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He shoots me an annoyed look. “And you like to be told you’re a good boy.”
I shrug with another smile, trying to ignore the twitch in my cock at those beautiful words.
But I bite my tongue on what I want to say next.
There’s something else you like too, isn’t there?
As I look at him sitting across from me, I don’t think I need to ask that. Because the fact that he’s here at all speaks volumes. I thought he didn’t care, and he proved me wrong.
And I know what the events of this day proved to me.
I’ve got some serious feels for Ty Roscoe.
TWENTY-EIGHT
“Fuck,” I murmur to myself as I buckle my seat belt. My jaw fucking hurts, and my lip is throbbing. Luca’s punches carry a lot of weight as he’s a natural striker, and I put myself directly in his line of fire last night. And a few of those hits, I let him have.
Because I deserved it.
At the time, I may not have completely understood why I did that, but I do now. It may not have been the healthiest way to talk and get everything out there, but we did it and we said what we needed to say.
And I finally let myself feel what I’ve been ignoring for a while.
I went there because I care about him.
I let him hit me because I care about him.
I don’t hate him.
I want him.
As I drive to the gym, a feeling of anticipation stirs. After Luca and I left the cage last night, we silently went our separate ways, and I haven’t spoken to him since. But we left with a new understanding of each other. We didn’t need to say anything else, and for me, I feel good about where things stand.
My phone buzzes in the cupholder as I pull up to a red light. Like he’s reading my fucking mind, Luca’s name lights up the screen with a text.
I pick it up, sliding my thumb across the screen.
Luca
You on your way to the gym?
Yeah
*thumbs up emoji*
I sigh as I stare down at the screen.
And what does that mean?
The light turns green, so I toss the phone on the passenger’s seat. I’m only a few minutes away so I guess I’ll find out soon enough.
When I get to the gym and pull into the parking lot, I see him leaning up against his Jeep, head down and looking at his phone. He’s wearing tie-dye sweatpants with a bright yellow hoodie, so he’s hard to miss.
He looks up from under his hood as I get out of my car, dirty blond curls sticking out over his forehead and a smirk on his lips.
Usually I would walk towards the gym and ignore him, and I think about doing just that. But something stops me, and I walk over to him.
He gives me that irritating smile that burrows right under my skin, and I immediately regret my decision.
