“Does he fight often?” I ask her to wonder how he got around that legal battle. It has to be illegal for an owner to participate in such activities.
She nods, her starry eyes on Grave as he smiles at his opponent. “Every weekend.”
“I saw him last night.”
“What?” That gets her attention, and her green eyes slam to mine. “When? Where?”
“At Brentley’s. He was there with Titan.”
Her eyes widen. “Whoa.” She places her hands up. “You’re just now telling me this, why?”
I shrug. “Didn’t find it important.”
She places her hands on my shoulders and shakes me. “But—”
“He didn’t recognize me,” I interrupt her.
“Titan?”
“Oh, he recognized me.” I give a rough laugh. “The fucker took my phone.”
“What the fuck, Em?” she snaps and places her hands on her hips. “Why haven’t you told me all this?”
I look down at the white Nikes she made me wear, unable to meet her eyes. “I’ve been gone a long time. And I know you and him—”
“There’s nothing going on there,” she interrupts me. And then sighs. “I wish you would have told me. After this is over, we’re getting your phone back.”
The fight lasted two point five seconds. The guy swung at Grave and missed. Then Grave hit him—once—and he dropped to the ground like a dead body.
We pose for photos for the media crew members running around and with the men who had VIP tickets. They even asked us to sign shirts they purchased. One guy asked to take a selfie with me, said his business partner would hate himself for not coming to the fights. Whatever.
People start to exit the event center.
“Let’s go.” Jasmine grabs my arm and drags me up an aisle, pushing people out of our way.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“To get your shit back,” she growls.
I dig my heels into the floor. “Oh, no … it’s fine. I can get it later. Or buy another one …” Yeah, with what money, Emilee?
She walks into a tunnel and takes a right. People crowd around with their phones out still taking pictures. A few guys are dressed in three-piece suits and others casual in jeans and T-shirts. They all wear lanyards around their necks, giving them access back here.
One guy spots us and smiles. “Hey, ladies. What are you doing later?”
“Not you,” Jasmine replies with her nose up in the air.
Another guy steps in front of us, forcing us to a stop. “Hey, we’re headed to a party. The penthouse here at Kingdom. You two wanna join us?”
“No thanks,” I answer.
Jasmine snorts. “If we want to fuck you, we’d approach you. Move over, dipshit.” She shoves him out of the way and begins to drag me along again.
We pass door after door. A few men who wear security badges look at us oddly. I don’t think we’re supposed to be back here, but since they can tell we’re dressed as ring girls, they let us go.
We come to a door that has Grave written on the outside in white letters. I would say it’s because he fights so often, not because he owns the casino. But either one could be why he has a designated room, and the other fighter doesn’t.
“Jasmine, I don’t think …”
She shoves the door open and pulls me into it. Grave sits on a black table with his legs dangling over the side. He’s still dressed in his black shorts, his sponsor’s name down the side. Titan stands to his left with his back toward us. Cross leans up against the far wall with his eyes down on his phone in his hands, and Bones stands to the right.
All look up at us as I hear the door shut. And my stomach drops when my eyes land on a set of blue ones staring at me. One of our many hookups come to mind.
I lie on my stomach on my bed. My math book open, and I’m writing in my notebook, solving the problems when I hear my window open.
Looking over, I see Bones climbing in. He’s got a black and white baseball shirt on, a black hat backward, and faded jeans. We’re in college, and he still sneaks through my bedroom window. It’s kinda become tradition. My parents would flip if they knew I was sleeping with a man that I’m not in a relationship with. They’ve always been strict. I’m pretty sure they think I’m still a virgin.
“Hey?” I ask, sitting up. “I didn’t know you were coming over tonight?” He told me earlier that he had practice.
He walks over to my bedroom door and locks it. My body instantly heats. He removes his hat, tossing it to my floor. His dark hair falls to his eyes, and he shoves it back, making it stand straight up. Then he reaches up and pulls his shirt up and over his head, revealing a hard chest and a six-pack. He and the Kings work out regularly. They have to stay fit for the baseball team. My eyes scan over his skull tattoo on his smooth chest. It has a crown tilted on the corner, and crossbones underneath it. All the Kings have them. As if it’s some kind of branding. “Bones … my parents are home …”