Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
After getting caught in the chin, Michaels threw a sloppy right, his opponent half-dodging it, and they fell against each other. Head gear bumping together, harsh gasps of breath mingling with the other’s. The guy’s arm was heavy as hell on his left shoulder. “If you keep your eyes off my chest you might could block my right hook faster,” he huffed quietly, looking Michaels in his eyes.
“We all have our own techniques.”
“Or maybe you just like my chest.”
Michaels didn’t have a chance to respond before Charlie stepped in and pushed them back toward their corners.
He’d gotten in enough of his own shots as well. In the fifth round he’d sent a strong forward jab straight to handsome’s nose, causing him to stumble back and curse. The trickle of blood that started very soon after had Charlie calling them to their corners, but of course the guy was way too proud to even consider stopping.
Michaels knew they had less than sixty seconds left, that’s when opponents usually gave it their all. A series of expert combinations were thrown, both of them breathing heavily by the time; thank god, that damn bell rang.
There was a multitude of clapping and encouragement from around the ring as Michaels met his opponent in the center of the mat. His headgear had been removed and when he hugged the big man he could’ve sworn he felt lips graze his neck while the guy whispered harshly in his ear. “Not bad, detective.”
Apparently his opponent knew him, too. He’d left from the gym in his work gear enough. “Yeah. Good fight, man. It’s just what I needed.”
“Nothing more?” The amusement in the man’s eyes was easy to read. It was a question… an invitation… not a statement.
Michaels didn’t respond. He eyed the guy for a second before turning to leave the ring so it could be cleaned up for the next guys in line. He got his gloves off and his wrists unwrapped and made his way to the locker room. He winced, pulling off his shorts and jock. Fuck. That hurts. Michaels loved it, loved every ache. His body was in great shape and he was proud of it. He’d worked damn hard to get to where he was.
He bowed his head in the shower, letting the water beat against his shoulders. He felt he could probably fall asleep like this, it felt so good. After washing again, he went to get dressed. Turning the corner to his locker, he saw mister boxer extraordinaire a few lockers down from his, shirtless, wearing only a pair of jeans and swiping on his deodorant. When he dropped it in his bag he saw Michaels watching him. Great. Michaels turned to open his locker, deciding to ignore the smirk he got at being busted ogling the other man.
“Go ahead and look. I don’t mind.”
Still ignoring that deep voice, Michaels rolled his eyes and went about getting dressed. The guy was a cocky prick… not his type, either. He was actually starting to wonder what the hell his type was. It seemed that any guy that crossed his path, or opened his mouth to speak wasn’t his type. Shit. At this rate I’ll be alone for the rest of my damn life.
He was just about dressed when he felt an incredible warmth behind him. “You got a lot of skills, detective. I usually don’t have to work that hard, and I definitely don’t often get to round eight.”
Michaels didn’t bother turning around. He continued to shove his personals back in his bag. “Am I supposed to be flattered?”
“Actually, yeah.”
“Were you trained by Frazier himself or something?” Michaels slammed his locker and turned around to face the warmth. The guy was stunningly handsome. His light eyes were beautiful against his tanned skin. Michaels could tell it was an artificial tan and he wondered if the guy was all about his looks and bragging. Superficial and shallow. Crowding in closer to him, Michaels got a strong whiff of the man’s cologne as he was backed into the locker.
“Nope. Trained well, though. It was a compliment, man.”
“Mmm hmm. What’s your name?” Michaels said nonchalantly.
“Jake. Jake Anderson,” he said, looking up and down the empty row of lockers before turning back to face him.
“Well, it was nice sparing with you, Jake. But I gotta get going.”
Jake inched in closer. “You gotta go right now? I was gonna grab a drink, thought maybe you could use one too.”
“Naw. I’m good.”
“Is that a no? You’re saying no?” Jake said, looking confused.
Michaels wanted to laugh. He guessed Jake didn’t get turned down too often with his overly muscular body and his immaculately groomed appearance. He just wasn’t Michaels’ type. But Michaels wasn’t an ass, so he didn’t laugh at Jake. Instead he brushed the back of his hand down his arm and whispered, “I really got to get to work. Crime doesn’t take a day off.” He flashed his own smirk. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer some other time, hmm.” Seeming to appease Jake’s obviously sensitive ego, Michaels wedged by him and left the locker room.