Читать книгу Holding Strong - Lori Foster - Страница 7
ОглавлениеWATCHING HER LAUGH, seeing her tease and flirt, burned his ass big-time. He loved when she laughed and teased with him—not so much when it was with other guys.
And therein lay the problem.
He had a near-savage lust for her. When he looked at her, when he heard that carefree laugh, he felt dangerously close to losing it.
Contemplating decisions and possible mistakes, Denver Lewis sipped his beer. He should look away from her but knew he wouldn’t. She was all tits and ass and attitude in a petite frame, and God love the girl, she turned him on.
He’d avoided her, refused to be drawn in by her tempting smiles, and all in all given her the cold shoulder since determining they wouldn’t suit. He had no right to judge her for having fun elsewhere.
But knowing and accepting that as true didn’t talk him off the ledge. No, if anything it wound him tighter.
Damn, she looked good.
The shifting lights in the club played with her dark blond hair and the curves of her lush little body. His buddy Stack, another fighter, drew her into a fast dance. She didn’t refuse. Ever.
Cherry Peyton was always the life of the party.
The loud music competed with the furious drumming of Denver’s heart as he monitored her every move. The music’s wild tempo kept her body from touching Stack’s. They danced around each other and the rest of the crowd on the floor.
Every guy there made note of her, seeing her once and then taking a longer look. Her happiness, her laugh and that killer bod all combined for one hell of an impact on the male libido.
For over an hour, Denver watched her draw attention and smiles and, no doubt, sexual thoughts. He ignored other women who tried to get his attention, those who came up to him and propositioned him in modest and sometimes lewd ways.
Yeah, he wanted to get laid.
But he wanted Cherry, not anyone else.
It pissed him off that he couldn’t get her out of his head. He should have had her before decreeing theirs an acquaintance-only relationship, then maybe he could have some perspective when it came to seeing her with other men.
Then again, maybe not—because days after meeting her, he’d known sex wasn’t the only thing he wanted. He’d already begun to think of her as his, even though he hadn’t even kissed her yet.
If only his territorial tendencies didn’t clash so badly with her playful party-girl personality.
Seeing her accept her third glass of wine, he finished off his beer and called it quits.
At least on the alcohol.
He stewed while watching her indulge in several dances with too many different guys—never mind that they were all from their group, fighters that she, and he, knew well and trusted as friends. They’d all come down en masse to cheer on one of their own. Fighters from the rec center who sparred and coached together. Men he’d known forever.
Men who had befriended Cherry when she’d become roommates with Merissa, another fighter’s sister.
She was well and truly enmeshed in his life, friends with his friends, a part of their inner group, and if he wasn’t denying himself like a freaking masochist he’d be over there with them right now. She’d be laughing and joking with him. Dancing with him.
Treating him like everyone else.
That she was so well accepted in their circle made it even more impossible to stop thinking about her, because everywhere he went, he saw her.
Finally, after a robust dance that had her laughing aloud, Cherry began to fade. She dropped into a chair at a table with three other fighters and a few women.
Her gaze never once came his way—almost as if she knew where he was and avoided making eye contact with him.
Suited Denver fine. Mostly.
Damn it.
It wasn’t easy, but he made himself look away.
Tonight had been an eventful one. They’d all gotten to the local fight venue early, some to grab a bite before the event, others just to ensure they got the best seats. They all enjoyed watching Armie Jacobson fight.
They’d enjoy it even more if Armie would accept the offers from the more elite, professional fight organization, the SBC, but for reasons of his own he dodged them, always insisting on sticking with the smaller, more local groups. It wasn’t due to a lack of talent.
Cannon Colter was a star with the SBC, and both Denver and Stack had recently signed with them. Since they each sparred with Armie, they knew firsthand that he was fast and deceptively strong, slick in a way that bespoke innate talent, something that couldn’t be taught or learned but came naturally to a born athlete. Armie knew his shit.
If he accepted a contract with the SBC, he’d more than hold his own. Denver believed he would dominate there, as well.
