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He shook his head. “They’ve never attended one. My mom’s side doesn’t approve of boxing as a profession—they believe it’s no better than making money in pit fights. My dad’s side of the family, all of whom are soccer fanatics, follow his lead.”
Oh, God, how horrible must it be for him to be stood in a ring again and again, fighting for belt after belt, taking punch after punch … and having no one from his family cheering him on? “I take back what I said before. Your mum does not have my sympathy.”
His face went all lazy and warm. He gently tapped the tip of my nose. “So sweet. Don’t feel bad for me. I wouldn’t want her or any of the others there, because I’d know that their support was fake. Truth is I’d be pissed if my dad ever turned up.”
I gratefully took the can of Coke he opened for me. “I don’t understand how he can’t support you just because you went your own way in life.”
“He was lost after he retired, which is why he started disappearing in bottles of whiskey. He doesn’t know who he is without soccer.”
I sipped at my Coke, feeling it fizz on my tongue. “He wanted to live it again through you,” I surmised.
Cole dipped his chin. “And he hates that I don’t crave his pride so much that I’d choose to follow in his footsteps. He takesthat as a personal jab. Maybe I would have gone down the road he chose for me if I’d respected him. But I don’t. Never did.”
Who could blame him? I took another sip of my Coke and then set it on the table. “I’m sorry your family is like a cactus.”
“What?”
“Full of pricks.”
A low chuckle rumbled out of him. “Apt description,” he said, holding out yet another cupcake, which I happily took from his hand.
I bit into my cake. “Your dad sounds like the worst of them all.”
“He is.” The humor leeched out of Cole’s expression. “I sometimes worry I’m a little too much like him. I might not be a drunk who cheats and beats on women, but I focus on myself. I prioritize my own wants and needs. I neglect the social aspects of my life in favor of working toward my goal. He was that way. I guess we’re all a product of our environment to some degree.”
I frowned. “You’re nothing like him. I’ve never met him, no. But I don’t believe for a single second that you’d be so lost without boxing that you’d turn into a complete twat. And there’s nothing wrong with how focused you are on your career. Most pro athletes make the sacrifices you make. It’s normal.”
“A lot are also married or in relationships.”
“Because they found someone who’d support their dedication to their goal rather than resent it.” I bit into my cake again. “My guess is that your mum wasn’t supportive of your dad, and so you feel it’s likely that your own partner will have the same difficulties with you. Am I right?”
“You are,” he conceded, not looking too happy that I’d read him well.
“I get that none of your exes supported you and it’s fed your belief that it’s a lost cause, but you’ll find someone you care for who will. You’ll find yourself in a relationship that, unlikeyour previous ones, matters to you. There’s no doubt in my mind that you’ll be as invested in that relationship as you are in your career. Because that’s who you are. A person who gives their all to something that matters to them. You’ll one day see that I’m right—it might be soon, it might be in ten years, it might be more. And then you’ll be thinking, ‘Huh, Izzy was right.’”
It hurt to think that he might have that future with another woman, but I didn’t let it show on my face. Instead, I took another bite of my cupcake, sinking my teeth into it a little harder than necessary. Realizing he was looking at me funny, I frowned again. “What?” Because I couldn’t read his expression.
His lips pursed, he shook his head. “Nothing.” He patted the space between his legs. “Come sit here.”
I gladly did so, leaning back against his chest. That chest might be packed with pure hard muscle but it was not whatsoever uncomfortable to prop myself up on.
He removed my scrunchie, freeing my curls. I groaned as his fingers delved into my hair. They kneaded and glided over my scalp just right. “You are so good with your hands.”
His chuckle was wolfish.
“I didn’t mean itthat way.Though they are also very good in that context.”
“I’m glad you like them.” He dropped a kiss on the top of my head. “I love getting my hands on your hair.”
“You wouldn’t like it so much if you were the one who had to style it.” Having a head of ringlets could be a bloody nightmare at times.
“One day, I’m going to wrap a bunch of these curls around my cock while you lick and suck on the head. Maybe I’ll come in your mouth, or maybe I’ll jerk off with your hair still curled around my dick and then blow my load all over it.”
I did a slow blink, my belly fluttering. “That’s quite a fantasy.”
He shrugged. “I did warn you that I could develop an obsession with your hair.”
“I kind of have an obsession with your back muscles.”
