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The waitress reappeared, set down our drinks, and then once more disappeared.

Cole took a swig of his beer. “What drew you to sports photography?”

“Nothing. I enjoy a lot of types. The main reason I chose to specialize in covering sports events is that the opportunity presented itself.”

“In what way?”

Searching his eyes, I realized that he wasn’t peppering me with questions simply to fill the silence. He was generally interested. And I liked it.

I sipped at my drink. “When I was eighteen, my dad’s publicist came to our house, saw some pictures I’d taken of a race he did for charity, and asked where they came from. Dad told him I’d taken them. The publicist came to me, said I had a bright future ahead of me, and offered to help me sell the pictures. And it just took off from there. So I went with it.”

Pursing his lips, Cole gave me a look of understanding. “I fell into boxing in much the same way. I’d initially had no plans to do anything but train at the local gym with a friend just for something to do. But I was good at it, and I enjoyed it. And suddenly there was something I wanted to do with my life. Boxing gave me a sense of direction. It kept me out of trouble, too.”

“Did you get into trouble a lot?”

His eyes danced. “All the fucking time. It pissed off my dad, because he didn’t want me to develop the kind of bad rep that would put off soccer team managers. My dad still holds it against me that I didn’t follow in his footsteps.”

I felt my brow crease in surprise. “Really?”

“Yup. He was furious when I told him I wanted to pursue a career in professional boxing. He did his best to try to talk me out of it. Which largely involved yelling at me.”

I would never have guessed that his father felt that way. “I remember watching an interview he did a few years back. He talked about how proud he is of you and how—”

“He always knew I was built for great things?” Cole snorted. “Yeah, he likes to say that. Likes to paint a picture of how he was a supportive father who noticed his son had boxing talent and encouraged me to pursue it. The truth is hehatesthat I box. He’ll just never admit it to anyone outside the family.”

“What does he have against boxing?”

“Nothing. I could have picked any sport that wasn’t soccer and he’d have been just as firmly against me getting involved in it. He’s one of those pushy parents who tried forcing their child onto a certain path. He takes it personally that I carved my own path. He doesn’t respect it, and he doesn’t like that I don’t care if he respects it or not.”

What an arsehole. “What about your mum?”

“She doesn’t look down on my choices, but she flows with his tide. She takes on his views and shares his opinions. So I don’t have her support in this either.” He said it so matter-of-factly, no disappointment or resentment in his expression or tone. As if he’d long ago simply resigned himself to the situation and didn’t bother to dwell.

“I’m sorry that you don’t have their support.”

He shrugged and then knocked back more of his beer. “What about your parents, do they support you in what you do?”

“One hundred percent. My mum seemed relieved when I told her that I didn’t want to follow in her footsteps.”

“Relieved?”

“A lot of stress and pressure comes with her profession. Modeling isn’t quite as glamorous as it seems. Some elements ofit are even toxic. I think she wanted something different for me, and I think she also worried that I’d try modeling purely because it would have been an easy road to go down. Offers were being thrown at me even when I was a toddler. They kept on coming.

“Many people assumed that I’d one day start strolling down a runway. But I knew enough about the industry to be sure that it wasn’t for me. Besides, I’m all about being on theotherside of the camera. And cars. I inherited my dad’s love for fast cars.”

Cole set down his beer, the corners of his mouth softening. “Yeah? What do you drive?”

“An Aston Martin.”

He let out a low whistle. “Please tell me you don’t zoom down roads at dangerous speeds.”

“Of course not. Getting arrested isn’t fun.” I sipped my drink. “There are isolated places you can go if you want to go full throttle without getting the attention of the police.”

“That doesn’t bring me as much reassurance as you seemed to think it will.”

I snickered. “Don’t worry, I’m a very good driver. I was taught by the best.”

“Your dad?”

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