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“Show it to me later.” He takes a step closer. “How easy is this to get off?”
“What?” I tiptoe backward, trying not to trip in the high heels.
“You heard me.” He reaches for me again. “Turn around. Does it have a zipper?”
“I thought fighters had a no-sex rule before a fight?”
“Nah, that’s a myth.” A playful smile ripples over his lips. “You weren’t worried about rules when you were promising to fuck me hard down in the gym earlier.”
My cheeks heat. I did talk a good game. “Are you sure you want to risk it?”
“Well,” he rubs his hand over his chin, still staring at me like I’m his next meal, “there’s actual science that suggests the more times you climax, the bigger the boost to testosterone. So, it could be beneficial before a fight.”
I can’t help giggling. “So, sex for science?”
“Absolutely.” He grins even wider, making him so damn irresistible. “My first professional-ish fight, I’d gone without, and I lost. So, yeah, let this be our scientific experiment.”
“Ugh. You did not lose that fight as far as I’m concerned. You were robbed.”
He captures me around the waist, pulling me closer but his expression’s more serious. “Thank you.”
“For stating the obvious? You heard how mad the audience was at the reunion show.”
He’s shaking his head before I finish my thought. “No, for even mentioning it. I know how much you hate the show.”
“It’s part of our story now, good or bad.” It took some time to get to this point. “They tried to come between us and lost.” I drape my arms over his shoulders. “You and me against the world, Griff.”
“That’s how it’s always going to be.” He stares at me for a few beats. “Thank you for being here with me,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
“I go where you go.” I rub the tips of my fingers through his hair and his eyes drift shut. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you came back to the room.”
“That’s okay. I’m glad you went out. I think you’d be bored hanging in the gym.” He opens his eyes and his mouth flattens into an annoyed line. “And that press conference was bullshit. I don’t want you at any of them.”
“I heard the high school crack about me. These dumbasses don’t know how to count very well, do they?”
His angry scowl deepens. “Please don’t listen to that bullshit.”
“Griff, I don’t care if they poke fun of my age. But I do care about them trying to imply bad things about you because of me.” I step back, showing him my dress again. “I’m hoping this makes me look a little older?”
He studies my body with an appreciative spark in his eyes.
“I know you have more to worry about than my fashion choices,” I say. “I’m just…nervous.”
“Molly,” he breathes out. “You always look…I don’t know what word I’m looking for. Good isn’t strong enough.” He shakes his head, frustrated.
“Well,” a nervous laugh spills out of me, “maybe I’m still a little traumatized from all the jailbait jokes they made on the show.”
“I’m proud you’re my girlfriend. Always. I like the way you dress. Please don’t change anything because of these assholes.” He cocks his head. “Don’t I always comment on how clever your outfits are?”
Yes, he does. Genuine, sweet compliments. Not gross “your boobs look good” comments. “Yes.”
“I hope Magic is as bad in the cage as he is at trash talk. He sounded like an idiot in the clips I heard.”
“He’s a good fighter. He’s only had one loss.” His brow furrows with concern. “Are you sure you’ll be okay at the fight? It’s war inside the cage. Nothing glamorous or pretty.”
“Will I be a distraction for you if I’m there?”
He pauses and seems to consider the question instead of giving an automatic no. “Once the ref sets us loose, I’m focused on getting the job done—taking down my opponent.” He turns his head slightly as if he needs more time to consider my question. “I don’t think you’ll be a distraction.”
