Page 73 of Green Flag
“I was getting a massage.”
“A massage?” I asked, head reeling back until I was leaning against the headboard. “From who?”
Nope. No, I had to reel back that spike of jealousy. Not reel my damn head in shock.
“Our sports masseuse,” he said, and there was the slightest turn of his lips. “She’s excellent.”
Was he smiling at the thought of a massage? That was weird. Or was he smiling at the fact that it was a woman? This particular woman?
Not that I was particularly able when it came to massages, but—
“Right. That, um, the kiss…”
“It’s all I see on every feed,” he said, watching the TV. “Includingyoursocial media.”
“Maybe we should talk,” I said, straightening the sheet beneath me. “This will benefit both of us.”
“I really am not in the headspace to talk,” he grunted. “I just want to watch the fight.”
“Okay,” I said and took off my shoes. “That’s fine.”
When I got under the covers next to him, he only glanced at me, frowning. Then he heaved another sigh and put his arm around me, letting me cuddle into him.
“There are five rounds,” he said. “We’re already two in. Between the rounds, we can discuss.”
He pretended to watch, but he softened in our embrace. He didn’t react to what happened on the screen, even when a nasty crack meant there was a short break as one of their noses had broken.
“This is brutal,” I commented, cringing when they restarted and immediately took each other to the floor.
“It is.”
“Is this how you fight?”
“It is.”
“And you’re going to fight again?”
“I will.”
“Luca,” I said and turned to him with a worried chew of my lip.
“Twenty seconds left,” he said, but as I got into the moment, the danger between the two fighters, I felt his gaze on me.
“Rounds over,” he said. “Who do you think won?”
“Red bottoms,” I said. “Definitely not black. He looks like he’s about to pass out.”
“Red bottoms,” he repeated with a laugh. “Why?”
“He just broke the other guy’s nose,” I said in disbelief.
“It was the only hit he landed.”
“And a bloody good one.”
I felt him shrug behind me. “It doesn’t always work that way. Tyler dominated. One nasty jab isn’t enough to win a round. Augustin didn’t do as well as I expected; his aim wasn’t as accurate.”
“Tyler is the one you’re meant to fight at some point?”