But Armie blew them off every time.
Speak of the devil... When Denver saw Armie approaching him, he put his elbows back on the bar, glad to finally have a distraction. “How do you feel?”
“Whaddya mean?” Armie caught the bartender’s eye and ordered a whiskey.
The competition had been done tournament style so that competitors had to win to advance, and had to fight multiple times. That arrangement wasn’t common anymore, and wasn’t the way the SBC did things. But the smaller events did what they could to highlight the fighters and drum up excitement.
Armie had knocked out his first guy, then submitted the next two—each in the first round. In the second fight, he’d locked in an arm bar so tightly that the other fighter had immediately tapped rather than risk injury. For the third, he’d submitted with a rear naked choke. Each time, he made it look effortless. Hell, he’d walked away with nothing more than a small bruise on his cheekbone and some mat burn on one elbow. That was it. No other injuries. He’d barely broken a sweat. Armie destroyed other fighters with disgusting ease.
Soon as the event had ended, most of the competitors and a lot of fans had converged on the nearby club for a promoted after-party. Armie, a fan favorite for the local organization, was sure to be the belle of the ball.
“You took that last guy apart. He was damn near knocked out when you decided on the arm bar.”
Armie tossed back the whiskey and asked for another. “Yeah, he must’ve been new or something.”
More like Armie was that good, but Denver knew he wouldn’t admit it. For whatever reason, Armie shrugged off all opportunities to further his fight career. Because of that, Denver warned him, “Dean Connor was in the audience, scouting out the talent.”
Only for a second did Armie react, but he shook off the stillness in less than a heartbeat. “Havoc was here?”
“One and the same.” Dean “Havoc” Connor was a legend in the sport, and one of the most revered fighters ever. A while back, he’d switched gears from competing to training. Now, with another well-known veteran, Simon Evans, he ran one of the most successful and sought-after camps—the same camp where their buddy Cannon often trained.
And Cannon had an upcoming title fight for light heavyweight, so clearly they were doing something right.
Simon and Dean had the inside track with the SBC president and often recommended new recruits to bring under the SBC umbrella.
Brows drawn, Armie scoffed. “This gig wasn’t exactly the upper echelon of talent. Why would Havoc waste his time with low-level competitions?”
Succinct, Denver told him, “You.”
“Bullshit.”
“He took a ton of notes while watching you, and as soon as your fight ended he was on the phone making a call.”
Armie flexed a shoulder. “He was probably here to see Cannon.”
“He talked with Cannon. Merissa, too.”
Armie almost fell off his stool. “What?” And then, with a quelling glare, “Why the hell would he talk to Rissy?”
“She was cheering for you like crazy and I guess that got his attention.” Denver shrugged. Cannon’s sister often accompanied him to the fights. No big deal with that. “Given she was with Cannon...”
“Yeah, maybe.” Armie tossed back the second whiskey and ordered up a third.
Interesting. “Havoc’s still here, but Cannon already took off with Yvette and Merissa.” Since Denver hadn’t yet convinced himself to leave the club, he ordered a glass of lemon water. In two and a half months he’d have his second fight with the SBC, so he’d started watching his diet already. Not that he ever got too far off weight, and not that he couldn’t lose fifteen or even twenty pounds easily enough. But overall, he liked to stay healthy. He considered it part of his job requirements.
“I knew Cannon was booking. We’d already talked.”
“He didn’t mention Havoc?”
“No, and I’ll give him hell for that later.” Armie relaxed enough to manage a grin. “Used to be, Cannon would have closed out the place with me. Now, with Yvette, he’s always in a hurry to get her alone. The wedding can’t happen fast enough for those two.”
“A few weeks after his next fight,” Denver said. If it was up to Yvette, they would have already been married because she didn’t care about the fancy wedding.
But Cannon considered the guys family and knew they’d want to celebrate with him, so they’d set up the wedding in a way that wouldn’t conflict with anyone’s competition schedule, most especially Cannon’s. “Looking forward to being best man?”
