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He folded his arms over his chest. “So this is why you have bruises.”
“I told you I can take care of myself.”
“You box, yeah?”
I firmly stated, “I kick ass, yeah.”
His demeanor quickly changed to a more lighthearted vibe. The tension in the air was still thick, but it was for other reasons. I wore a sports bra with tight spandex shorts, and I think this was the first time he actually took a look at me. He was too consumed with the rage he felt, thinking Eric abused me.
The appearance in his gaze turned predatory pretty quickly.
I cocked my head to the side. “Like what you see?”
Ignoring my question, he asked, “Who is he to you?”
“Look at you, always asking questions like you have a right to. You still haven’t figured out that I owe you nothing.”
“Even after last night, you still can’t let that guard down, huh?”
“We can’t play fifty questions while you eye-fuck the shit out of me at the same time, so how about we box instead?”
He scoffed out, “I’m not fighting you.”
With a cheeky smirk, I challenged, “Worried you’ll get beat by a girl?”
“You think that’s gonna work on me?”
“What will work on you?”
In an unpleasant voice, he demanded, “Answer my questions, and we can go from there.”
Since I was feeling friendly, I agreed, “Fine. I’ll answer one question if you’ll box me. Fair?”
“Duchess—”
“Pick your question wisely.”
He made his way into the ring. “Those are fightin’ words, darlin’.”
“Apparently.”
Once he stood in front of me, he skimmed my Roman numeral collarbone tattoo with the back of his fingers.
“I want to know what this means.”
I eyed him skeptically for a few seconds. “And then what?”
“And then I get to take you out.”
“Define out?”
His fingers shifted to my cheek. “It’s a surprise.”
“I hate surprises.”
“All the more reason.”
“You really think I want to fight you this badly?”
