One Good Reason (Boston Love #3)(42)

It’s over quickly, after that.

The ache of worry inside my chest eases as soon as Iceman’s fist taps the mat, crying uncle. The crowd is stunned, their roars louder than ever — some are pissed to see their champion fall, but most are thrilled that the underdog dominated. It’s akin to David taking on Goliath — albeit a bit bloodier. (And I’m relatively certain there were no bikini-clad ring girls pressed up against David after he won that biblical bout.) Colt is whooping in celebration as he pulls me up the stairs into the octagon. We’re barely on the canvas when Luca appears. Dismissing his corner men and clingy cheerleaders without a word, he grabs me in a giant bear hug.

“You did it,” I yell into his ear, returning his tight embrace as he spins me in a circle. “Are you okay? You nose is bleeding.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Because—”

“Mom, I said I’m fine.”

I huff.

“Thanks for coming, babe,” he says, pulling back so he can look down into my face. “I know I was a dick, the other day.”

“You think?” I ask, arching a brow.

He smirks. “I’ll make it up to you. You’ll see.”

“You can start by setting me down. You’re so sweaty, I might actually drown standing this close to you. It’s gross.”

With a laugh, he sets me back on my feet. He turns to accept a back-slapping hug from Colton — but not before wiping a sweat-coated arm against my face just to taunt me, the rotten bastard.

“Ew!” I exclaim, dragging my sleeve against the sweat mark. “Now I have to go wash my face.”

Luca rolls his eyes. “Priss.”

Colt shakes his head. “Such a girl.”

I flip them both off.

“Hurry back! We’re going out to celebrate!” Colton scuffs his knuckles against Luca’s head in a playful gesture. “Pretty sure this guy could use a few drinks.”

I laugh as I turn away, calling back over my shoulder, “Oh, get a room, you two.”

Luca’s grin is the last thing I see before the mob of fans closes in around him.

It takes a while, but eventually I maneuver through the dozens of people crowding the octagon and make my way down the stairs. My eyes scan the crowd as everyone slowly funnels out the front doors onto the street — five hundred people trying to exit at once has resulted in a serious traffic jam. I’m searching in vain for a bathroom sign, eyes moving along the walls, when I see something that makes my heart clench inside my chest.

It’s been a while, but I’d recognize her anywhere.

Long, dark hair. Impeccable clothing. Skyscraper heels.

And, most familiar, a set of hazel eyes so like her brother’s it makes my heart twist.

Phoebe West.

She’s standing with a group of girls about fifty feet to my left. A brunette with large blue eyes — who looks so strikingly similar to Phoebe she must be her sister — is telling a story, making everyone laugh. A petite woman with a platinum pixie cut is standing with her back to me. By her side is a willowy brunette who must teach yoga because, damn the girl has a rocking body. Rounding out the group is a curvaceous strawberry blond with big brown eyes I can see, even from this distance, are glossy and long-lashed.

They’re all giggling and grinning, clearly having a great night.

I tell myself to walk away, to fade into the crowd before Phoebe has a chance to spot me, but it’s like I’ve lost control of my senses. My eyes move of their own accord, seeking someone else in the crowd… someone with tousled blond hair and a broad chest…

I don’t find him.

Instead, my eyes latch onto the man hovering just behind Phoebe. The way he’s standing — feet planted, arms crossed, eyes hyper-vigilant as they scan the crowd — tells me he’s guarding her from any potential threats. I know who he is without blinking twice.

Nathaniel Knox.

Parker’s best friend; Phoebe’s boyfriend.

Knox Investigations is well-known and well-respected by everyone in this city. Knox is smart, capable, and exceedingly good at his job. Which probably explains why he notices my scrutiny almost instantly.

Dark eyes lock on mine, a question in their depths. He takes a stride closer to Phoebe, never looking away from me, and as I see him bend to catch her attention, I finally snap into motion.

She can’t see me. She’ll recognize me. Confront me about abandoning her last year. Remind me what a shitty f*cking person I am for walking away.

And somehow, it’ll all get back to Parker… who I’ve determined to avoid for the rest of infinity…

I whirl and bolt in the opposite direction, cursing myself for being so incapacitated by just the thought of Parker, I let my guard down entirely. Spotting the small, illuminated bathroom sign at the far end of the gym, I race toward it, hoping Phoebe hasn’t spotted me. My black Toms eat up the distance in seconds. When my hand curls around the knob, I ignore the tinge of disappointment in my stomach.

I made it without being spotted. That should be a relief.

So, why isn’t it?

Just before the door shuts at my back, it happens.

“Holy frack!” a feminine voice shouts, her excited squawk is so loud I can hear her even from this distance. “That’s Tinkerbell!”

Shit.