Take Your Time (Boston Love #4)(92)

“I appreciate the offer, Duncan. I really do. I’ll accept the money I loaned to our parents… but not a cent more.”

“But… why?”

I shrug and smile at him. “I don’t need it. I’ve already got everything I could ever want.”



The crowd pulses like a living organism, giving off so much heat and sound it makes the hair rise straight up on the back of my neck. The ring is ready and waiting, spotlights trained on the center. Octagon girls — the MMA equivalent of cheerleaders — strut back and forth in spandex bikinis, revving the crowd to an even higher decibel. The front row of spectators is full of sports photographers, journalists, and UFC scouts.

Shaking my head at the madness, I slip back inside the back room where Luca is waiting. I move in silence, not wanting to disturb his pre-fight ritual. Zoe told me he likes to be alone before a bout, to keep his head totally clear.

He’s sitting on a bench, head bowed, eyes closed, elbows resting on his knees. I don’t make a sound, but he senses my presence. He reaches out blindly and grabs my wrist, tugging me around to stand in front of him. His forehead presses against my stomach and I run my fingers through his short crop of hair.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” I whisper, feeling like I’ve infringed on a sacred space.

“You’re not.” He breathes me in with deep inhales. “Ever.”

“I know you like to be alone.”

“That was before.” His eyes lift to mine. “Things are different now.”

My brows go up. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Not saying I want just anyone back here with me, screwing up my energy, messing with my head.” He shrugs. “You, I don’t mind. You don’t steal air from the room, Delilah. You breathe life into it.”

My heart flips.

“It’s crazy out there, you know.”

“Always is.”

My eyes start stinging. “Is it lame if I admit I’m worried about you.”

“Very.” He pushes to his feet, so he’s towering over me. His hands, wrapped with fighting tape, brush a rogue tear from my cheek. “Don’t worry, Delilah. Not going anywhere.”

“Stuck with you, huh?”

He nods.

“Never should’ve let you pick me up from jail,” I tease.

“Oh, bailing you out wasn’t the night I decided to pursue you,” he says casually.

“What? What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “After the bachelorette party, when I carried you home and tucked you into bed, wasted on tequila and half asleep in my arms… you did something that made me realize I wasn’t gonna spend another day without you in my life.”

My heart is pounding. “And that was…?”

“Rapped every lyric to Juicy by Biggie Smalls when it came on the radio.”

I smack his arm. “I did not!”

“Oh, you did. I have videos.”

“Luca Buchanan!”

He’s grinning. “I’m kidding.”

I blow out a relieved breath. (Prematurely, it turns out.)

“Oh, not about the videos. I’m keeping those until I die.” He laughs. “Just about what you did that made me want you as mine.”

I smack him again. “Tell me.”

His eyes soften. “We pulled up outside your place… you looked over at me with those big, beautiful brown eyes of yours already half-closed… and, very simply, in a slurred voice, you murmured… ‘If I ever decide to let someone break my heart, I want it to be you, Luca Buchanan.’” He bumps his nose against mine. “One sentence. I was a total goner.”

A tear escapes the corner of my eye. “Drunk Lila is a real blabbermouth. I need to have a stern word with her.”

“I like Drunk Delilah. Like all the Delilah’s I’ve seen so far.”

“You haven’t met PMS Delilah yet. She’s a gem.”

“Looking forward to that.”

We both glance at the door when we hear the crowd’s cheers swell to a crushing roar.

“I think that’s your cue,” I whisper against his lips.

He nods. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Cupping his face in my hands, I stare into his eyes. “You’ve got this.”

“Know I do, babe.”

“Don’t let him break your nose.”

“I won’t.”

My eyes are glossy again. “I’ll be in the front row, with Shelby.”

He nods. “I’ll look for you.”

I chew my lip worriedly.

“Babe,” he says, amused. “Why are you freaking?”

“I’m not freaking.”

He pins me with a look.

“Okay, I’m totally freaking,” I admit. “I’m just worried about you! I love you and I want you to win and I believe in you one hundred and fifty percent, but I also don’t want you to get hurt because, like I said before… I love you. And he’s really big. Like, freakishly big. Have you seen the size of his fists? They’re like hams!”

“I’m faster than him. I’m a better fighter.” His eyes are full of certainty. “I know it, he knows it. A few minutes from now, everyone else will know it too.”