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“Let me get this straight . . . if, and I do meanifyou win, you want to go on an actual date, spend the night, and then make me breakfast in the morning?”
“That’s right.”
“Kinda sounds like a win-win for me.”
He cocked his head and grunted a laugh through his smirky face. “You got everything right except for the last part.”
“How is it not a win-win for me?” I asked.
“No, the breakfast part. Not breakfast for you. Breakfast forme.”
“Oh?”
“When you lose, you’ll be cooking breakfast for me. And serving it to me in bed.” He was cocky as he gloved up. “Plus, we’ll be going to a fancy restaurant for dinner.”
“We’ll see,” I said, full of arrogance.
“Enough talking.” His voice was low and sobered—and sexy as hell—when he asked, “You ready?”
My nod was confident. My body was poised. Balled fists lifted; I was ready. I was more than ready.
He tapped his gloves to mine.
“I’m going to wipe the floor with you,” I sneered.
“I can’t wait to see you dressed up,” he said as he threw the first punch.
“Oh, you’re gonna get it.”
“Bring it on,” he beckoned with his gloved hand.
