Fighter's Heart

Scene 22

Jase

My palms are sweaty as I pace the length of the living room floor, back and forth over the soft carpet, earning the occasional reproachful glance from Nick, who's seated on the sofa with his laptop on his knee, looking like he was born to wear a suit. In contrast, I feel like a gorilla stuffed into a kid's tuxedo. It's stiff and itchy and sits funny across my chest. Or maybe that's the nerves. Public speaking isn't really my thing.

But the speech I'm due to give in a little over an hour isn't the only reason I'm wound tighter than a spinning back fist. Tonight will be the first time Lena has seen my home. I usually visit hers, which we both seem to prefer. I like knowing that she isn't after me for my money or mansion, and she likes knowing I don't look down on her living situation. Damned if I know why she'd expect me to, but perhaps a douchebag ex has.

"Calm down, Jase," Nick says, looking up from his laptop. "You'll be fine. We've gone over your speech, and you know what you're doing. It'll be over soon."

"Not soon enough," I grumble, and check my phone again. No texts or calls from Lena. "We need to go. Where is she?"

Nick chuckles. "We don't have to leave for another fifteen minutes, and she's the one who arranged this, so she won't be late."

I wish I had as much confidence as he does. This niggling little fear is working its way under my skin, leaving me with a crawling dread that she'll change her mind and decide not to come. That she'll abandon me when I need her support.

Swearing, I tug at the collar of my shirt. It's insane how insecure this event is making me. Normally, I wouldn't care if a girl I was seeing bothered to turn up. I might even prefer to go alone. But right now, I crave the sound of Lena's voice telling me I'll kill it, and the sensation of her palms on my chest, over my heart. Fuck, I'm becoming a sap, and I don't even care. I'll hand over my balls for her safekeeping if it means she gets here in the next five minutes and talks me off the ledge.

I throw a jab-straight combo, shadowboxing to take the edge off my nerves. Nick sighs and props his feet up to make sure he's out of my way. Then, finally, there's a knock at the door. I hurry to answer, not caring if I seem desperate, or anxious for reassurance. I fucking am.

Throwing the door open, I start to say hello and nearly have a heart attack. My hand goes to my chest, and I swear to God, I growl. I've never made a sound like it before, but the sight of Lena in a black and red dress that reveals way too much of the most tempting tits on the planet robs me of my ability to speak. I stare at her like an asshole, and the only thing missing is the drool hanging from the corner of my mouth. I'm torn between the desire to crow my victory to anyone who'll listen, show her off and treat her like the queen she is, and the violent impulse to wrap my body around her so no other man can get an eyeful of what's rightfully mine. She has my insides twisted in so many knots I don't know if I'll be able to untie them.

What would she do if I threw her over my shoulder and dragged her to the bedroom? I want to strip her bare and see what she has beneath that dress. Is she wearing a bra? Because it doesn't look like it, and damned if I don't want to check to see if she's going commando as well. My gaze skims down her body, stopping on her toes, which have a freshly applied layer of scarlet paint and are clad in a pair of three-inch fuck-me heels. My heart stutters. She's going to be the end of me.

She clears her throat, and I rip my eyes away from her feet, feeling like a weirdo in ten different ways. Fortunately, she's smiling. Her lips are the same brilliant red as her dress, toes, and shoes. I want to lay siege to them. As far as I'm concerned, that mouth belongs to me. If that makes me a caveman, so be it.

"That's exactly what I was going for," she says, stepping closer and cocking her head. She smells like flowers, and it hits me that I should have bought her a bouquet or something. Man, I'm out of practice.