…we belong to each other and no one else.
The question is, does Bridget feel that way?
“So,” I say with a clear of my throat, “you mentioned you’re in school, right? What’s your degree in?”
“Oh, um, communications.” She waves a dismissive hand, her attention drifting back to the room at large. Scanning the tables for other familiar faces. “But honestly, I’m not sure I’m going to finish. School is just sooo boring, you know? I’d rather be out living my life than stuck in a classroom.”
“Right. Never was into school myself. Always preferred hitting things with my fists to hitting the books.”
“Oh my god, wait.” She grabs my arm, her nails digging into my flesh. “Is that Axolotl Darling? Over there, by the window?”
“I don’t know who or what the fuck an Axolotl Darling is…”
I follow her gaze to a table where some girl with purple hair and at least six facial piercings is seated, picking at her food like a bird. She’s in some kind of bizarre dress that reminds me of either rolls of toilet paper or a mummy.
But judging by how pretentiously she wears it, that’s probably the point.
“You don’t know Axolotl Darling?”Bridget asks. “She’s the biggest pop star in the world right now. Her song ‘Fever Dreamhouse’ was number one for, like, fourteen weeks.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Killian, you really need to get out more,” she giggles.
I’m about to tell her I get out plenty—I just don’t waste my time listening to generic pop music—when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
It’s a text from Dez. He’s sent me a link to some TikTok reel of my recent fights that’s apparently gone viral.
The caption reads: “Everyone’s hyped for Kill vs. The Tank!! Who you got??”
I text back two words:
Not now.
“Everything okay?” Bridget asks, though she doesn’t sound particularly concerned. Her gaze is elsewhere, hovering on an attractive couple a few tables away as if she’s trying to place where she knows them from.
“Just my manager being a pain in the ass. Nothing new.”
“Oooh, that reminds me!” She leans forward, her distracting cleavage practically spilling out of her sage green dress. “I saw this article about your upcoming fight. Against Darnell Thompson? The one where the winner goes to the championship?”
“In three weeks.”
“That’s so exciting! You must be training so hard right now. I can tell, actually. You’ve always had nice arms but…” She reaches over and squeezes my bicep, holding my gaze. “I keep telling you you’re looking even more ripped than usual. It’s very sexy.”
“Not doing it to be sexy. Doing it to win the match.”
Our food arrives, the waiter sliding our plates in front of us. He pops the cork on the fancy wine Bridget wanted and then sets down the beer I ordered.
We dive into our meal, an instant reminder how tender and succulent the Wagyu is.
Bridget nods approvingly and then becomes distracted by taking photos of the steak and lobster tail with her phone.
“Sorry,” she mutters. “This really is such a treat, Killian! I’ve been wanting to come to Gallaghers for the longest. I bought a new dress and spent two hours getting ready tonight. I wanted to look good for you. Do you like the dress? I thought it showed off my best assets.”
…she’s flirting again.
Her expression is coquettish like when she waits on me at the pub.
A small smirk curls the edges of her lips, and she peers at me with long lashes.
