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)
“There’s more people here than I expected,” I say.
“Everybody loves a good fight.”
I scoff. “Like you’re even going to watch the fight. You’re here for the guy you’re stalking. Speaking of which, where is he?”
“Probably inside already. Let’s go.”
There’s a buzz in the air as we make our way into the venue. Everybody is dressed up, and they seem so excited, you’d think they were walking the red carpet with all the accompanying glitz and glam of a title fight in Vegas.
“This is crazy,” I say.
The inside of the Warehouse has been set up with a ring in the middle and bleachers all around. There are more seats on the second floor overlooking the ring that are already full. Music booms through the space so loud it’s hurting my ears. It’s forcing people to shout to be heard over it, making it even worse. There are carts with drinks and snacks off to the side, and in the corner is a booth with people taking bets on the fight. I can’t deny that the atmosphere is electric. It really seems like a prize fight like Caesar's … though obviously, on a much smaller scale.
“Come on, I see a couple of seats up front,” Lila says.
Before I can say a word, Lila grabs my hand and drags me down an aisle between a pair of bleachers. And sure enough, there is a pair of seats in the front row.
“Quick,” she says. “Sit.”
I do as she says and drop onto the hard aluminum bench. Lila throws her jacket down onto the bench beside me and looks around, no doubt searching the faces in the crowd for the object of her obsession. The curl that creeps across her lips tells me she’s spotted her prey. I follow her gaze and see a tall, blond guy standing with what looks like some of his frat brothers. He’s got that typical air of an entitled frat boy about him, which I find an automatic turn-off.
“I’m going to go get us a drink,” she says.
“Don’t leave me here alone, Lila.”
“What? When have I ever done something like that?”
“All the time,” I respond. “It happens almost every time we go out. You beg me to go and hook up with some guy and leave me all alone. Please don’t do that tonight.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
“Do you swear?”
“I swear. I’ll make sure he gives you a lift home,” she says with a wink.
“You’re so sweet,” I reply dryly.
Lila flounces away, ostensibly to fetch us a drink, but part of me wonders if I’m going to see her again once she gets her hooks into Chris. She seems unusually fixated on him. He’s a good-looking guy; there’s no question about that. But he seems kind of douchey. To me, he looks like the kind of guy you need to watch your drink around when you’re at the bar. But that seems to be Lila’s type, so to each their own, I guess.
I glance around, doing my best to avoid meeting the eyes of all the testosterone-laden college boys, hoping they’ll take a hint and leave me alone. The minutes tick by, and I start to worry that Lila has abandoned me when she drops down on the bench next to me.
“Thank God,” I say and take the drink she brought.
“What? Did you think I was going to bail on you?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“I bailed on you once. One time. Are you ever going to let me live that down?”
“Probably not.”
She laughs. “You suck.”
“How’d things go with your victim?”
“Good. First contact was made,” she says. “Now, I need to let it percolate.”
“I see you’ve planned this out.”
“Seduction is an art form, my dear. And I am Picasso.”
I laugh and shake my head. Lila is far more outgoing and social than I am, and honestly, there’s a little piece of me that’s envious of her for that. She can talk to anybody, anywhere, at any time. She’s not shy or inhibited. I don’t need the attention from men that she seems to crave so badly. I never have. But sometimes, I’d like to be a little less timid.
The lights in the Warehouse dim, and the music abruptly cuts off. A bright spotlight shines down from above, falling on the robed figure striding out of the locker room as his walk-out music starts to play.
A man jumps into the ring with a microphone in his hand. “Coming to the ring, let’s hear you put your hands together for the Duke of Destruction, Tommy James!”
The robed man throws his hands into the air and bounces on his heels the rest of the way down the aisle. He steps into the ring, throws his robe off, and flexes his muscles, showing off his toned physique. He throws a combination of punches and dances around the ring, his movements fast and fluid.