.
“Almost match day,” he muttered as the assistant coated his abs.
“Can you taste victory yet, son?” My father beamed at him in the mirror. Brute’s career was the perfect hobby for my parents in their retired years. I think they craved the win as much as Brute did.
“Practically choking on it.” His voice grew cocky, his persona slipping into place.
“Can’t wait to see the headlines you’ll get for this,” I offered, setting my coat and purse down.
“Oh yeah? Who’s name you hoping to see there?”
His words were a slap on the cheek. I turned to him, narrowing my eyes. “Stop it, Brute. You know I’m behind you 100 percent.”
“I’d say it was a little less than 100 recently,” he countered.
I let it slide. Let him be pissed. Maybe Hawk had been right—that anger would funnel into the fight. As long as he didn’t get unbalanced and lose his focus.
“Don’t think about that now.” My mom’s sharp voice sliced through the room, settling the argument just like it had when we were growing up. “You need to get weighed and get ready.”
I wandered the hallways until Brute was ready for weigh-in. Time passed in a viscous blur, as if I was trapped in gelatin, muffled against the world. Brute came out of the dressing room, glossed and bulging. We followed him to the stage, where lights flared and cameras were poised. Applause followed, and then the live filming. Hawk entered the area, and my vision locked on him.
I couldn’t see anything else. Not the lights of the stage or the announcer’s stern face or the banners draped along the back. Only that muscly, glistening, glowering Hawk, who carried a darkness with him that made my thighs clench. Tattoos rippled over his rib cage, along the taut planes of his back. Bird feathers crested his skull. And when his dark glance came my way, I almost toppled.
My ears rang as Hawk got on the scale, his stats announced for the world. “Six feet, one inch, one hundred and ninety-five pounds.” And an eight-inch dick. I smiled to myself.
I crossed my arms tightly, willing myself to be less attracted to him. Because when he looked like that, it was hard enough to stay away. But now that I knew the real Hawk…
I didn’t have a chance in Hell.