Uppercut Princess (The Heights Crew #1)(47)

“You’re a great fighter,” I tell him, thinking back on how well he did today. He definitely fits in there.

His voice drops. “You’ve barely seen me fight.”

“I saw enough. Plus, I’ve seen you train, so that’s more than enough.”

I squirm under Brawler’s scrutiny. Finally, he asks, “Where did you learn how to fight?”

“Gyms,” I tell him.

“Why?”

I swallow. That hits a little too close to home. I can’t have that. “Didn’t peg you as the anti-feminist type,” I deadpan.

He huffs out a short laugh. “I’m not. Just curious.”

“Because I fucking like it,” I tell him.

He holds his hands up, one still clutching the glass of water, rivulets of sweat dripping from the glass. “It just…it feels like more when you fight. That’s all.” When I don’t say anything in response, he says, “I hope Rocket lets you fight again. People have been asking me about you. They want to see you out there.”

“Maybe if you told him that, he’d let me,” I say, a spark of hope building inside.

“I already have.” He stares at the new coffee table. “I get wanting to fight. The need you feel sometimes. I’ll see what I can do, but I won’t be able to change his mind if he’s already made it up. No one can.”

He doesn’t look convinced that he can help me, but I won’t let that deter my good mood. “When are the next fights?” If I can’t be in it, I can at least watch them.

“Tonight.”

A burst of energy moves through my tired limbs. “Are you fighting?”

He shakes his head. “Not tonight. Next time.”

“I’ll help you train,” I offer. “I’m a good partner.”

His mouth twitches in amusement, and I realize we’ve had the longest conversation we’ve ever had. Brawler might actually be opening up to me. And me to him. Maybe we don’t just have the crazy physical attraction to one another.

He finishes off his water, and I get up to take both empty glasses to the kitchen sink. When he hands his to me, his fingers slide over mine.

I gasp at the contact. Every cell in my body is focusing on the parts where we touch until it’s all I’m aware of. Brawler and I have a connection. One we can’t pursue because of who's claimed me. Well, that and because I won’t be sticking around the Heights after I’ve murdered Big Daddy K, so it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but what I came here to do, I tell myself.

I stand in front of him for a moment then make my feet move. While I’m setting the glasses in the sink, Brawler’s cell phone pings. A moment later, he says, “Rocket’s on his way up.”

I close my eyes, allowing myself a brief moment where I can feel however I want and not have to second guess everything. I underestimated how hard it would be to have to act a certain way and not get caught up in it. The only thing is, with Brawler, I’m not acting. With Oscar, I’m not acting.

With Johnny, I have such conflicting emotions that I can’t quite separate them yet.





17





Johnny walks in while I’m still standing at the kitchen sink. I let him and Brawler greet one another and then I walk around the island to the main living room. Johnny’s dressed in a suit that hugs his body. He looks like…a man. I know that’s odd to say, but I don’t usually see guys Johnny’s age dressed in suits and looking like they can pull it off. He can. He so can. While I’m taking him in, he turns toward me. His crystal blue eyes catch on me. After a moment, he calls out behind him, “You can leave Brawler. I’ve got Kyla now.”

I meet Brawler’s gaze over Johnny’s shoulder and hold it. Regret teems at the surface of his sapphire eyes, only getting more intense as he takes Johnny and I in. He swallows then leaves without a word.

I want to go running after him. He has to know we feel something for one another no matter how dumb it is. I can tell myself all day I shouldn’t start anything with him, but the pull is too much. It’s only a matter of time before I give in.

Johnny continues, oblivious to what’s just transpired between me and his fight organizer. “Put on a dress, babe. We’re headed to a fancy dinner before we hit the fights tonight.”

“Yeah?” I ask, not masking the true excitement bubbling up inside me at the mention of watching the fights tonight. It’s where I belong.

“Yeah,” he says, tangling his fingers in mine for a moment. “I hope you like steak.” I do love steak, but he completely misread which part of his statement made me happy.

I squeeze his hand and then move past him to search the closet in my room, which now brims with the different outfits Johnny bought me. His little bribe for making the shopkeepers keep their mouths shut about his transgression. Though, I’m sure they don’t see it as his transgression. I was the one who went looking for them. Girls like me aren’t supposed to do that. I’m the prize. I’m the one who gets to enjoy the jealous looks of others because I’m living the “good life” while actually never being free to enjoy that good life.

I’m jealous of them, and they’re jealous of me.

I walk out with a midnight blue sequined dress on that barely covers my ass. Seriously, it’s the best dress in that closet as far as coverage goes. I tried two on before this that had a dipped neck that reached my belly button. This one, at least, has a high back and long sleeves that cover up the scrape on my back even if it is too short.