Armie snorted. “You all expect me to balk at the sight of a tux, but what the hell, man, you’ll be wearing the same monkeysuit.”
Watching Armie to gauge his reaction, Denver said, “Mostly I expect you to balk at the idea of being in the wedding with Merissa.”
Looking past Denver, Armie narrowed his eyes. “Who’s that dude hitting on Cherry?”
Twisting around, he forgot all about harassing his friend—which had probably been Armie’s intent. But damn, he hadn’t lied. Denver watched Cherry laughingly refuse an insistent guy bent on gaining her cooperation. The slow, thrumming music would have meant a different type of dance and Denver let out a breath when she didn’t give in.
Seeing her body to body with another man, this time someone he didn’t know, would have made him nuts.
Stack sat to one side of her, also watching the idiot who refused to take no for an answer.
To her other side, Miles started to frown.
Suddenly Cherry pushed back her chair and an ugly tension sank into Denver’s chest—until she grabbed up her purse and made a hasty getaway toward the restrooms.
When the idiot started to follow, Miles blocked his way while Stack spoke close to his ear. Whatever he said made loverboy frown and search the bar.
It wasn’t until his gaze clashed with Denver’s that he gave up and stalked away—in the opposite direction that Cherry had gone.
Smiles quirking, Stack and Miles both saluted Denver, then went back to their table and the other women there.
He was wondering what Stack had said when Armie shoved him, and Denver almost dropped off his seat. Righting himself, he muttered, “What the fuck?” and shoved Armie back. But since Armie wasn’t daydreaming as Denver had been, he barely budged.
Snickering, Armie shook his head. “Damn man, get it together or go after her.”
“No need. Stack got rid of him.”
“Yeah,” Armie said, his tone mocking. “Stack handled it.”
Sarcasm? “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We both know Stack just threatened that poor bozo with you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, Predator, you.” After emphasizing Denver’s fight name, Armie sipped at his third drink. “You have a nasty death stare and you know it. That chump probably felt your evil intent all the way down to his balls.”
“You are so—” Just then, Denver spotted Havoc scanning the crowd before a group of fans stopped him. “Think he’s looking for you?”
Armie slunk lower in his seat. “No.”
“You are so hopeless.”
“Know what’s hopeless? This denial you have where Cherry Peyton is concerned. Give it up already.”
Denver glared at him. Why the hell did everyone want to butt into his private business? “Why don’t you at least talk to the SBC? Maybe—”
“Why don’t you talk to Cherry?” He tossed back his shot and asked for another. “Better yet, don’t talk. Take her straight to bed and work off some tension.”
Armie fought hard, played hard, but usually didn’t drink hard. Denver eyed him. “This isn’t about Cherry and me.”
“It’s about you trying to avoid talking about you and Cherry.” He grabbed a handful of peanuts while waiting for the next drink.
Disgusted, Denver said, “Are you going to turn around everything I say?”
“Know what I’d like to turn around?” Armie nodded at someone. “That.”
When Denver looked up he saw a stacked redhead coming their way. Lips pursed, eyes big, expression coy.
Definitely on the make.
“She looks ripe to ride doggy style, doncha think?”
At times Armie’s brazen outspokenness bordered on obnoxious. Often, actually. But in this instance, with that girl’s hips, Denver totally got his meaning and even had to grin in agreement.
Seeing their humor, the lady narrowed her coal-lined eyes.
Thank God it was Armie she’d zeroed in on. “You know her?” Denver asked.
“Nope. But give me a minute.”
The redhead stopped in front of Armie and touched a finger to his chest. “You’re Armie Jacobson.”
“Guilty.”
“So are the rumors true?”
“Sure.”
Denver stifled a laugh; Armie hadn’t even asked her what rumors she meant. But when it came to Armie, just about anything was possible.
Bracing her hands on his thighs, she leaned in more, making sure to put her cleavage on display. “I watched you fight.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re a beast.” With a little shiver, she added, “I think that’s sexy.”
