Chapter 13
Jacob
Renata’s house is packed wall to wall with bodies celebrating my victory.
The liquor flows freely, music pumping through expensive speakers that vibrate the floorboards beneath my feet.
Everyone wants a piece of the champ tonight.
Everyone except the one person whose attention I actually want.
Riley stands across the room, whiskey in hand, smiling at something Renata says.
They look way too comfortable together, her hand resting on his forearm as she laughs.
The sight twists something in my gut that I don’t want to name.
I grab another beer, my third of the night, though I’m barely feeling it. The adrenaline from the fight is still coursing through my system, keeping my senses sharp. My eyes keep drifting back to Riley despite my best efforts to look anywhere else.
He looks out of place among the fight crowd—too refined, too put together. But that’s part of what makes him so fucking magnetic.
“There’s our champion!” A high-pitched voice breaks through my thoughts.
I turn to find three women standing way too close, looking up at me with glassy eyes and carnivorous smiles.
I recognize them immediately: regulars at the Red Corner, always hanging around after fights, hoping to snag a winner.
“Ladies,” I nod, keeping my face neutral. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
The blonde in the middle, with fake lashes and a tight dress, presses her hand against my chest. “Renata invited us. Said the champ deserved some special attention tonight.”
Of course she did. Renata’s been trying to hook me up with women since I started fighting for her. Thinks I need to “blow off steam” after matches. Usually, I’d be game. Take one of these girls home, work out the post-fight energy between the sheets, then send her on her way before sunrise.
But not tonight. Tonight, my eyes keep drifting to the doctor across the room.
“That fight was amazing,” the redhead gushes, stepping closer. “The way you took down The Crusher? So hot.”
I force a smile, letting them cluster around me while I scan the room over their heads. Riley’s looking our way now, his expression unreadable as he takes a slow sip of his whiskey. Something flares in his eyes when the blonde slides her hand down my arm.
Interesting.
“Can I touch it?” the third girl asks, pointing at the fresh cut above my eye. “Battle scars are sexy.”
Before I can answer, her fingers are on my face, tracing the edge of the wound that will definitely scar. I don’t pull away, but my attention is across the room, watching Riley watch us.
His jaw tightens. His knuckles go white around his glass. When Renata leans in to say something to him, he barely seems to hear her.
I smirk. Looks like I’m not the only one feeling possessive tonight.
“You want another drink, champ?” the blonde asks, pressing her breasts against my arm.
“I’m good,” I tell her, but she doesn’t back off.
“We could find somewhere quieter. Celebrate your win properly.”
A few weeks ago, I’d have taken her up on it without a second thought. Now, the idea leaves me cold. All I can think about is Riley.
“Maybe later,” I lie, knowing there won’t be a later.
The redhead pouts. “Don’t make us wait too long. We’ve got plans for you.”
I let them believe they have a chance, nodding along to their chatter while keeping one eye on Riley. He’s engaged in conversation with Renata again, but his gaze keeps drifting our way. Each time he looks over, his expression darkens a little more.
Good. Let him see how it feels to watch someone else’s hands on what he considers his.
Not that Riley’s claimed me. He ran away, left me naked and confused in my own bed. But the way he’s looking at me now tells a different story.
The party swirls around us—fighters mingling with sponsors and friends, everyone riding the high of my victory.
I circulate through the room, shaking hands and accepting congratulations.
But I’m always aware of Riley’s location.
Always conscious of the electric current that seems to connect us across the crowded space.
An hour passes. Then another. The girls stick close, growing increasingly handsy as they drink more.
I don’t discourage them, not when Riley’s watching with that stormy expression.
When the blonde “accidentally” spills her drink on my shirt and offers to help clean it, I laugh it off but let her dab at my chest with a napkin.
Riley looks like he might shatter his glass.
“You should come back to my place later,” she whispers, leaning in close. “I can give you a proper massage. Work out all that tension.”
The word “massage” hits differently now. Images flash through my mind, and my face grows hot.
“Thanks, but I’m good,” I say, a bit more firmly this time.
Her hand slides lower. “Are you sure? I’m very good with my—”
“He said he’s good.” Riley’s voice cuts through our conversation, startling us both.
I hadn’t seen him approach. He stands beside us now, holding a plate of food, his expression dispassionate except for the tight line of his mouth.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says, though it’s clear he absolutely meant to.
The blonde looks between us, confused by the sudden tension. “Do you two know each other?”
“He’s my doctor,” I say, keeping my gaze fixed on Riley.
“Oh.” She steps back slightly.
An awkward silence falls. Riley arranges food on his plate, not meeting my eyes. The blonde senses the weird energy and makes an excuse about finding her friends. I watch her walk away, feeling nothing but relief.
“Your fan club seems disappointed,” Riley says when she’s gone.
“They’ll survive.”
“Mmm. I thought you’d be more interested. Isn’t that your usual post-fight ritual? Renata mentioned something about it.”
The jealousy in his tone is barely disguised, and it sends a thrill through me. “You been asking Renata about my sex life, doc?”
His ears turn pink. “It came up in conversation.”
“Did it?” I move closer, invading his space. “And what else did you two talk about? You looked pretty cozy earlier.”
Riley meets my eyes then, surprise flickering across his face. “Renata and I are old friends.”
“You told me earlier she’s your ex. That you two were together.”
“Ancient history. There can never be anything romantic between us again. We established that.”
Relief washes through me, but I try not to show it. I know I have no right to care, but I do. “Good.”
“Good?” He studies my face. “Why is that good, Jacob?”
We’re standing too close for casual conversation, the snack table a flimsy excuse for proximity. People mill around us, but it feels like we’re in our own bubble.
“You know why,” I say, lowering my voice.
His eyes darken. “Actually, I don’t. From where I’m standing, you seemed confused about what happened between us. And I can’t say I blame you.”
“I had a lot of time to think about what happened.” I look around to make sure no one can overhear us. “I’m not some victim, Riley. I knew exactly what was happening.”
“Did you?” His voice drops even lower.
I nod. “The only thing I’m still confused about is why you ran away.”
Riley opens his mouth to respond but seems to think better of it as a group of people approaches the snack table.
“Meet me upstairs in five minutes,” he murmurs, lips barely moving.
Before I can respond, he’s walking away, merging seamlessly into the crowd. I stand frozen, plate in hand, heart hammering against my ribs.
I make my excuses to the various people who try to engage me in conversation over the next five minutes, feigning exhaustion from the fight when someone offers me another drink.
The blonde and her friends catch my eye from across the room, clearly hoping I’ll join them.
I give them a tight smile that doesn’t reach my eyes and gesture vaguely at my head, mouthing “headache” before slipping toward the stairs.
No one seems to notice as I climb to the second floor. The music fades, replaced by the distant hum of conversation. The hallway is dark, save for a sliver of light spilling from beneath a door on the right.
I hesitate, my hand on the doorknob. Whatever happens next will change things between us permanently. But I’m tired of running. Tired of pretending I don’t want his hands on me again.
I push the door open, expecting to find Riley waiting. Instead, the room appears empty at first glance. It’s a typical guest room—neutral walls, a queen bed with a plain comforter, a nightstand with a lamp casting soft light across the space.
I step inside, confusion making me drop my guard. “Riley?”
The door closes behind me with a soft click. Before I can turn, hands grip my shoulders, spinning me around. My front hits the door as Riley presses against me, his body pinning mine.
“You wanted to talk?” His voice is rough in my ear. “This is your chance.”
He presses close behind me, keeping me plastered against the door. I could break free if I wanted to. But I don’t. For the first time in my life, I want to stay exactly where someone has put me.