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I have no idea if it’s intentional or not, but I realize with a start that they’re both touching me. Rory’s the most blatant with a hand on my leg, barely above the knee as he leans forward to heckle the man in the ring who just got taken down by a man half his size. I can feel the heat from his fingers against my skin where the bottom of my dress has ridden up, and I have to swallow hard at the sensation.
Levi is more casual. He has his arm thrown across the back of the couch comfortably, but his hand is right at the side of my neck, fingers dangling so close that they’re brushing against the skin there. Again, I can’t be sure if he’s doing it on purpose, but he almost seems like he’s absently stroking the skin there while his eyes are trained on the ring.
I feel like I can hear my heartbeat over the chaos in the room, and it pounds through me as my arousal rises. I can’t help it. My clit is throbbing gently, a needy ache building low in my belly, and I’m grateful I opted to wear a bra under my dress so my hard nipples aren’t poking out for everyone to see. This close, with their hands on me, I’m flooded with memories of hooking up with Levi and rolling around on the gym floor with Rory.
All the remembered images and sensations blend together, making my face hot, and I’m so tempted to get up and get some air—but I know one or both of them would just follow me, which would defeat the purpose. So instead, I clench my thighs together tighter, which has the unfortunate side effect of shifting Rory’s hand a bit higher, his pinky slipping under the hem of my dress just the slightest bit.
I stare at it for a second and then whip my gaze back up to the ring, trying to focus on something else. Drinking around these men was probably not the brightest idea I’ve ever had, but I finish my drink anyway and then lean forward to put the empty cup down on the low table in front of me.
When I lean back, it’s like settling into the curve of Levi’s arm, and this time his fingers are definitely stroking my skin lightly.
I stare hard at the fighters, sizing them up to force myself to think about something, anything other than the two of them and how close they are. I’m not even going to dare to look at Sloan at this point.
The two guys currently in the ring are about the same size, both big and built, around the same size as Rory. One of them is bald, and the other has close-cropped blond hair, so I nickname them Baldy and Blondie in my head and settle in to watch.
They square off, shit-talking each other about being too drunk to throw a punch, and then Blondie lashes out fir
st, catching the other with a playful slap to the face.
I laugh along with everyone else, clapping my hands in encouragement. “Don’t take that shit!” I shout. “Hit him back!”
“You heard the lady!” someone else agrees.
Baldy lunges forward to aim a punch, but Blondie ducks under his arm and elbows him in the stomach as he comes up on the other side of him.
It knocks Baldy for a loop for a second as he wheezes for breath, and I laugh out loud. “Oh, come on! This is pathetic!”
The people around us seem to be enjoying my commentary, laughing along and calling out that I’m right and they’ve seen better fights in pre-schools, but Baldy doesn’t look like he’s having a good time listening to me heckle him. His eyes narrow, not at me but at his opponent, and he goes in for another hit only to have it be blocked pretty easily.
The noise of frustration he makes is almost lost in the booing from the others gathered around, and I boo louder than the rest, getting swept up in the atmosphere of it all.
“I could do better than that, and I’m half his size,” I say, talking to anyone around who’s listening, which is basically everyone.
Rory is laughing his ass off, and even Levi has a little smile on his face, and it feels kind of nice to be a part of this whole thing. Almost normal, since it’s the way I was raised by my dad. He always had me watching fights with him on TV, and when I got old enough that I could hold my own, he would bring me down to the ring to let me watch him train and then let me get in to train with him. It’s always been a part of my life, and just watching has my blood humming with adrenaline, which makes it hard to shut up.
Besides, none of the others are holding back, so I don’t see why I should either. When Blondie snaps his fist out and lands another hit, I whistle in appreciation and call out to him. “Go for the kill. This idiot is wide open!”
Baldy whips his head around to glare at me. “Can you shut the fuck up?” he snaps, and I can see he’s red-faced, either from anger or alcohol or probably both.
“Hey—” Someone interjects, but he silences them with a hard look.
“You’re talkin’ a lot of shit for someone sitting on the sidelines,” Baldy says, and he seems pretty confident that he can say whatever he wants to me.
I’m not even angry, but I can feel the fire of the challenge burning hotter, the adrenaline taking over everything else. I smile sweetly at him, but it doesn’t even come close to reaching my eyes.
“I’d be glad to climb in the ring and show you how it’s done,” I tell him. “You want to go?”
He looks pissed as shit, but his gaze slides to Sloan, obviously looking for permission or confirmation.
Fuck that. I’m on my feet in a second, blood buzzing from the alcohol and everything else I’m feeling.
“Don’t look at him,” I say. “If you have a problem with me, then you settle it with me. Sloan’s not the fucking boss of me. I get to decide what I do, and I want to fight you.”
Baldy still looks like he wants to say no, and I narrow my eyes, staring him down.
“What?” I taunt, voice sweeter than it’s been all night. “Are you scared to fight a girl?”
The group around us inhales collectively, and Baldy glares right back at me. I can see that typical macho pride flare in his eyes, and I know I’ve got him. It always works, especially with these types. Every single fucking time.
