Page 8 of Big Wild Fighter

He nods, thoughtful. “Sounds like she’s got you good.”

“Yeah,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “She does. But I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Relationships aren’t exactly my thing.”

Alex doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he looks over his shoulder, his gaze landing on a girl a few feet away. She’s doing yoga, her movements slow and deliberate, and there’s somethingin his expression that makes me think he knows exactly what I’m feeling.

“Here’s the thing,” he starts finally, turning back to me, “if it’s real, you don’t run from it. You fight for it. Simple as that.”

His tone is light, but there’s weight behind his words. Like he’s speaking from experience—or maybe regret.

“Yeah,” I say, not sure what else to add.

He claps me on the shoulder, his grin returning. “Don’t overthink it, man. Take it one round at a time.”

I smile, feeling lighter than I have in days. “Thanks.”

He leaves me after that and it’s not much longer before I’m headed back to my hotel. When I get to my room, I strip down and step into the shower, letting the hot water work its magic on my muscles. I’m rinsing the soap off when my phone buzzes on the counter. I don’t need to check to know who it is.

The thought of Grace coming over tonight makes my chest tighten in a way that’s equal parts excitement and nerves. I rinse off quickly, grab a towel, and head into the room to get dressed.

I pull on a pair of sweatpants and a clean T-shirt, running a hand through my damp hair as I glance at the time. It’s almost seven. She’ll be here soon.

As I sit on the edge of the bed, waiting, I realize something: for the first time in years, I’m not thinking about the next fight or the next city or the next anything. I’m just thinking about her.

I have a feeling from now on it’s always going to be about her.

Chapter Five

Grace

The scent of garlic and fresh herbs fills the air, and I watch Marlon move around the tiny kitchen with a focus that feels oddly intimate. It’s one of those moments that makes me feel like we’ve known each other for years, not just a week. A week. That’s it. And yet, every minute spent with him has been enough to make me feel like I’ve known him for much longer. We’ve shared everything—laughter, stories, quiet moments, long conversations—and all of it has only made me want him more.

But as I sit at the small table, watching him, I can’t shake the feeling that this is temporary. He’s only here because he’s passing through. He’s on a tour of the East Coast, just like he told me. Cherrywood Village’s a pit stop. Nothing more. I can’t get comfortable with that thought, but I also can’t ignore it.

For a few days, I pulled back, held my distance, and tried not to think about the fact that I was falling for someone who didn’t belong here. But tonight, everything’s different. Tonight, I’m determined to make it count.

I’ve spent years thinking about what it would be like to be with him—Marlon Henderson, the man who used to be a dream on a screen, my idol, my crush. And now, I get to be with him. But I want to make sure I remember this night forever. I’m finally putting that lace set I bought to good use.

“So,” I say, standing up and crossing the small room to where Marlon is stirring the sauce, “need some help?”

He glances over his shoulder, his face lighting up with a grin. “I think I’ve got it handled, but thanks.” He points to the counter. “You can open the wine if you want.”

I nod and move over to the small kitchenette counter where the bottle of red wine sits. As I open it, the sound of the cork coming free sends a tiny shiver down my spine. There’s something about the whole scene—the warmth of the kitchen, the soft hum of music in the background, the scent of food filling the room—that makes it feel more intimate than I ever expected. It’s a quiet, peaceful night, but my body feels anything but calm.

I pour the wine and hand him a glass. He takes it with a smile, his fingers brushing mine as he does. The touch is simple but electric, and I feel my heart race as he looks at me, his expression unreadable.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he says, leaning back against the counter.

“I’m just thinking,” I tell him, taking a sip of my wine to hide the fact that my nerves are jumping around like fireworks in my chest.

“About what?”

I set the glass down, then take a slow step toward him. “About how perfect this is. You and me, here, like this.”

His eyes soften as he looks at me. He sets his glass down on the counter and then wipes his hands on a towel. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

I bite my lip, my gaze dropping to his chest for a moment before lifting back to meet his eyes. “I am,” I say quietly. “More than you know.”

For a second, there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. I can’t quite place it, but it’s there. And then he smiles, a half-smile, but it’s still warm. “I’m glad.”

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