Page 19 of The Fight

“Here.” Henry reaches into his pocket and pulls out his keys. “Take mine.”

He tosses them to me like some sort of peace offering, but I don’t have time to focus on it. I catch them and turn to walk away, shouting, “Thanks,” behind me.

The stone is warm under my feet when I step outside. I scan the driveway and spot my mom’s car, but I’m not sure which of the other three I have the keys to. I hit the fob, and a honk sounds out from the sleek black Escalade in the back. How am I supposed to drive this big-ass car?

I pad toward it and open the door. I all but have to climb inside. It’s like a fucking spaceship, with screens stretching almost all the way across the dash and creamy leather seats. I reach beside the seat and try to figure out which switch will movethe seat forward because at this moment, my feet are nowhere near the pedals. Once it’s finally adjusted, I start the car and back out of the driveway.

Minus hitting a few curbs because I can hardly see over the hood, I make it to the gym without incident. As I pull up, I see Shay’s black Jeep parked right in the front. I pull Henry’s SUV beside it, then jump out with the keys in hand. The cracked asphalt hurts as I step on it with bare feet, but I don’t stop to dwell on it. I have more important things to focus on. Like beating Shay’s ass.

Pulling open the door to the gym, I immediately spot Shay across the way. He’s shirtless, with his focus entirely on the punching bag in front of him. His muscles ripple with each powerful punch he throws, and sweat glistens on his skin.

I march over, my anger finally bubbling over. “What the hell, Shay?” I shout, shoving him as hard as I can.

He barely moves, turning his head to look at me with a bored expression. “What do you want now?”

“First the heels, and now the panties on my door.”

I go to shove him again, harder this time, but he catches my wrists. “Oh.” He smirks. “You found those?”

I jerk my arms from his hold and ball my fists. “Are you serious? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

I don’t give him time to reply before I’m throwing my fists into his body. I land blow after blow, but it doesn’t even seem to affect him. My fists land on his chest, his arms, anywhere I can reach, and he just stands there, taking it, his expression stoic.

“Is that it?” he finally asks, mocking me.

My face scrunches with anger before I throw myself at him again, but Shay moves faster than I anticipate. He waits till I’m out of breath before grabbing me by the shoulders and kicking my feet out from under me. My back hits the ground, and Iwince, and then he’s on top of me, pulling my arms up above my head.

“Are you done?”

He’s so close, damn near nose to nose with me. I can feel the heat of his breath skate across my skin. I’m hyperaware of his body on top of mine too. He’s hard, not an inch of softness anywhere to be found. His arms cage my head, and his stomach digs into mine every time he takes a steady breath.

For a split second, my mind goes blank. All I can focus on is the way his mouth moves when he speaks and how nice his lips might feel on mine. I think he has the same thoughts because when I move my eyes from his mouth to his stare, he’s looking at me with the same expression.

The dark blue rim around his eyes is even darker, and his lids are hooded and lazy. His tongue juts out to wet his lips, and he moves in the tiniest bit closer. “Would this be so bad?” he whispers.

I almost say no. What I’m thinking, I don’t even know. It’s hard to rationalize with him so close in my space, but I can see something else in him I haven’t before. It isn’t the normal want to add another notch to his bedpost. No, it’sneed.

I’m about to give in—to let myself get lost for the briefest second and just enjoy that his mouth isn’t talking because it’s on mine—but the gym door swings open, and with it, all of my senses snap back with it.

I push him off of me and stand. “You’re a pig!” I scream before jogging out of the gym and past the man walking in.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

SHAY

What’s the opposite of divine intervention? Because whoever this dude walking in is is just that. Blair was practically putty under me, but just like last time, we’re interrupted, and she fucking freaks.

I lift myself off the floor where she left me and start moving toward the door where she is heading, but the man meets me halfway and steps in front of me.

He’s tall, with a lean build and a confident swagger that instantly makes him blend in with every other fucking prick in Saint Bipal. He’s dressed too sharp for a place like this too—dark jeans, a fitted shirt, and a leather jacket that looks like it costs more than most people’s cars. He has a certain air around him too, like he’s used to getting what he wants, and I immediately don’t like it.

“Shay Cornell?” he asks, his voice smooth like he already knows the answer.

I nod, still glancing past him, watching the door swing shut behind Blair. “Who’s asking?”

“Name’s Blake,” he says, extending a hand. “Blake Monroe. I’m a fight promoter with Orion Promotions, and I’ve been hearing your name a lot lately.”

I don’t take his hand. Instead, I cross my arms over my chest and level my eyes with his, tilting my chin up. “Orion Promotions, huh? And what’s a big-shot promoter like you doing in a place like this?”

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