I let out a startled bark of laughter. Hailey grins at me, mischief shining in her eyes.
“So where are we going tonight?” she asks with a bounce. "Remy didn't say where the after party is. What's the plan?"
I look over at Remy, who is currently being accosted—there's no other word for it—by Tristan. I had a feeling he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off her, but this is just ridiculous.
He's got his hands on her waist and his face buried in her neck, no doubt whispering filthy shit in her ear if the blush on her skin is any indication.
"Am I right in assuming it's going to be like this all night?" I ask dryly.
Remy's blush intensifies, but Tristan only pulls away from her skin with his trademark smirk. "Probably," he drawls. "Tonight might be a short night because I'm less interested in partying and more interested in bending my girlfriend over as soon as possible."
"Oh my God,Tristan!" Hailey shouts with a wince.
Tristan just grins before turning to look thoughtfully at Remy. "Huh, that's exactly what she likes to say. Less angry and more breathless, but the sentiment is the same."
At that, Remy finally steps into the conversation. Not with words, exactly, but with a punch to the shoulder.
"That's my sister,youass!" she hisses.
Tristan just rubs his shoulder in mock pain. "What is it with you two punching me?" he grumbles. "I swear I'm in more pain after the fight than during."
Remy just shakes her head with a heavy sigh. "Let's keep it in our pants while others are around, shall we? You act like I've been depriving you for weeks."
The teasing smirk immediately returns to his face. "That may have been the plan, but we both know you couldn't say no to me if you tried."
I finally let out a loud groan. "Dear God, this is going to be the most painful night ever." I aim a glare at them. "Remind me to never hang out with the two of you again."
Remy and Tristan both just grin and step away from the bar. "Come on, let's go dance," Remy chirps. She grabs Hailey's hand and pulls her toward the exit.
* * *
"So, how does it feel?" I ask Tristan, settling back into the VIP lounge and taking a swig of my beer. The smile hasn't left my face all night, and right now, sitting in the club with my victorious teammate, I can tell that's not going to change anytime soon.
I watch him stretch out on the lounge across from me, looking every bit the comfortable and arrogant alpha. Sure enough, he aims a cocky smirk my way before he answers.
"Feels like I always knew it would," he replies honestly, taking a sip of the tequila in his hands. "It's going to get harder with each fight," he admits thoughtfully. "This was just the first one. And yeah, I know I wasn't supposed to win, but now that I have they're going to give me someone tougher next time. Tonight's the only night I'll have to relax and enjoy this feeling. Until the next win."
I nod, not wanting to sugarcoat the truth for him. "That's true. But each victory is going to be sweeter than the last, because each fight will be a bigger mountain than the last. Until you get that belt. Which, we all know you will, let's be honest."
He smiles his appreciation at me. And then he seems to actually look at me for the first time since he got the call for the fight. "What about you? Are you going to fight again?"
I wince, knowing Tristan well enough to know he's asking for a reason, and not just to make conversation. I also know that this is the opening I've been looking for to tell him how I've been feeling about everything.
I think about what Hailey said last week, then take a deep breath to answer the question.
"I think I'm done, man," I say quietly. "My head's not in it anymore. Especially seeing the world that you just stepped into… I don't think I can do it anymore. I don't think Iwantto."
And Tristan, despite all my worries, all my nervous reasons for not telling him about what was going on in my head… just nods.
"Okay."
I quirk an eyebrow. "Okay? That's it?"
He nods again. "What else is there? This isn't the kind of sport you can half-ass or push through if your head's not in it. If you're done, you're done."
I lean forward to brace my forearms on my knees, looking down at the drink in my hands instead of the meeting Tristan's eyes. "I feel like I'm giving up," I mumble.
He snorts. "The people that retire are the smart ones in this sport. We should all give up. This sport is fucking insane."