Armie smiled.
Denver lifted an eyebrow. He felt like a damn voyeur, but he wasn’t about to budge. This was too entertaining.
“So...” Pretending modesty, she ducked her face while still watching him. “Was it...naughty of me to confront you like this?”
Armie stared her in the eyes while murmuring, “Real naughty. And you know what I do with naughty girls?”
“You...you punish them?”
Denver almost choked, yet Armie didn’t miss a beat.
“That’s right.” Armie’s smile had the woman ready to swoon, especially when he added, “Even if they’re really, really good.”
On an indrawn breath she straightened, all but vibrating with excitement.
“You got a room anywhere close, honey?”
Breathless, face flushed and one hand splayed over her upper chest, she whispered, “Right across the street.”
Stern, his stare intimidating, Armie told her, “Then we should probably get to it.” He finished off his shot and put the glass on the bar.
To Denver he said, “Settle my bill, will ya?” and with a stinging swat to the gal’s derriere, he started her toward the exit.
Shaking his head, Denver turned back to the bar—and almost bumped into Cherry Peyton. The time of the night and so much dancing had left her bouncy blond hair a little messy, her makeup a little smudged, her skin flushed and dewy.
A soft V-necked shirt clung to her breasts and tight jeans hugged her ass.
She looked so damn hot, his dick twitched and his guts tightened.
Breathless, eyes wide, she asked, “Was Armie serious?”
Just to tease her, Denver asked, “About what?” when he knew damn good and well what she meant. He also knew he shouldn’t be engaging her more than necessary—except, well, his convictions had already started to fade.
After glancing around to ensure they had privacy, she whispered, “Spanking?”
Damn, but she always smelled so good. “I doubt it.” Settling back some so he wouldn’t keep breathing her in, he shrugged. “Armie’s into sex however he can get it. But I don’t think he particularly gravitates to the whole discipline scene.”
Scandalized, she said, “He’s awfully blatant about it.”
True, but her interest in Armie annoyed him. Her interest in all guys was the number one reason he’d always tried so hard to avoid her.
Because he flat-out didn’t share.
Cherry Peyton might be the most appealing woman he’d ever met—sexy, sweet, funny—but she was a world-class flirt.
That fact bugged him just enough that he asked, “Why?” He leaned to the side a little to see her heart-shaped ass. “You like the idea of getting your backside warmed?”
Instead of embarrassing her, the question made her smile bright enough to stir him.
He almost got hard before she said, “No, so don’t go getting any ideas.”
Too damn late for that. He’d had ideas from the moment he’d laid eyes on her.
One hand on the stool next to him, she asked, “Mind if I join you?”
Yeah, he did. It would have been easier for him if she kept her distance. So far she hadn’t done that. She teased and toyed with him constantly—along with every other guy in the vicinity. Tonight had seemed different and he’d thought maybe she’d finally given up—but now that she was done dancing with everyone else...
Struggling with himself, Denver hesitated too long, causing her to retrench.
“Unless you’d rather I didn’t?” Watching him with big dark eyes that now looked wounded, she let out a breath. “You’re probably hoping to hook up, right? Stack and Miles already did, so I didn’t want to get in their way.”
So she’d only approached him to give them space?
When he still said nothing, Cherry took a step back. “Guess I shouldn’t get in your way, either.”
Yeah, until he’d gotten preoccupied with watching her, that had been the plan. A one-night stand with a nameless woman he’d never have to see again. Relieve some stress. Get his head together. Then walk away.
Man, had shit gone awry on that plan.
He’d known all along that Cherry had driven down for the fights; she was as supportive of Armie as everyone else in their group. At the venue, with every seat filled, he’d barely seen her. Here at the club, he couldn’t keep his gaze off her.
And again, he’d hesitated too long.
Twisting her mouth, she nodded. “Got it.” She tucked her hair behind her ear with trembling fingers. “Sorry I intruded. It won’t happen again.” Her cheeks were hot, her eyes glassy as she turned away.
