Page 164 of A Little Broken

Nibbling my bottom lip, I watch the fight unfold. Jab. Kick. Knee. Twist. Block. They’re both so fast. It’s like a blur. The half-naked torsos aren’t bad to look at, though. Peeking at Pax, I admit, “I guess I can see the appeal.”

“Glad you approve,” Pax says with a laugh. He continues tugging me through the crowd as a ref steps between Jagger and the unconscious opponent lying at Jagger’s feet. The ref grabs Jagger’s hand and lifts it into the air, making the audience’s cheers reach a fever pitch that leaves my ears ringing.

“Took you long enough!” someone yells behind us.

I turn to find Roman staring at me.

“You sure you want her here?” he asks.

“She won’t be a problem,” Paxton promises.

Roman hesitates, analyzing me before giving Pax his attention. “Well, hurry up. You’re late.”

My brows tug at the center as Paxton lets me go, grabs the collar of his shirt, then tugs it over his head, exposing his back and torso for the crowd to see.

Ooooh, okay. So we’re diving right in, I guess. Cool, cool, cool. Yup. That’s…that’s totally normal. To strip down in the middle of a crowded room with a solid hundred people scattered around. What isn’t normal is the way my heart can’t decide if it wants to give out or battle a hummingbird’s wings.

You’re just anxious. It’ll be fine, I remind myself.

But seriously, why am I freaking out right now? I just saw Jagger beat the shit out of someone and didn’t even bat an eye, so what the hell is wrong with me?

“Hey, wanna hold this for me?” he asks, offering me his T-shirt.

Fingertips tingling with panic, I take it, murmuring, “Do you have like a…a warm up period or whatever?”

Paxton rolls his shoulders, swinging his arms back and forth like he’s stretching out his muscles and glances at me. “We’re a little late, so there isn’t time, but it’ll be fine.”

“Fine. Yeah.” I gulp. “Sure.”

He frowns. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I lie. “Yeah, totally. I’m…just a little nervous. This is all new.”

His brows dip. “You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m sure,” I rush out. “Good luck.”

He nudges my chin up with his knuckle and kisses me. “I’ll be fine.”

Fine. Right. I stare at the man in front of me, praying he couldn’t feel my quivering bottom lip during our kiss as a strange, almost unrecognizable feeling ignites inside of me.

It’s fear.

Okay, I’m familiar with fear. All too familiar with it, if I’m being honest, but not when it comes to something like this. It’s a fight. A silly, five-minute fight. The realization makes zero sense. I’ve done stupid shit most of my life. I’ve jumped out of airplanes. Slept on park benches. Left with strange men for reckless one-night-stands. And none of them, none of the situations, ever left me with this feeling. This overwhelming sense of dread.

Attempting to keep my emotions in check, I paste on a fake smile as he starts toward the small stage, biting my tongue ‘til Itaste blood as I fight the urge to call for him. To tell him to stop. To get out of here. To leave with me.

A smile plays at the edge of his mouth before his coffee colored eyes drift to Roman. “Keep an eye on her.”

No, no, no, you don’t understand, I mentally scream, but I can’t convince my tongue to work. To form words, let alone an actual sentence.

Instead, I watch as he saunters into the ring like he owns it. And maybe he does. Maybe he’ll be fine. I’m sure he’ll be fine. This isn’t his first rodeo, right? So why do I feel like I’m going to vomit? I’m just nervous for him, that’s all. It’s completely normal.I’mcompletely normal. There’s nothing wrong.

Nothing. Is. Wrong.

The muscles along his back bunch and flex as the referee motions for him to come closer.

He’s fine.

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