Page 24 of The Knockout Rule

The interviewer gave him a condescending smile. “Joe won the last defense of his title in a third-round knockout. I wouldn’t call him an amateur.”

“He ain’t no challenge for me.” Eric dipped his head lower, getting right in the camera’s view. “Enjoy your belt, Joe. Give it a smooch goodbye before our match. That’ll be the last time you see it.” He snarled at the TV audience and finished with a vicious, “Brick Smash!”

Preston smacked the bar top and turned off his phone. “A thing of beauty.”

“What about that was beautiful?” A man didn’t need to dumb himself down for fans, just like a woman didn’t need to hide her smarts to be liked.

“That Brick Smash stuff is gold. Crowd loves it.”

She opened her mouth to tell him this ruse was silly and demeaning and, as far as she’d surmised, emotionally scarring for Eric, but that would entail standing up for her client. A boxer. One she found attractive. Exactly what she shouldn’t do if she wanted to keep her emotional distance from Eric. “Thanks for the drink. See you around.”

She was one step away when Preston said, “What about our date?”

“Strike two,” she said, without turning around.

She could have sworn he laughed, but she didn’t look back to check. Preston wasn’t her type. That poem had been a one-off. But she did need to find a date. A man through her app. Someone who’d help her quit thinking about Eric’s intellect and his rough Russian words and his slumped shoulders when she’d admitted she’d misjudged him, thinking he was as Neanderthal as his image. Lance might be getting a right swipe after all.

* * *

Lance had gotten a swipe. But it had been to the left. A quick internet search had showed several horrifying Facebook posts with him on a hunting trip, standing over a dead elephant. That was a hard no. Something else that was hard was Eric’s ridiculously toned body as he did his weighted heel raises the next morning.

“Slower on the way down,” she told him. “Make your muscles do the work. Don’t rely on momentum.”

He nodded, sweat dripping down his neck during his last few reps. He finished with a satisfied grunt. Tank top sweat-slicked to his body, he grabbed his water bottle, sucked back a huge amount of water, then wiped his neck and face with his towel. “My sister always tells me I do my exercises too fast.”

“Is she a physiotherapist, too?”

“She’s a know-it-all.”

Isla laughed, picturing Eric—the man who was all Brick Smash in his interviews—being bossed around by his sister. “Are you two close?”

“Yeah.” He took another swig of water. “When we were younger she drove me nuts, but we laughed a lot. As we’ve gotten older, she’s become more subdued and crazy busy with her kids. Getting pregnant at nineteen, then going through a rough divorce has aged her in ways that upset me. So I do what I can to help her, but it never feels like enough. I wish I could’ve brought her to Vegas, given her a break.”

Isla had been battling panic attacks at nineteen, barely able to take care of herself. She hadn’t met his sister yet, but she was already awed by her strength. “She’s not missing much with Vegas. It’s pretty much like being stuck in a Spice Girls video.”

The edge of Eric’s lips curled up. “More like Lady Gaga crossed with Guns N’ Roses. Flashy and loud.”

“You know, I kept thinking you must be a Gaga fan.”

He let out a low laugh. “I get that a lot, Sporty Spice.”

“I’m the missing sixth Spice Girl: Neurotic Spice.” With a dash of Workaholic Spice. “And seriously, the crowds here are brutal.”

He took another sip of water, wiped his mouth. “I can’t stand the music blaring from the cars.”

“Everything’s so noisy.” They should get to work, head to the treatment table, but Eric leaned against the cable machine, and Isla liked looking at his crooked smile, the softening of his gray eyes as he regarded her. He was nothing like the brute in last night’s interview. This morning, all she saw was a kind and curious man. A really hot kind and curious man.

“Tell me something about Vegas you love,” he said.

“The food.” She leaned her knee into the workout bench beside her. “I love the variety.”

He twisted the towel in his hands, watching her. “But you prefer the smaller places.”

A flutter moved through her stomach. He was certainly perceptive. “I do. What about you? One thing you love.”

“The shows. Preston took me to Cirque du Soleil our first night. It blew my mind.”

“You loved the athleticism?”