Craving The Player (Amateurs In Love Book 1)(62)
My eyes narrow into slits. "If she was?"
His hands come up in front of his chest, held out in surrender. There’s a curiosity behind his calm composure that has me sliding an invisible guard up.
"I didn't know you were dating anyone. That's all."
"Dating?" I choke on the word. "I wouldn’t go that far. We both know that I wouldn’t even know what to do with that sort of label."
Dropping his arms, he moves towards my locker and grabs my gloves before offering them to me. I take them with a bit more force than necessary and stretch out my wrapped hands, feeling the black material stretch around the knuckles.
"Relax, buddy. Honest mistake.” He laughs. "So, you're just friends, then?"
Just friends? Somehow that label is even worse. "Ah, slow down there. I never said that.”
Shaking his head, he sits down on the bench in front of me and clasps his hands in his lap. He looks like he feels out of place with his twiddling thumbs and clouded eyes floating around the room. Dad hasn’t fought in a long time, not after he tore his rotator cuff one too many times. He misses it. I hate that he has to sit back and watch me, unable to feel the liberation and freedom the way that I do.
"Just don't get distracted out there. You don't get days off for any of the injuries you're going to get trying to impress one of the girls you're banging."
"The only girl I'm banging," I correct him, feeling the need to clarify it for him. For a guy deciding to get hitched to someone half his age, he's immensely judgmental of everyone else's relationships. Although, does what he thinks really even matter?
"Do you really think so low of me?"
"Yes," he replies without hesitation. I inhale sharply, my mouth dropping into a frown. "Sorry. Of course not, Braden. My perfect child. The poster child for monogamous relationships. I must be thinking of my other son who was sneaking girls into my house in the middle of the night since he was fifteen. Oh wait, my other son is happily married."
Ignoring the hurt spearing my stomach from his low opinion of me, I slip my gloves on and strap them like always.
"Okay, okay. I get it. Point taken."
"Just stay focused on the fight. If Sierra really is the only girl you're seeing, maybe she should come around the house sometime. I'm sure Lana would love to cook for her," he offers, and I don’t miss the bait he lays out for me.
"Sure. If that'll get you to lay off, then consider it set in stone," I reply, although I have a feeling that Sierra would rather eat rocks than what Lana calls cooking. The surprise in his eyes is evident as he watches me, intent on making me squirm and admit that I would rather spoon out my own eyes than go for another awkward dinner with Lana. But when I keep my mouth shut like a good little boy, he gives my shoulder a squeeze.
"Jesse lacks stamina. Strike first and the win is yours. Good luck."
"Thanks, Dad." I grin and his hand falls from my shoulder. As he makes his way to the entrance, I start to bounce in place, shaking off the nerves. The cheers reach my ears and I know that it's time.
Any prior thoughts that I have disappear as I shake out my arms and walk down the hallway. The usual fog begins to crawl up my legs as golden light pours over my shoulders. Screaming voices pierce my eardrums as I confidently shrug out of my robe and hand it over to Dad.
I pull at the velvet ropes and step inside the ring, basking in the adrenaline and screams of encouragement from the crowd. My feet repeatedly tap the pad as I let my eyes start sifting through the crowd, desperate to find my golden girl. And when I do, my arm shoots to the ceiling in a victory-like celebration. She wore what I asked. Pride surges through me when our eyes meet, my lungs constricting in a way that has me wanting to clutch my chest. I fight off the feeling and let a smile light up my face, aching to scream a hurray at the ceiling when she smiles back, shining from head to toe with pure, unfiltered bliss. The gold top clinging to her skin is a near-perfect match to the colour of my shorts and gloves. She looks exactly how I pictured.
I swear my heart slides to my throat when the light catches on the silver chain wrapped loosely around her dainty neck, the shine capturing my attention and holding it hostage as the room blurs behind her.
There was a part of me that didn’t expect her to wear it. To snuff it up to her pride and refuse to wear something of mine when I haven’t even told her how I feel. But she is wearing it. And I don’t think that I ever want it back. The rush of contentment that falls on my shoulders fills me with more than enough confidence to make this a quick, easy fight. I’ve never wanted to bail on a fight so bad in my life. I need to touch her, tell her that she’s mine and there’s no room for discussion.
When I hear my opponent's name being called out, I force myself to pull out of the trance and collect myself. After shooting her a cheesy wink that has her throwing her arms up to cheer me on, I finally turn my attention to Jesse. He makes his way through the ropes, meeting me in the center of the ring with an icy scowl that I can’t wait to sink my knuckles into. He’s about an inch or two shorter than me, but wider. Much wider. If it weren’t for the constant drug tests we run before matches, I would assume that he’s become good friends with a performance enhancement drug named Steroid. His size doesn’t shake me, though. I’ve trained and fought bigger guys than Jesse. He might be stronger, but I know that I’m faster on my feet.