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“You didn’t have to hurry up for me,” she says, nodding in Layla’s direction. “I know you have fans to attend to.”
The words come with an edge of hurt—pain I wish I could erase from Molly’s mind.
“Does your brother know you’re here?” I ask, holding out my arms to her.
Instead of answering, she flings herself against me, wrapping her arms around my neck. I lift her up, hugging her tight, burying my nose in her cherry-vanilla-scented hair.
“You scared me when he got that kick in,” she whispers against my shoulder.
No way will I explain she’s the reason I took that blow. I’m too fucking happy to see her. And even though she shouldn’t be here, I’m thrilled she came to see me.
Maybe too thrilled.
I need to let her go.
“I’m sweating all over you, girl.” I squeeze her tighter, negating my warning. She’s so soft and fits against me just right.
“I don’t mind getting a little sweaty,” she murmurs.
That takes my mind down a path it definitely should not travel.
Setting her down before I’m ready, I keep my hands on her hips. It’s playing with fire. All the leftover adrenaline screaming through my system has me flirting with getting burned. Even though this isn’t a fight club I visit often, I recognize plenty of people. Any number of them would be more than willing to report back to her brother that I had my hands all over his little sister. Her brother—my best friend and partner in crime—wouldn’t hesitate to kick my ass.
I settle for a kiss on her forehead before taking my hands off her.
“You didn’t answer me. Does Remy know you’re here?”
“Of course not.”
“Why’d you come?”
“Duh, to see you.” She pokes her finger into my side. “I heard you were up against someone new. Sorry I missed most of it.”
“You saw the best part.”
Laughter spills from her lips, chasing away the leftover violent energy burning through my body from the fight. I glance around the open space. Still way too many people here to leave her alone while I go shower and grab my stuff.
“Follow me.” I hold out my hand and she takes it, weaving through the throng with me. The hallway to the private locker room is dark and deserted. Molly trots a little faster, catching up and wrapping her other hand around my arm.
“You don’t have anything to be scared of,” I assure her. “You’re with me.”
“I know.” Her lips quirk up. “You’d kill anyone who touched me.”
I return the smile. “Kill is a little strong.” Break a few bones, maybe.
She squeezes my arm tighter.
It’s not fear that keeps her clinging to me. It’s trust. And that’s not something Molly gives freely.
The locker room’s deserted. My opponent probably took off as soon as the match was finished. To the other side of the building, the local hospital, or home—I don’t know or care. No one else has a reason to be in here right now except me.
“Stay here. I’m gonna take a quick shower.”
She touches her fingers to my head. “You’re bleeding.”
“Shit, really?” I glance at the mirror on the wall. She’s right. It’s a small cut, but a trickle of blood mingled with sweat slides down the side of my face.
Her fingers lightly rake through my hair and my eyes close. The shivery sensation sends my blood pumping south.
