Page 51 of Filthy and the Beast

Considering his words, I squint at him. “Are you trying to bribe me to stay with a puppy?”

He scoffs. “What? Fuck off. I am not.”

I sit up straight. I thought we’d avoid this conversation, but the offer to stay is hanging there, tempting me. Clearly, the time has come to bare it all.

“Are you developing feelings for me?” I ask.

“What the hell does that mean?” Enzo sighs, exasperated. “I got lots of feelings for lots of things. I got irritation for the broken gutters out back. I got pride that Petunia’s doing so good. I got fucking hunger after those orgasms.”

I grin at him.

Okay. He’s being ridiculous and trying to change the subject. A clear sign we are navigating into feelings territory.

“Luckily for you, I’m not a broken gutter.” He grinds his jaw, working through emotions. “Have you ever been in love?”

“Damn,” he growls, crossing his arms over his chest. “I just asked you to help me train a dog.”

“You asked me to keep living with you and working with you, and presumably to keep spraying my orgasms on you, too. Which is all fine and potentially doable, but we’re talking a consistent escalation in emotional and sexual entanglements here, by virtue of time if nothing else. And I certainly like you. I’m not declaring my love or anything, but I do have feelings for you, Enzo. So if you want to invite me to keep cohabitating, I need to know you can recognize your own feelings and discuss them.” Holding his eye, I clear my throat. “So, have you been in love before?”

He looks like he wants to argue, but after a few snorts and heavy sighs, he relents. “Really?”

I nod, encouraging him. I kind of expected the answer to be no, but when his expression falls and sadness clouds his gaze, I realize a more complicated truth.

“Yes,” he says, voice rough.

“Who?”

“Miranda.” His voice catches on the name, and he grabs the glass of water from the side table and chugs from it.

I stroke his leg. “Who is Miranda?”

“A friend,” he answers. “We stopped talking years ago.”

My heart breaks. Everyone he’s cared about is gone. No wonder he seems so lonely.

“Was she your girlfriend?” I ask.

His eyes tilt to the wall behind me, memories apparently flooding back. “Met her at the boxing gym when I was a teenager. She was Toby’s friend. My brother.” His brow furrows, but he keeps talking. “I started teaching Toby how to fight, and she would come along to watch us. Remember the first day. She brought him a bottle of Coke, cool and dripping with sweat, and I thought to myself I’d be the luckiest guy in the world if she ever did that for me.”

He doesn’t talk for a minute. I fight the urge to say something, knowing he needs his time. Instead, I slide my hand into his and squeeze softly, and his expression softens.

“Thought I finally had my people. Toby was a hothead. Always getting himself in trouble. But Mr. Hardy who ran the gym was a tough man. He kept us in line, so I knew the gym would be good for Toby. Boxing looks violent, but it’s about rules. Discipline. Sportsmanship. Mr. Hardy taught us that every afternoon. Was like I had a father and a brother.” He shakes his head. “And Miranda. Miranda was always there. Fucking beautiful, dark hair. Curvy and sweet, but sassy, too. Pretty as all hell.”

“And you always loved her,” I whisper.

With a sad nod, Enzo finally meets my eye. “I did. Never knew how to tell her. It was me, Miranda, and Toby, at the gym and watching movies and later getting drunk on the roof of the shitty apartments where Toby and I lived. Toby was bright, full of energy, and outside of the ring, I was a big oaf.” He chuckles under his breath. “Am a big oaf. You know.”

“Only in the good ways,” I tell him with a crooked smile.

He shakes his head. “It was clear Miranda loved Toby. He was too impulsive and young to realize how lucky he was. Played around, slept with countless women, even had a kid. But between me and Hardy, we kept him in line most of the time. He was a good fighter, too. Good enough that when I went pro, he followed. I was the one headed to the top of the game, winning all the headlines and medals. But Toby was talented enough to earn himself a living, and the focus that required helped him get his head on straight.”

I realize where this is going. “You never told Miranda how you felt.”

Enzo swallows. “Tried. Fuck, how I tried. But one day I got to Toby’s place to train and found him in bed with her. Five months later, they were engaged.”

“Oh god.” I rub the back of his hand. “You had to be at their wedding and everything, didn’t you? Enzo, that’s horrible.”

He tears his eyes away again. “Wasn’t there. I learned that Toby wasn’t… He wasn’t the man I thought he was. Wasn’t good enough for her. I tried to warn Miranda, but that was it. She’d already chosen her man over me.” He looks back up. “Never spoke to either of them again. With Toby dead, I never will.”

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