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“You have…a collection?” It shouldn’t surprise me but it does.

He smiles, showing surprisingly white teeth and dimples, and it’s disarming as fuck because he’s so damn hot. “I do. I mean, nothing crazy. I have six. Not like an arsenal or anything. And one of them is a collectible. It was my grandfather’s, an old .22 that he loved. It’s all I have of him.”

And he’s sentimental too. Could he get any hotter?

I’m equally shocked that he shared something so personal with me. Normally, he’s pretty tight-lipped about his past, family, anything like that. It makes me feel good that he would open up, even if it’s just a small thing.

Bad Luna.

Stop picturing Rage naked and focus on Roger, your actual boyfriend.

“It’s nice that you kept it.”

He nods. “Anyway, just let me know what day works for you and we’ll get started.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

He winks and says, “See you later, princess.”

Oh, well, there goes my stupid heart, fluttering like crazy.

I have a boyfriend.

Not only that, but we also have plans Friday night and I have something important to talk to him about. It will take our relationship to the next level and potentially change both of our lives.

If he’s on board.

I think he might be, but it’s hard to know, because he’s quiet and a bit nerdy. He’s incredibly smart and hard-working but he doesn’t have much game in the romance department. It’s been four months since we started dating and I honestly have no idea where he sees our relationship going.

Friday night, however, I plan to find out because what I want to discuss with him can’t wait.

Chapter Two

Rage

“Would a million dollars change your mind?”

“No.” I scowl at the phone in my hand.

“Rage, it’s a lot of money. A million dollars with the potential for⁠—”

“Serious injury,” I interject. “Drama. A complete invasion of the privacy of my life, which, as you know, could be detrimental to my current career.”

“There are ways to mitigate injury. You know how this works. And the publicity could be a good thing. Think of the people who’ll be clamoring to have Rage the Cage as their personal bodyguard.”

Fuck. That.

“The answer is no.”

“What about one point five and some strategic contract wording to minimize your tax exposure?”

I grunt. “Carl. Not one million. Not five million. Not ten million. There is no amount of money that will get me back into fighting professionally.”

My former agent sighs dramatically. “Elliott. Come on. Rage the Cage was incredibly popular. And the fact that you simply walked away after two championships left people wanting more.”

“Good for them.” I glance at my buddy, Grim, who’s just joined me at the gym and squints curiously. “But I’m not interested. I’m sure there are twenty other fighters out there who’ll take you up on your offer. Take care of yourself.” With that, I disconnect.

“What was that?” Grim asks. We’ve been friends a long time, and he knows when I’m annoyed.