Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
My cheeks are burning, and I’m sure it’s a shade of red not normally found in nature. “I couldn’t do that. You’re crazy.”
“Why not?”
“Because, for one thing, we’ve got the RA from hell, and I wouldn’t have ever gotten him up there in the first place.”
“Well, that’s true,” she admits. “Why didn’t you just go back to his place?”
“I was in shock that he kissed me and wasn’t exactly thinking clearly,” I say with a laugh.
“Excuses, excuses, babe,” she says. “You’re never going to get laid if you don’t grab the bull by the horns. Or should I say, grab the fighter by the balls?”
I shriek with laughter. “You are horrible!”
“That’s why you love me.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. You’re going to see him again, right?”
“I gave him my number.”
“I guess that’s something. You should have given him your panties as a promissory note or something, though,” she teases.
We laugh together, and though I’m still kind of embarrassed about it all, I’m also kind of happy it happened. And it feels good to share it with Lila, even with her wildly inappropriate commentary. As I sit back in my chair, I happen to catch sight of Professor Bryson. He’s sitting a few tables away and is staring directly at me, sending a chill down my spine.
“Oh God,” I say and turn away quickly.
“What is it?” Lila asks.
“Don’t turn around, but Professor Bryson is just over there, and he’s staring at me.”
“That man has a real thing for you.”
“It’s making me uncomfortable.”
“You should go to the department chair about him,” Lila offers. “Or if not him, the Dean.”
“I don’t want to create problems.”
“It might be the only way you can get him to leave you alone.”
“If he gets worse or does something more, I will. Right now, I just want to get through the semester without causing any trouble.”
Lila grabs both our bags, then my hand, and yanks me to my feet. Holding onto my hand, she gives me a grin and then hustles me out of the student union and away from the unwanted gaze of my professor.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Back to the dorm,” she says as we dash across the quad. “You still have a lot more to tell me about your little tryst, and I’m going to give you some advice for getting that man into bed.”
“Oh, dear God,” I say, laughing so hard my sides hurt.
6
GRIFFIN
Sweat pours down my body as I work the bag, launching a flurry of punches and kicks. I don’t have any other fights lined up right now, but I like staying in shape. Plus, it’s kind of expected that I stay on top of my game, given that my main source of income is training other fighters and prepping them for their upcoming tilts. Those who can’t do teach, right?
After finishing my set, I step back and grab a towel, wiping away the sweat as I take a minute to catch my breath. The gym is crowded with guys getting in their work. A couple of guys are sparring in the ring, others are working the weights, and some are practicing form and technique on the bags as hard metal music is pumped through the speakers. The air is musty, humid, and smells like old sweat. It smells like work.
I’ve always loved the work. I love the sweat and the aching muscles. I even love getting punched while I’m training. It always teaches me something. It helps me sharpen and refine my craft. Back when I was still on the circuit, people used to say I was a master technician because my game was always evolving. I never settled into complacency and always strove to improve my technique. Those punches I took in training weren’t something I took during an actual bout.
Life gets in the way, though. There was no way I was going to let my mom go through what she had to endure alone. She was all I had, and when I was a kid, she sacrificed so much for me, always pushing me to excel and chase my dreams. Watching her wither away, collapsing into a shell of herself, was harder than any fight I ever took. I miss the game, and I hate that I never got my shot at a title, but I wouldn’t give up that time I had with her for anything.
“Yo.”
Pulling my face out of my towel, I see Tommy James standing in front of me. Both of his eyes are still blackened and swollen, and deep purple bruises mar the skin on his face, but he’s smiling. He holds his hand out, and I shake it. Draping the towel over my head, I sit down on the bench and take a long pull from my water bottle. Tommy sits down beside me.