Of course, I want to absorb this whole encounter, to realize that the man actually got worried about me. But he’s got a fight to win. I know his mind is all over the place, and that’s not good for competition.
I also need to sleep these emotions off.
It’s important to remind myself that I only feel this way because Heather made her appearance. Without her, nothing would have changed.
Gently touching his chest, I say with a smile, “Now go and sleep. Focus on your fight so you can kill it tomorrow. Just don’t gettoohurt.”
He slowly gives a closed-lip smile, the two of us locked in eye contact. Emotions stir as if I’ve known Ryder for years, and before I leave for the night, I swear a similar sentiment reflects in his gaze.
* * *
The next morning, I awake with a jolt after a horrible dream haunted me. I can’t really remember what it’s about, stress being the only residual memory. To add to my irritation, I wake up thirty minutes before my alarm.
Needless to say, it’s a slow, groggy morning.
My first thoughts are about Ryder, hoping I didn’t stress him out. What if he had a hard time sleeping? What if he’s struggling to focus today?
Then again, I wear my heart on my sleeves. There’s no way I could have pretended like nothing happened.
This is why screwing around with him is a bad idea.
Sighing as I sit in a chair to tie my shoes, I know he needs me to keep a level head. No matter what, he is still my fighter.
He’s still my champion.
Time blurs between getting ready and arriving at the stadium. Reality doesn’t properly sink in until I’m standing in the crowd at Barclays, wearing expensive, form-fitting gym sweats, white tennis shoes, and a cotton zip-up after giving myself Danish braids. Andrew and Ryder left on their own, as I’m not needed quite yet. If anything, based on what Ryder and I are doing, I might prove as an unintended distraction.
It’s best to watch from the stands for today.
Following Tiffany, who’s now carrying her tablet like it’s a phone, I stare at onlookers who act as if Christmas came early when the refs enter the ring. I lock eyes with the fighting ring in the middle of the stadium.
Pictures of the fighters appear on a large screen that hovers over the ring. Ryder’s stupidly handsome, glowering face appears, scowling in the press pictures that they snagged last night.
Then it switches to a picture of him from over three years ago, screaming with either victory or anger as he’s in the ring with his mouthguard still affixed to his teeth, those eyes completely untamed and bleeding with aggression.
It’s so odd to see that face and be intimately familiar with the warmth of his lips. I look down, reminded that I don’t know him yet. Or his past. It was easy throwing caution to the wind when our landscape was the gym and hotel rooms. Now, it’s the Warlord Gala and the actual stadium.
It’sreal.
Tiffany leans in as we stand in front of our seats. “So, I still can’t believe you two sort of have a thing.”
“Yeah, I have no idea what we are,” I reply with a deflated smile, having told her everything. We both take our seats.
The lights above gyrate until they shine down on the fighting ring. Nearly every seat in the indoor stadium has been filled.
“I try to think what Jeremy would say about Ryder,” Tiffany begins, then chuckles. “But I feel like he’d be a poor judge of character. Your brother would probably just join you on your dates if it meant being alone with his favorite fighter.”
I laugh, and it feels good to talk about Jeremy likes he’s a happy memory we are eager to share.
“Going on our dates? You think?”
“Girl, he’d be doing whatever he had to in order to make that work. He’d probably be arranging your wedding.”
We both laugh together until my smile fades. “He did actually tell me, back in the days of crushing on Ryder, to stay away from him. That Ryder was nothing but trouble.”
Tiffany’s smile disappears. “Oh, really?”
“I guess Ryder was a playboy then? I don’t know.”
