Running my fingers through my hair and resting my hands on the back of my neck, I do nothing but let out a deep sigh.
Giving up Bella’s identity to her friends will cross some imaginary line that will tip her over the edge. However much she irritates the crap out of me, I’m not ready to close the door on us yet.
For now.
Forever.
So, I don’t shout her name, or run after her and shake her until she realizes how pissed I am at her.
I simply let her go.
“Hey, you were great tonight. Can I get a selfie of us?” a full-grown man with a beard asks me, snapping me to my senses and reminding me I’m in the middle of a car park in my fighting shorts and sneakers looking like a total dickhead.
“I’m not that guy,” I mumble, disappointing him and not giving a shit.
Returning back inside feeling like I’m not carrying a sack of potatoes in my stomach— which is a lousy feeling, by the way— I throw on my tracksuit and am pleased when coach keeps to himself. He knows better than to confront me when I’m in this type of mood.
Natalie on the other hand, a tiny brunette ring girl with fake tits so big they shouldn’t be allowed on a body as small as hers, doesn’t.
She always lurks after my fights like a lynx skulking around, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce on her prey.
That prey is me, and apparently, she thinks this is that moment.
“Want me to rub you down? I’ve got some cool flannels?” she offers from the other side of the room.
I ignore her.
If she can’t see I’m not in the mood, then that’s her fucking problem.
Walking over to where I’m standing, not bothering to cover up the tiny red leather bikini she’s wearing, she pouts at me. “You don’t have to be mad anymore, you know? You won the fight. Shouldn’t you be celebrating?”
“I’ll celebrate when I get the world title,” I state, acknowledging her for the first time. She’s around the same age as Bella, almost a year younger than me. Not as naturally pretty and wearing far too much make up for my liking but oozing sex appeal from every pore. She knows exactly what she’s doing, too. She stands in front of me, thighs carefully parted, akin to her pouty lips. Her hair is pulled over her shoulders, so the tips of its lengths frame her ludicrously oversized assets, which she makes sure are now consuming all of my attention.
“I don’t doubt it. You look like you know what you’re doing out there,” she croons, massaging my ego and making it clear from her eye contact that she wants to massage much more than that.
“What do you know about fighting?” I scoff, arching an eyebrow at her with feigned intrigue.
She has the audacity to place her hand on my shoulder and take a seat right on my fucking lap before responding in a low whisper, “Enough to take you down.”
Sensing the intimacy between us, everyone clears the room, leaving us to it.
“What makes you say that?”
She traces a finger down my torso, coming to a halt at my waistband and causing my cock to spring to attention. “You fighters are all the same. You pretend to be mean and tough, but underneath, you’re really a bunch of big softies.”
“Does that feel soft to you?” I ask, placing my hand over hers and covering my solid cock.
Screw Bella. If she’s going to show up to my fight with some knuckle-head, I’m going to fuck this set of tits until I can’t see straight, think straight, think Bella anymore.
Lifting tits by the waist and laying her across the table in front of us, I run my hand over her fake curves right down to her leather clad pussy, cupping it and watching her hips buck as her body practically begs me to fuck her.
I take in her tiny, naked waist, puckered nipples through the thin leather bikini top, brunette mane spread around her face, and I throw the chair I sat on across the room in frustration.
I can’t fuck her.
I can’t fuck anyone.
My cock shrivels at the realization.
Because Bella.
Always fucking Bella.
Chapter Five
Bella
If Addy spoke to my heart, Hunter trampled all over it. Typical that the one time I try to do something outside of my comfort zone, it backfires. I got so caught up in spending time with Addy, I didn’t even think about who would be fighting. Of course, the risk had crossed my mind on the way to the match, but I figured the place would be crowded enough that even if Hunter was fighting, there’d be no way he’d see me in the crowd.
Wrong.
The way he had locked eyes with me, like we were the only two people in the room, had been more than unnerving. The look on his face when he realized I was there and the way it shifted when he noticed Addy at my side, was one I couldn’t decipher. Definite fury, disappointment, and something else that confused me.
If I’m honest with myself, I’ll admit the weirdo in me wanted to be caught. Wanted him to see me with Addy on a night that was supposed to be about him. Don’t ask why; I have no reason to make him feel jealous. I couldn’t care less about his feelings. But a small part of me hopes he was jealous, and I’ve spent most of last night and today’s classes trying to figure out why.
Now I’m sitting opposite him, surrounded by our parents, my grandma, and an invisible web of lies. Our family meals happened often and were our parents least subtle way of keeping track of my so-called relationship with Hunter in the lead up to our wedding day.
“So, Hunter, I heard you won your match last night,” my dad breaks the ice.
“Of course.” Hunter shrugs, like it was nothing. Cocky as ever and so self-assured it had to make everyone else in the room feel slightly inferior.
I know it does me.
“Keep it up and the way you are going, you’ll have that world title in no time,” my dad continues to encourage him. That was Dad, always seeing the best in everyone, wanting them to pursue their dreams until they reached them, surpassed them even. Everyone, except for me.
I take a long sip of orange juice and scowl across at Hunter who’s sipping on his own drink: a tall glass of white wine. Another inconsistency in our family values. Hunter isn’t twenty-one either, granted he’s eight months older than me, but twenty doesn’t make him legal. Yet, here my dad is; happily making small talk with him as he drinks more than one glass of wine— wine I’m much more deserving and in need of than Hunter. I’ve never drank alcohol before but I’ve seen it’s effect on my parents and brothers. Throughout the evening, like many others before, I have no doubt all of their inhibitions will be dropped and everyone will feel happy and relaxed in each other’s company.
Including Hunter.
Which annoys me because why should he get to feel like that? As though, it’s not in the least bit weird we are sharing a family meal as husband and wife to be and yet we haven’t spoken a word to each other; despite both knowing what went down last night.
Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me watching him, I observe him through stolen glances when I’m confident, he won’t see me looking. When he laughs unashamedly at another one of my brothers’ sexist jokes at the expense of the three women around the table: Mommy, my grandma, and me.