Page 63 of A Fighter’s Love

“Keeps coming back, saying not delivered.” He stood and placed his hands on his hips.

“Perhaps the email address is wrong.” She set her bag on the table, stooped and hovered her fingers over the keyboard. “Should Smith be spelled with two ‘m’s’?”

“What? No. I don’t think so.”

Quickly she adjusted the email address and hit send. The screen flashed and the email was on its way. “Sorted.”

“Fuck. Stupid thing.”

“It’s not really.”

“But this is why I need you here. I can’t do this shit.”

“Billy, I will not go through this with you again.”

“Ms. Jones?”

They both turned to the doorway. A man in a smart blue suit stood there. He had gray hair, a red tie and carried a clipboard.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Greg Davis. I’ve come to do the safety inspection, apologies for the late appointment, couldn’t be helped I’m afraid.”

Jenny stood. “No problem, actually it suits us better.” She smiled. “Shall we get straight on?”

“Yes, then we can all go home for dinner, right.” He smiled.

Jenny was glad to get away from Billy. The sooner this was done the sooner she could get away permanently.

She showed Mr. Davis the fire exists, which Billy had ensured were clear. Occasionally he stacked supplies in front of them. Something they’d rowed about in the past. She pointed out the sprinkler system, showed him the certificate stating it had all been recently serviced. The kitchen also had to be checked, as did the conditions for serving alcohol.

As they walked back through the gym, the atmosphere was intense, sounds of metal clanking on metal, and leather connecting with leather. Dale glanced her way.

Making the most of his distraction Jackson managed to get a tap on his chin.

Dale tore his gaze from her, and went for a belly shot.

Jackson dodged. His feet were light and his grin showed his black mouth-guard.

Jenny smiled. Her men were top fighters, and competitive to boot. The sooner she had them to herself again, the better. And preferably naked. Not that they didn’t look hot in their boxing shorts and with their skin glistening with sweat, but she preferred sex sweat to fighting sweat.

“Well, that all seems to be in order,” Mr. Davis said, setting his clipboard on the desk in the office. He pulled out a pen and signed the base of a long list.

“That’s great news.”

“So who’d you want to win?” he asked, handing her the pen.

“Jackson of course. He’s from this club.”

“Ah, yes. I can see that.” He paused. “Do you think he will?”

“Yes. Absolutely. He’s the best.” She grinned.

“Well I hope he does. Not that I know much about boxing.” He jabbed the list. “If you can just sign here.”

She did as he’d asked.

“And of course Ms. Jones, you have to be on the premises on Friday night. As this is your license.”

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