Down and Out(95)

So yeah, I guess I would say yes if he asked.
Huh.
The thought of marrying anyone would’ve scared the hell out of me three months ago and sent me running for the hills, but now my feet are firmly planted on this dingy locker room floor. I’m not running anywhere.
I smile up at Declan and simply say, “I’m ready.”






There are a million other places I’d rather be than pacing the back hallway of The Pit. Like at the DMV, or waiting in line at the post office. Hell, I’d rather be getting a root canal than be in the basement of this five-star hotel right now, because I’m freaking. The f*ck. Out.
How am I supposed to sit back and let her get in that ring? How am I supposed to watch her fight? I’d give anything to be the one in that ring tonight instead of her. I don’t care what happens to me, but to Savannah. . .
My fingers tighten in my hair as my mind automatically wanders to the worst possible outcomes. Punches can land wrong. People can have undiagnosed medical problems. Shit happens, and it wouldn’t be the first time that two people stepped into that ring and only one stepped out.
I feel my face twisting into a dour expression as I stare toward the open end of the corridor. It leads out into the arena, and I see dozens of people trying to find seats in the bleachers across from the ring.
“Would you stop?” Savannah grabs my shirt and stands on her tip-toes to kiss my cheek. “You’re gonna wear a hole in the floor with all that nervous pacing.”
“I don’t suppose I can talk you out of this, can I?”
Her mouth tugs to the side as she shakes her head. “Nope, sorry.”
“What if I forbid it?”
Giving me a deceptively sweet smile, she says, “I’d like to see you try.”
Challenge accepted.
My hands go to her hips, pulling her closer. “No, Kitten, you wouldn’t.” I lean in, despite her narrowed eyes and pursed lips, and kiss the spot on her jaw that gives her goose bumps. “Don’t think for a second that I won’t throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here,” I murmur close to her ear. “In fact, I think I saw a janitor’s closet with our names on it. I could take you there and . . . distract you for the next hour, hour and a half. Long enough that’d you be disqualified and labeled a no-show.”
I’m only half-kidding. Things between us have been great, but the sexual aspect of our relationship has cooled off a bit in the two weeks since she revealed everything that happened to her.
To be fair, one of those weeks she was on the rag, and the other week—well, that was all on me. I still find myself second-guessing where or how I touch her and what I say to her, so I’ve been taking things slow. We’ve only had sex once in that time, and I refused to take the lead. Or even initiate it.
It was a bit awkward at first, and Savannah even got a little irritated about it, I think because she likes that I’m usually . . . vocal about what I want and how I want it. But once it was clear it wasn’t going to go down like “usual,” she got the hint and took over. She understands my hang-up now—I mean, Christ, it’s hard not to when I kept asking her “Is this okay?” every few minutes and couldn’t decide where to put my friggin’ hands.
But I want her too f*cking much to keep up this slow pace forever, so I have no doubt we’ll get back into the swing of things eventually. It’ll just take some time, is all.
I guess it’s a good thing we’ve got the rest of our lives, then.
A small hum vibrates against me as her chest presses to mine. “I’m not sure if I want you to be joking or not.” Her voice is slightly husky and with the way my dick is twitching in response, you’d think I could hear out of the damn thing. Her arms wrap around my neck until her fingers are snaking through my hair.
I love when she does that.
I stifle a groan and instead kiss her jaw once more before leaning back. In all seriousness I tell her, “I’d never joke about f*cking you. Ever.”
The corners of Savannah’s lips curl as she rolls her eyes. “What would you say if I told you I didn’t want you to fight anymore? Huh?” she asks, poking a ticklish spot on my ribs. “What if I forbid it?”
Now I’m the one rolling my eyes. “That’s totally different and you know it.”
“How? You’re worried about me getting hurt. Am I not allowed to have those same worries about you?”
She’s got a point. I’m being a hypocritical, sexist ass, but . . . I can’t help it. My primary instinct is to keep her safe, and letting her fight violates the hell out of it. It goes against everything in me. I know I’m fighting a losing battle, but that doesn’t stop me from saying, “Well, I’ll be careful. I promise.”
“And when I step in that ring a minute from now, I’ll be careful too. I promise.” Her lips quirk up into the smugiest smug smile and I immediately frown.
“That oddly doesn’t make me feel any better.”
She laughs and pecks me on the lips. “No, it doesn’t.” Her fingers run through my hair as she bites her lip, turning serious. “I’m probably going to be just as anxious and scared when you go up against Kerrigan next month. And I’m sure I’ll beg and plead and try every trick in the book to talk you out of it.”
Savannah actually has a valid reason to worry about my rematch with that rat bastard, but I’m not about to tell her that. I’m also not going to tell her that Marcus suspects he drugged his last opponent in order to win.