Chapter 24 Scarlett
TWENTY-FOUR
SCARLETT
We keep the conversation light for the rest of the night.
I manage to convince Nico to put some of his fights on. I want to know more about him, and I want to ask questions about the sport. It takes him a minute to agree, at first pushing for me to pick a movie I want to watch, but I’m adamant about it. Once he sees how invested I am, he relaxes.
It’s…fascinating. I can’t wrap my head around why anyone would want to do MMA. My mother would’ve disowned me for bringing home a fighter. She probably would’ve assumed he was a dumb, tattooed brute and kicked him out of the house.
But as I listen to Nico break down his strategy and some of the techniques, I realize he’s far smarter than I’m sure people give him credit for.
“Do you enjoy fighting?” I ask, suddenly remembering our conversation that first night.
There’s a thoughtful pause as he finishes cleaning up the last of our dinner trash.
“I don’t think enjoy is the word I would use,” he answers, lips pinching.
“There’s a very specific type of fighter who enjoys getting locked in a cage with a man who wants to kill him. But I guess I enjoy the training.”
I snuggle deeper into the cushions, wanting to know everything. “Do you ever think about retiring?”
He gives me that look from earlier again, that one I couldn’t read.
Then he glances away as he clears his throat. “Sometimes, yeah.” He fidgets with the napkin in his hands. “More and more, it seems silly to be doing something I’m not totally invested in. Dangerous, too.”
That has me freezing, worry covering me like a cold blanket. “It’s even more dangerous when your head’s not in it?”
He shrugs and walks back to the couch. “Well…yeah. Any sport would be.”
“Then you should definitely retire,” I press. “You can’t put yourself at risk like that.”
He drops onto the couch beside me with a smile that has those damn dimples coming out. “You worried about me, Red?”
I answer with narrowed eyes.
Chuckling, he drops his head back to the couch. “I probably will soon. Actually—”
I straighten in my seat, eager for every bit of Nico that I can get.
“The fight I have coming up, it’s technically the last fight on my contract.”
“So you really could retire soon.” Then the rest of his sentence registers and I frown. “Wait… you have a fight coming up? Since when?!”
“Since two months ago. The fight is next week.”
I gape at him. “You have a fight next week? And you didn’t tell me that?”
He shrugs, not meeting my eyes. “I kind of liked not having this part of my life be about fighting.”
I soften at that. I can understand wanting to compartmentalize things.
Ever-so-subtly, I slide my hand closer so I’m touching his arm. The contact seems to release tension in both of us.
“I like being your escape,” I say quietly. “But…shouldn’t you be training around the clock for it or something? I’m surprised your coach lets you take days off to go to jazz clubs.”
Nico winces. “Yeah, that wouldn’t normally be the recommended rest day.
But I’m not drinking or partying, and I do need one day every week when I don’t have to train three times.
So I’m telling myself it’s fine.” He huffs a laugh.
“Although if I end up getting my ass handed to me, just do me a favor and leave out the I told you so.”
“I would never.” Then, more carefully, I ask, “You won’t, though. Right?”
He looks at me in surprise. “What, get my ass handed to me? No. I’m going to win.” He lifts my hand to his lips and sweetly presses a kiss to the back of it. Then, in a careful tone matching my own, he says, “You should come to the fight.”
For a moment, I only blink. I don’t know why I never considered seeing Nico outside of a date setting. It would be…new.
And yet, I feel giddy at the idea of watching Nico in his element.
“Would you really want me there?” I ask.
His head shoots up, his eyebrows lifting as his gaze locks onto mine.
“Are you serious? Of course I want you there.” When he sees me contemplating the invite, his lips curl with a grin.
“Red, if I haven’t made it disgustingly obvious that I want you in my life, I’m clearly doing something wrong here.
Yes, I want you at my fight. If you want to be there. ”
I nibble on my bottom lip as I mull it over. “Would I be in the crowd, or with you?”
He shrugs and twirls a strand of my hair around one finger. “Wherever you want to be.”
“I don’t think I’d like being in the crowd,” I say quietly.
“Then you can stay in the dressing room and watch from there. Matter of fact, I could even have Alexander stay with you. He barely says two words, so you wouldn’t have to worry about talking to him.”
A small smile tugs at my lips. “Lucas is the talker, right?”
