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I answer the kids’ questions, my gaze going back to the woman who brought them all in. She’d caught my eye the moment she stepped through the doors. The woman’s got long, wavy, midnight black hair. I’ve always been a tit man, and she’s definitely got a pair on her that has my hands itching to feel them in my palms.
I shake the thought off, knowing there’s no point in thinking such things considering everything else I’ve got going on.
After a while, the kids move on, and the woman steps forward, holding her hand out.
“Thank you for everything, Mr. Dyer.”
“Reese,” I say, clasping my hand in hers. “Call me Reese. And it’s not a problem. It’s who I am.” I shrug and step back as I run a hand through my hair.
“It’s not who you are, but what you do,” the woman says, beaming at me with a smile that goes straight to my dick. But it’s the way her eyes lock with mine, and she seems to be staring deeply into them as if she can see all that I hide from the world.
Fuck, I’m being stupid. I'm just imagining shit right now. All I should be thinking of where this woman is concerned is how sweet her body is.
“Cool, you think that, but boxing is what I live for. It’s a part of who I am . . .” I realize I don’t know her name. “I didn’t get your name.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, how rude of me. I’m Haven.”
If I’m not mistaken, I believe Haven blushes as she introduces herself.
“Well, Haven, it’s good to meet you.” I smirk, nodding to the kids. “Guess you better catch up with your group.”
Haven smiles and glances in the direction I indicate. “You’re right. I should.” Her gaze sliding back to me. “But for the record, just because you think something is a part of who you are doesn’t actually make it who you are. Boxing is just a part of life for you, a profession. Take, for example, some of these kids aren’t from the best of places, and yet that doesn’t describe who they are. It’s just the hand they’re given right now.”
I want to question her on how she can seem to think it’s as easy as her words make it out to be. But before I can, one of the kids calls her name, and she excuses herself to join the group of kids again.
Turning away, I head for one of the punching bags. I’m still in training mode, though there isn’t a point in me doing so. It’s not like I have a match to prepare for. But I need this. Something that is a part of my daily life. Training. Getting ready for a fight.
Nearly two weeks ago, my life officially took a turn for the worse, and I’ve yet to talk to anyone about it. Rhett asked me about it when I showed up at his fight, but I was able to brush it off for the time being. I’d heard about him getting with Christina Bright. I always knew he had a thing for her but being that she’s Travis’s little sister, I didn’t think he’d go for it.
Yesterday while speaking with Martin about what’s going on with the boxing commission, he informed me that Ian, my coach, has joined Niko’s team. This news pissed me off and I ended up breaking my phone after disconnecting. If not for Ezra and this bullshit he’s caused for me, none of this would be happening and my ring coach wouldn’t have deserted me.
I slam my fist into the punching bag repeatedly, my gaze focused solely on the bag, but in my head, it’s Ezra. I wish I’d done more to him for what he’s cost me. I should have. At least then, it would feel like it was worth losing everything. The more I think about it, I realize that Ezra couldn’t have been working on this alone. Niko had to have been a part of it. That’s the reason Ezra approached me in the first place. Wanted to buy a win for Niko.
Niko is a pussy ass motherfucker who doesn’t like to play fair. He hides behind those who do the dirty work for him. My guess is he didn’t want to face me in the ring ‘cause he knew I’d beat him. The little shit, no matter how big he is, doesn’t have shit on me.
The way I box, it’s man to man, no faking to appease anyone. It’s legit with no payoffs. Whereas everything revolving around Niko is dirty. He can’t seem to grow a pair of balls and come out of the shadows.
I’m pulled out of my thoughts when a pair of hands grip my shoulders. When I whirl about to slam my fist into whoever dared to touch me, I realize who it is.
“Easy, man,” Travis says, brows furrowed as he stares at me, hands raised up in front of him. “It’s just me.”
“Sorry.” I let out a haggard breath and shake my head. “I didn’t hear you come up behind me.”
“I figured as much. I’d only been calling out to you for the past five minutes,” he states, crossing his arms and jerking his chin to the punching bag. “Way you were going at that bag, I figured if I didn’t stop you soon, you might rip the damn thing right off the chain, and we’d have to get a new one.”
Glancing from Travis to the punching bag, I sigh and plant my hands on my hips, breathing roughly, and shaking my head. “Sorry, I was in my head and wasn’t thinking.”
“I get that.” Travis nods in understanding. “You wanna talk about it?”
“Do I look like I want to do that?”
“No, but sometimes it helps.”
“When did you lose the dick and become a chick?” I cock a brow, knowing the man ain’t one for talking feelings.
“Fuck you, Reese,” Travis snorts, “I’m not about to go asking you to express yourself to me. Just offering to let you get what’s on your mind out so you can actually focus ‘cause what you were doing wasn’t focusing on the bag. Your mind was elsewhere.”
Am I that easy to read?
