Page 95 of Loved By The Bad Boy

To support that, I crack my knuckles, and the sound echoes through the ring. Even if you don’t feel strong, you act strong in front of your opponent. From my periphery, Josef has one arm on his chest and the other tucked under his jaw. He’s anxious on my behalf. Then why did he make the bet?

Ben places a kiss on my cheek. “You’re so silly, but I love you. You really don’t have to do this shit, Gracie.” I keep shut. Moving away from me, he stands between me and my opponent. In a louder voice, he says, “Light touch. A tap is enough.” I suspect he said that for my sake, and I am grateful. This is not San Francisco. One touch is all I need. “No hard punches. Just tapping.”

Tapping is more or less a soft hit. That’s what we employ during practice. It’s not hard enough to knock you out but hard enough to score an entire point. All I have to do is get really close to my opponent. Ben gives me one last look of worry and promise and steps away from the middle.

The whistle blows, but I don’t move.

One touch.

A punch or a kick.

My opponent rushes for me, and I sidestep him at the last minute to punch his side. Adrenaline pumps through me. I keep my guard up, one leg behind and the other in front. It’s over, but I maintain my stance. Ben blows the whistle to signify the end, and I loosen up. My heart beats a sharp staccato as he heads straight to our spectators to determine the verdict of this brief match.

“So?” Ben asks them.

The guy’s fist brushed my side. It happened too fast for me to know if my punch came in first.

Josef grins as the small crowd murmurs, “The girl hit first.”

Ben tries to remain collected, but his body slumps in relief. He’s grinning sheepishly as he stalks toward me to lift my hand. I bow to our audience as they clap for me. I’m never doing this again.

I rush to Ben for a hug, but he grabs my wrists. “Babe,” I groan.

“Gracie,” Ben starts. Worry embeds itself in his eyes. I don’t know how I missed it earlier. “This will not happen again, right?” I nod, and he clutches me in a tight hug. “You did good, babe.”

Josef clears his throat. “Good job, Tessa.”

“Hi. That’s not really me. I don’t go to gyms looking for people to spar with.” Josef slides both hands in his pocket, doing nothing to help me as I vomit words. “This is like the first time I am doing this. You can ask Ben. Wait, don’t ask Ben. He doesn’t fight or do anything of that sort—”

“Babe?” Ben murmurs. The crowd has dispersed. “He knows.”

My lips pucker, and Josef nods. “At least I know Ben is safe with you.”

I am red in the face by now. “Yeah, he is.”

Josef says something to Ben. I don’t care that they momentarily forget me as their conversation grows more serious. I lean on the ropes, smiling as both men chat. Ben throws a punch once, but Josef evades his fist. My cheeks hurt from grinning too much, and tears of joy gather in my eyes.

Ben might not see it, but I do. It’s beautiful to watch and experience his growth from a hateful stepson to the boy who sends random check-in messages and makes plans with his stepfather. They hug after talking. Josef offers Ben money, and he pockets it. They both turn to me, smiling.

“I have to go now, Tessa,” Josef says. I hop down for a hug. “Nice punch, by the way.”

As soon as we exit the gym, I ask, “What did he want?”

“Oh, nothing. He had an impromptu meeting and thought to check in. I wasn’t picking up his calls.” Because he was officiating my match. Ben extracts cash from his pocket. “There you go.”

I count ten hundred-dollar bills. What kind of place is this if people have extra cash to spare? The only thing unusual on our way in was the security check. I flatten a bill on Ben’s forehead.

“Amma buy you a car,” I tease. “Oh, wait. You have one already. A house it is.”

I pucker my lips, and he kisses me. He rubs his nose against mine. “I want both, babe.” My grin is instant. My Romeo. “A house and a car. We should be able to get both for a thousand bucks.”

My responding laughter is unbridled. He slips his hand into the crook of my arm and guides us to the car. Opening the passenger door, he stops me from entering. “Do you want to get married?” My eyes bulge. He’s joking, right? We are both eighteen. “I’ll benineteensoon,” he corrects me.

I need to start keeping my thoughts to myself. Without offering a reply, I ruffle his hair and slip inside the car. The ride back is quiet. We don’t speak when the car stops in front of my house.

“Sorry,” he says.

“Why?”

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