Chapter 3
Dominic
Blood is dripping from my brow and into my left eye.
It burns as sweat reaches the wound.
Honestly, I didn’t even know he hit me. I was too focused on calculating his takedown, but I feel it now.
I keep my gaze on Rafe Schaefer as he glares at the faux-blonde waitress.
“I suggest you stay out of it,” Rafe says. “Get back to losing your boxing match, old man.”
“If you’d been paying any attention to the fight, you’d know that it’s over,” I say. I have to speak loudly over the crowd, but I still use a controlled tone.
Rafe is all temper and reaction, like a volcano that’s never been dormant a day in its life.
Like the other boxers, he also likes to point out that I am older than him every time we have a run-in, as if being in his early thirties actually gives him an edge against me.
It does not.
Not in the ring and not out of it.
He smirks, a cynical smile that he often sports just to get under my skin and boost his ego. “The gash on your face says differently. Might need stitches on that one.”
I instinctively press the back of my wrist to my brow. The salt from my skin increases the sting. But I don’t give Rafe the satisfaction of a reaction.
“I think you need to take a step back,” I tell him. “You know as well as anyone that it’s against the rules to put your hands on a woman.”
“Oh, so he wants to talk about following rules now, does he?” Rafe scoffs, and several of his men materialize behind him from out of the woodwork of the crowd.
“Is there a problem here, boys?” Niko, the bar and club owner, steps in.
He’s a small man, about five foot seven, and looks like he should be running a strip club, not a fight club. His dad started the joint back when I was a teenager, and it’s been a place of refuge for me ever since.
Blowing off steam in the ring has become a type of therapy for me. Traditional therapy isn’t really my gig. Nothing hits better than taking out your anger and frustration on another man’s jawline.
I’d prefer it in the ring, not on the sidelines.
“Why don’t you ask Dom here,” Rafe says with a hostile smile that never leaves his face.
Niko turns to me. “Mr. Wolfe?”
I am suddenly aware of the girl I pulled away from him.
She is still standing next to me but slightly behind. Her hands are on my arm and she’s shaking and breathing as though she’s about to cry.
I might love a good fight, but not where women are concerned.
Rafe actually looked like he wanted to hurt her, and that’s the difference between me and him.
I’m not a woman, but I know what it’s like to be a target. I had to work to get to where I am now. I’ll be damned if I am going to leave this girl here alone to fend for herself against an angry, drunk Rafe.
“Nothing's wrong,” I finally say. “We were just leaving.”
Niko glances over at the waitress. “Yes, it would be best if you left.”
“But–” she starts to argue, but Niko holds up his hand.
“Don’t worry, you’ll still get paid. Go rest before your day job.”
The girl looks up at me with panic in her eyes and immediately looks away. She’s probably embarrassed.
My brow is throbbing. Blondie is still lying flat on his back in the ring, and I have no desire to be here anymore, so I pull the girl with me down the hall.
My stride is brisk and determined, and she has to jog in her heels to keep up with me. I would be impressed, except I am around women like her every day. If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all, even if this one is a little more attractive than the others.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she says as I pull her into the locker room. “I could have handled him myself.”
“Is that what you were doing when you dropped the drink in his lap?” I ask her. “Handling it yourself?”
“It slipped,” she says with a lot more tone than I would have expected from a girl who I just had to personally remove from what could have escalated to a very bad situation. “And I–what are you doing?” she blurts out as I shove my shorts to the floor.
“I’m getting changed,” I tell her. “It’s not like I’m going to leave here in my fight shorts. And we are leaving here.”
She glances down at me, and I can’t miss the red flush in her cheeks. Then she shakes her head and turns her back to me. “I’m not a bad waitress,” she says.
“You know, you have a pretty funny way of saying thank you,” I retort, reaching for my pants.
The girl whips around, her gaze trailing over my body, and her eyes widen.
I narrow my eyes at her.
Something about her is vaguely familiar.
It’s hard to tell with the fake hair and the ten pounds of makeup, though.
When she catches me staring, she turns around again.
It’s kinda funny. I’m not used to women shying away from me, or talking back, or hiding their face. I’m sure she wasn’t expecting me to strip in front of her, but I still find it cute that she is doing everything in her power not to check me out right now.
It’s like a game.
Challenge accepted.
“You know,” I say, heading over to the shower and turning it on. “You’re not like the other girls here.”
“What do you mean–what are you doing?” She gapes as I shove my briefs to the floor.
I resist the urge to laugh.
She is standing with her back to me, her head down, her hands over her face.
“I mean, you just seem kind of out of place here,” I say as I step into the shower. “Like you don’t want to be here.”
“I’m waitressing for nasty men who grab my ass all night, and I have to let them if I want a good tip. Of course I don’t love being here,” she says.
I step under the water, wincing as it hits my brow.
“So get a new job,” I say.
“I have another job,” she snaps back.
“You hate that one too?” I ask, and she spins around with a scowl. It’s not intimidating, though. With her button nose, heart-shaped face, and pouty lips, it’s kind of cute. After a fight, ruffling this girl’s feathers is fun.
“It’s not the best,” she says, and then her eyes widen as if she realizes I am naked under the showerhead. Her eyes drag down, and even though I have my hips turned enough that I don’t think she can see everything, I’m sure she can see something.
Or at least imagine it.
She does have a full view of my ass and that is enough to turn her cheeks the color of my opponent’s boxing shorts.
“What’s wrong with that job?” I ask.
“My boss is kind of a dick,” she says.
“Sounds to me like you need to consider a career change,” I tell her, shutting the water off. “You wanna hand me a towel?”
The girl walks over to the rack and grabs a clean towel. Then she shuffles sideways, head down, and hands it to me.
I tilt my head in an attempt to see her face, but she turns away.
“Have you never seen a naked man before?” I wrap myself in the towel and cross the floor to get dressed.
“Of course I have,” she snaps, turning back to me.
I don’t think she is expecting me to be standing so close because her body slams against mine. She lets out a small gasp and looks up at me slowly. Her lip’s part, and my heart thrums against my ribcage.
I don’t even know her, but I want to kiss her.
I am going to kiss her.
But as my lips slowly close in on hers, she pulls back. “You’re bleeding.”
Fuck.