Page 2 of Big Wild Fighter

“Thanks, Grace,” he responds kindly, smiling at me as I walk away.

As I punch the order into the computer, I replay every second of our conversation over and over again in my head. We were undoubtedly flirting, and I’m fairly certain that I did pretty wellat holding my own. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that I’d meet Marlon Henderson, and I wouldn’t even dare to imagine we’d have this kind of interaction.

Once the order’s put back, I go to check on my other tables. Carrying on as normal is difficult, but somehow I manage. Eventually, Marlon’s meal comes up in the window, and I have the opportunity to go back to his table.

“And here you are,” I say, setting down a plate of pasta in front of him.

“Good thing I plan on going on a run tomorrow, huh?” he jokes, leaning down to smell the dish. “I can’t wait to tuck into this.”

“Well, I hope you enjoy it,” I say, suddenly very self-conscious of my choice. “Let me know if I can get you anything else. I’ll be back to check on you in a few, and I’ll bring another water when I do.”

“Perfect, I’m looking forward to it,” he says as he picks up his cutlery.

I hover for a moment, wanting to say something to that but coming up with nothing. Instead, I walk as calmly as I can despite the jitters that have been gripping me since I realized Marlon was in the restaurant sitting in my section. Once I’ve made sure everyone is satisfied, I go back to the kitchen for his water. Then, I go back to his table.

“So,” I begin, setting the cup down in front of him and grabbing the empty one, “how’s everything tasting.”

“It’s delicious,” Marlon declares, wiping his mouth with a napkin before looking up at me. “But I’m not surprised, I can tell you have good taste.”

“Really?” I ask, not bothering to hide my surprise. “Why’s that?”

“Well, if you’re an MMA fan and you’ve seen my fights, clearly you’re a woman with excellent taste,” he replies smoothly, seeming to enjoy how obviously flustered his comment makes me. “I appreciate the recommendation.”

“Anytime,” I say, even though I know I’m probably not going to see him ever again. Briefly, I wonder if it would be weird to ask him for his autograph before he leaves. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Nope,” he says with a wide grin. “Just the check after a bit.”

“Absolutely,” I tell him, resisting the urge to bounce on my toes. “If anything comes up just flag me down.”

With that, I walk away and busy myself with work. The next twenty minutes crawl by, and in an effort to keep myself from bothering my tables, I look for ways to help out my coworkers. Finally, it looks like Marlon’s finished with his meal, so I get his check printed and head back to his table.

“I know you’re trying to keep yourself in shape, but before I hand you your check, can I interest you in dessert?” I ask, loving the way the edges of his mouth turn up at the offer.

“No dessert, no,” he says as he accepts the receipt from me. “But I do have a question.”

“What’s that?” I say, ready to help out in any way that I can.

“Do you work here often?” Marlon asks, leaning back in his chair slightly as he folds the check neatly in his hand and pulls out his wallet. His casual tone makes the question seem more personal than I expect, and for a moment, I’m caught off guard.

“Yes,” I reply, feeling my cheeks heat up again. “Most days I’m here from noon to closing, actually.”

He nods, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Well, I’ve really enjoyed myself tonight, Grace. You’ve been great.”

“Thank you,” I say, my voice soft but sincere.

Standing, Marlon shrugs on his jacket and slides a set of bills to me that even at a glance I can tell equal far more than his check was.

“I hope I see you again sometime,” he says, giving me one last warm, lingering look before turning toward the door.

“Have a good night,” I call after him, my voice barely carrying above the restaurant’s din.

As soon as he’s gone, I press a hand to my chest, feeling my heart hammering beneath my palm. The rest of my shift passes in a blur, my mind replaying every word, every smile, and every glance from Marlon Henderson.

Chapter Two

Marlon

I grip the steering wheel of my truck, staring out at the hotel parking lot as the morning sunlight glints off the windshield. The plan was simple: one night in Cherrywood Village, just enough to catch some shuteye before hitting the road again. I’ve been bouncing from town to town along the East Coast, keeping myself loose before the next fight season. Nothing serious, just a way to kill time.

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