Nico snorts. “Lucas would make you wish you were in the cage with me just to get away from his incessant questions.” When I giggle, his whole face lights up. “It’s at the Garden, so right there in your backyard.”
I’m surprised to realize how much I’m considering this.
“Can I give you a maybe? Let me just think about it a little.”
Nico grows serious as he nods. “Of course. I’ll leave a ticket for you at Will Call either way, and you can make the decision on your own.” But then uncertainty flashes across his face.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I need to put your legal name down if I leave you a ticket,” he says, sounding hesitant. “Since they check IDs.”
Suddenly, this moment just got a lot bigger.
Giving him my first name had been a change, but not a huge risk. Scarlett is a common enough name that I could still hide in a city of eight million people. But giving him my full name… that’s another level of trust.
Do I want to trust Nico with it?
The answer is louder and more obvious than I expected it to be.
“It’s…Scarlett Adler,” I tell him softly.
A loud exhale rushes from Nico. I wonder what he thought my answer would be.
“Scarlett Adler,” he repeats. And just the way he says it, the wonder with which he says it, tells me I made the right decision. I want him to say my name over and over now.
And then a slow grin slides across his face.
“What?”
“I just realized something. Even before you told me your real name, I was calling you by your name. In a way.” When I tilt my head in confusion, he says, “Red? Scarlett? It’s the same thing.”
Surprised laughter bursts out of me. “How did I never realize that? I guess that should’ve been my sign.”
It’s adorable how proud he looks. I want to tease him about it, but when he yawns, I realize how late it is. And while I slept for over twelve hours last night, Nico was probably up for most of it.
I try not to hate myself for the way Nico tenses up and purposefully keeps his focus away from the front door, because I know he’s scared to ask me to stay for fear of me saying no. Little does he know, all I can think about is how I didn’t get to enjoy sleeping in his arms last night.
“It’s pretty late,” I say simply. “Is it okay if I stay the night again?”
Guilt settles heavy in my stomach when the relief makes his shoulders relax. The desire to do something for him takes over, so I ask, “Can we take a shower?”
My wording makes him hesitate. “We?”
I nod and take his hand. “If you feel like joining me.”
He watches me for a moment. “Always, Scarlett.”
Smiling, I stand and pull him to his feet, then lead both of us toward the bedroom. Once we’re inside the bathroom, I switch the shower on, then turn to lift Nico’s shirt off.
He raises his arms and lets me pull it over his head, clearly skeptical about my intentions.
But he doesn’t stop me as I push his sweats down over his hips.
When I kneel before him to tug his boxer briefs down and guide his feet to step out of his clothes, he watches me like a hawk, tension running through every muscle of his body.
He thinks I’m trying to make things sexual again.
But when I ignore his hard cock between us and stand, his expression shifts to curiosity. He watches as I lift my own shirt off—his shirt—and then his sweatpants. When I step into the shower, he follows me without hesitation.
I reach immediately for the body wash. My intention for this shower wasn’t to initiate sex, or to create another situation where he tries to care for me. It was to care for him.
At first, he doesn’t react when I guide him under the water. But when I swap our positions and lather up his loofah to brush it over his shoulders, he says, “You don’t have to do that. You never have to take care of me.”
I press a light kiss to his chest before brushing the loofah over the muscle. “I know,” I whisper.
I watch his throat move on a rough swallow. “Is this because I took care of you last night?”
Smiling, I press another kiss to his skin, this one to his throat. “No. It’s because I want to take care of you.” Peeking up at him, I add, “To repeat a very sweet—and very pushy—man, will you just let me?”
His relieved laugh fills the shower enclosure, the sound warming me more than the water hitting my back. “Yes, ma’am.”
I take my time washing his body. Selfishly, I want to look at him. I want to appreciate every hard-earned muscle, every scar he’s received from fighting and from growing up with two brothers. I want to see him.
I stay away from his cock, but he’s still breathing heavily when I stand from washing his legs. I’m just as turned on as he is, but I don’t give in to the urge to take him in hand. I just lead him to spin so I can wash his back.
“Can I wash you, too?” he asks, his voice like gravel.
I press a kiss to his shoulder, a foreign sensation growing in my chest. “Yes,” I answer breathily.
And I realize as he brushes the loofah over my own skin that this feeling I’m experiencing is a sense of power. Not power as a superiority, but as a confidence I’ve never experienced before. It grows when I see the care Nico takes with me, and when I see the awe with which he looks at my body.