“Hey.” Before she’d taken a full step, Denver gestured at the seat. “Suit yourself.”
Given the length of time it had taken him to issue the invite, she should have been insulted. He half expected her to tell him to go to hell.
Instead, after considering him for several heartbeats, she slid that shapely ass up next to him.
He wanted her enough that small talk wasn’t easy. He had to concentrate to say, “You want something to drink?”
The shake of her head sent all those soft curls tumbling over her shoulders. “I better not.” Without looking at him, she wrinkled her nose. “Three wine coolers is my limit.”
Was she toasted? If so, he couldn’t very well leave her on her own, right? He glanced back and sure enough, as she’d said, Stack had one lady on his lap while Miles made out with another.
Worse, the guy who’d hit on her was across the floor keeping her in his sights. Denver mean-mugged him until he averted his gaze.
“You’re staying in the hotel across the street, too?”
The question brought Denver’s attention back to her. With an elbow on the bar and her chin in her hand, she looked tired.
The damn music was so loud he felt the beat in his chest.
Or maybe sitting so close to Cherry caused the heavy thumping of his heartbeat.
Why did she ask about the hotel? Looking at her lips, he said, “Yeah.”
“So am I.”
Damn, he didn’t need to know that.
She blew a curl away from her face. “I’m glad I decided not to drive back tonight.” Releasing a deep breath, she closed her eyes. “I’m beat.”
Driving home to Warfield, Ohio would have meant two hours in the car, and it was already one in the morning. The after-party was in full swing even though Armie, who would have been the man of the hour, had already booked with a babe.
Denver didn’t know if it was the kinky redhead or the threat of interest from the SBC that had driven Armie off so quickly.
Seeing Cherry rub her temples, he asked, “Headache?”
“It’s so loud in here.”
A hint that they should go? Having her this close tempted him... “Maybe you’re hungry. Want me to get you—”
“No.” She shook her head in denial. “I don’t even want to think about food.” Curving an arm around her middle, she said, “I’m starting to feel a little green.”
Frowning, Denver stroked back her soft hair and put his palm to her forehead. Damn it. “You’re hot.”
At first she froze, while the rise and fall of her breasts gave away her deeper breathing.
Because of a simple touch? How was he supposed to resist that? Slowly, he withdrew.
And she relaxed. “Thanks. I think you’re hot, too.” She smiled at her jest. “Too much dancing, I guess. It’s so noisy and warm and...I should probably turn in.”
Denver watched her slide back off that barstool without commenting, without an offer to walk her over, without...anything.
She hesitated, giving him plenty of opportunity, and he saw the moment she gave up—probably on more than tonight.
Maybe for good.
It’d be for the best, but damn, the idea bothered him.
After a soft sigh, she said, “Good night, Denver.”
He felt like a fickle prick. Worse, he felt like a coward. “Cherry.” Reaching out, he caught her wrist.
She turned, her gaze searching his.
“Hang on.”
Her short, humorless laugh cut him. “Why?”
Without meaning to, he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. Her hand was so small, delicate and soft.
There were a lot of rowdy guys hanging around, adrenaline pumping from the fights, either from watching or partaking, their discretion weakened by alcohol.
That excuse served as good as any.
“I’ll walk you over.”
“You really don’t need to do that. It’s just across the street.” She stared up at him. “Unless you want to.”
Yeah, he wanted that—and so much more. They both knew it. The only question now was whether or not they’d each follow through.
“Give me one sec.” He settled up his and Armie’s tab, all the while telling himself all the reasons why he should be on his best behavior. Walk her over, see her into her room, then go to your own.
But yeah, even he knew that was bullshit.
When he turned, she put a hand to his chest.
He felt that touch everywhere.
“I don’t mean to be pushy, but...I’m tired of playing guessing games.”
Is that what she thought? “No games.”
