Mine, mine, mine.
All fucking mine.
Although I’m watching as the first fight kicks off, I’m also acutely aware of Mer’s legs wrapped around me, her center rubbing against the back of my neck with each twist of her body.
“Who are we cheering for?” she asks and then hiccups.
I can’t help but smirk. “Reggie ‘Rock Man’ Leonard.”
“Let’s go, Rock Man!” she cries.
I can tell when the alcohol kicks in because she hands me her empty cup with a giggle and rests her hands on top of my head. My hair is short, and every so often, her nails scrape through it. Tugs it a little. It’s starting to drive me a little crazy. About halfway through the match, she also starts leaning forward, cheering and whistling, pressing her breasts against me, and it’s almost more than I can bear.
I’m glad she’s having fun, but the way she’s hanging on me now, all loose and handsy, is sheer torture. I’m hard as hell, so thankfully the crowd is helping to conceal the erection trying to rip through my jeans.
“He won!” she cries, crushing her perky breasts against the back of my head. Again.
Christ, give me strength.
While they clear the area, preparing for the next fight, Mikey moves up beside us, handing me a beer and passing another one up to Merritt.
“Woohoo! Thanks, Mikey,” she says, tipping sideways, reaching for the cup. I tighten my grip on her legs so she doesn’t fall.
I have a feeling I’m going to have to cut her off.
“Silver Dollar is up next,” Mikey tells me.
“Yeah, I saw his name on the board. I’m surprised the guy is still fighting.”
“Right? He’s like sixty.”
That might be true, but I’d still put my money on Silver Dollar any day of the week. The man is a beast, and I can thank him for a couple of hits that made me see stars.
“Oh, my gosh, that guy’s huge,” Merritt declares, her nails scratching through my cropped hair and lightly rubbing the back of my head.
Yeah, that’s not the only thing that’s huge.
How in God’s name am I going to be able to tolerate fourteen more fights like this and not blow my wad?
Sheer torture. But the best possible kind.
Chapter Eleven: Merritt
The atmosphere in the warehouse is absolutely electric. The crowd yells and chants, and even though I don’t know any of the fighters, Linc is great at giving me a heads-up about who I should cheer for at the beginning of each match. Then I whistle and clap, bouncing up and down on Linc’s shoulders.
I am having the time of my life. Who would’ve guessed an underground fight would be this fun?
I finish the rest of my second beer and let the buzz wash over me. Everything has a bit of a shimmer to it, and I haven’t felt this good in a very long time. For once, I’m not worrying about the future. Nope, I am solely focused on the present.
Thanks to Linc.
I scratch my fingers through his hair then glance down at the red cup in his hand. He’s not drinking, so I may as well drink it for him. Leaning forward, I reach for the untouched beer Linc holds.
“I think you’ve had enough, sweetheart,” he says, moving it out of my grasp.
“C’mon. We can’t let good hops go to waste,” I say in a pouty voice.
He chuckles, taking my empty cup and sliding the full one inside it.