Exasperation brought her brows together. “I need to know, Denver. Are you dropping me off at my door...” Her gaze searched his. “Or sticking around for a while?”
Did she mean for sex? Or just to visit?
He couldn’t tell, was afraid to assume, but he’d vote for sex. Maybe once he had her he could end his obsession.
Curling his hand over hers, he lifted her knuckles to his mouth. If she wanted to leave it up to him, he had no problem making the final decision. He wanted her too much to keep fighting it. “Sticking around.”
She inhaled...and smiled. “Seriously?”
Such unguarded pleasure. “You like that idea?”
“I’m not the one who’s been unclear on things.”
Knowing he’d been far from decisive, Denver took that one on the chin.
“Didn’t you ride down with Stack and Miles?”
Trying to ignore how warm her hand felt in his, he said, “Yeah, why?”
Her small pink tongue came out to dampen her bottom lip, forcing him to swallow back a groan. “Well, they might leave early.”
Aware of his blood pumping hotly, his muscles tensing, he waited.
“I could offer you a ride.”
Lord help him. He didn’t need her saying suggestive things when his brain was already centered on getting her naked. His resolve had already weakened, but with such an open invitation, he lost the fight completely.
As if she’d read his thoughts, her eyes widened—and she laughed. “That sounded bad, didn’t it?”
“No.” Sounded really good to him.
Slanting him a look, her smile still in place, she clarified, “I could give you a ride home—in the morning, I mean.”
It wasn’t natural, how she teased and smiled and no matter how badly he behaved, kept her good humor. He hoped she wasn’t drunk. “Sounds like a plan.” Because now that he’d given in, he knew it would take the entire night to get his fill.
Holding her hand, he went in the same direction Armie had gone earlier.
Along the way, he paused by Stack and Miles long enough to say, “Don’t wait for me in the morning.”
Leaning away from the lady in his lap, Stack glanced at each of them, then at their entwined hands before breaking into a slow smile that made words unnecessary.
Miles reached around his own lady-friend to offer Denver a high five.
Ignoring his raised hand, Denver gave him the bird and walked away.
Laughter erupted behind them.
With a hand over her face, Cherry muttered, “Well, that was embarrassing.”
“You expected anything else?”
She dropped her hand and showed him a rueful smile. “With those two? No, not really.”
That she knew them both so well ramped up his jealousy, but he refused to react to it. From the moment the guys knew he was interested, Cherry had gone off-limits to them. Not for a second did he think they’d overstep, not unless he called the all clear.
And he wasn’t about to do that.
Slipping his arm over her shoulders, he drew her into his side and damn, it felt right having her close. She surprised him by resting her head against his shoulder for a second. When he glanced down at her, he saw she looked happy.
More than anything else, seeing that particular look on her face sent a heated rush of lust through his bloodstream, and convinced him he’d made the right decision—for both of them.
They passed Gage Ringer with his new bride Harper, both regulars at the gym, Gage as a fighter and Harper as a helper. They were so engrossed in each other that they didn’t notice Denver or Cherry.
Anticipation growing sharper, Denver led her through the throng, steering her around small clusters and heavier crowds. The loud, pulsing music and clamor of laughter and conversation made it difficult to talk until they finally reached the entrance.
As he drew her out the doors and into the quieter night, Cherry tipped up her face and drank in the humid evening air. “Ohhh, this is so much better.”
A storm gathered in the distance, sending brief flashes of lightning across the horizon. He could smell the rain in the air, and he felt his own mounting tension.
While a frisky breeze played with her hair, Cherry ducked against him comfortably, as if they’d been cozy forever.
She couldn’t know how it affected him, feeling her sweet body so close, inhaling the hot scent of her skin mixed with the dampness of the night.
He couldn’t help but touch her cheek, smoothing back her hair. She turned into his hand, smiling.
Would she look like that, all relaxed and satisfied, after she came?
Her lashes lifted and she looked at him. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”
Had she read his mind? He opened his hand, stroked his fingers through her silky hair. “What?”
“The quiet and the fresh air.”
She felt good. But then he was so primed that everything she said and did felt like a come-on.
Thick clouds tumbled over the stars and moon, but street lamps illuminated the area. Sluggish traffic went by. People milled in and out of the bar and the hotel across the street.
Apparently in less of a hurry than him to reach her room, Cherry turned toward him to chat. “Yvette left with Cannon right after the fight ended.”
Looping his arms around her waist, Denver nodded. “I talked with him.” Cannon always came as Armie’s corner man if his own fight schedule with the SBC didn’t have him out of town. It was a treat for all the other fighters at the event, and a thrill for the locals. “He’s as sappy as Gage.”
Her smile twitched. “Guess it helps that the ladies really enjoy the fights.”
Shadows played over her, emphasizing the swells of her breasts. With every move she made, that soft flesh drew his eye. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her.
And his mouth.
She didn’t exactly flaunt her curves, but she was definitely aware of them and the effect they had. The V-necked T-shirt she wore tonight was casual, but the way it fit her rack kept distracting him. He could tell she wore a bra, but it had to be insubstantial.
He worked his jaw when he saw that the cooler air had tightened her nipples.
Or maybe it was his gaze that did that.
Aware of her watching him, Denver asked her, “What about you?” She attended all the local events and when possible, traveled with Merissa—her roommate, who was also Cannon’s sister—to watch Cannon compete. She’d even gone with them to Japan.
As a day-care worker for preschool kids, Cherry had weekends free and could usually get Friday off by trading with another employee. But Denver knew some women liked the atmosphere, the excitement and interaction with fighters more than the actual sport.
“What about me?”
With the way he stared at her body, he could understand her confusion. Knowing he wouldn’t last much longer, Denver got her walking again. “You enjoy MMA?”
“Mostly.” As they crossed the lot, a trio of laughing men passed them. To make room, Cherry squeezed more closely against his side.
And damn, he liked how she fit. Her five-seven was a lot smaller than his six-two, but not too small.
“I don’t understand all of it,” she admitted, going back to their topic. “But it’s exciting when someone I know wins.”
The increasing wind slapped against them, carrying her hair up to his chin. Denver drank in the scent of her, wondering if she smelled that good—or better—all over.
“I could do without the blood,” she admitted. “And once, I saw a guy’s arm break.” She winced as if she felt the pain herself.
Smiling, Denver paused with her just outside the hotel door to let another group exit. “I remember that fight. The idiot should have tapped. Injuries like that aren’t common, but every now and then they happen.”
“Have you ever been injured?”
He laughed. “Hell, yeah, but not bad. My worst injuries happened in training, not in competition.”
“Like what?”
With a roll of his shoulder, he said, “Joint injuries mostly. A popped rib. Broken finger and broken toe. Torn rotator cuff. Concussion. Pulled hammy...”
“Good grief.” Aghast, she said, “I had no idea.”
“Comes with the territory. Like I said, nothing serious, and nothing too bad in an actual fight.”
Still frowning with worry, she shoulder-bumped him. “Because you’re good?”
“Sure.” Modesty had no place in the life of a professional MMA fighter. “But I’m also trained, and that makes a big difference.”
Hugging his arm, she said, “I’m really looking forward to seeing you fight.”
Since he didn’t know where things were going with her, he didn’t want to plan that far ahead. Mostly he wanted to plan for the rest of the night. Period. “Headache better?”
Smiling, she said, “Mmm-hmmm.”
She looked so sweet it was a challenge not to kiss her. If they were alone, he wouldn’t bother resisting. But people hung around the hotel lobby and just outside its doors. Other fighters called out to him. A woman asked to get her picture with him. Denver let Cherry go long enough to oblige the fan.
When he rejoined her, she whispered, “You’re so popular.”
Only in certain crowds, and right now he could do without the recognition. “Come on.” Taking her hand, he led her inside and went straight for the elevator. They had to squeeze in with other people...including the guy who’d hit on her earlier.
