Page 170 of Irresistibly Wild


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Travis's signature walkout song, “Bitch, I’m a Champion,” blared through the speakers, and I glanced up at the Jumbotron.

Flanked by ten team members, Travis strutted with utter confidence, with his head bowed under a red hooded robe. With gritted teeth, he looked wholly focused and locked into the moment.

With his every step, the roars from the crowd intensified, and by the time he made it to the pre-check area, his music was buried under the cheers.

He suddenly stopped walking and slid the hood off his head, revealing his gorgeous face.

The crowd roared in approval.

As if he knew almost everyone in this room was here to see him win, he took his time waving at the crowd. Then he deviated from the path to the octagon and headed for the section designated for his super fans.

Shaking their hands one by one, he flashed his perfect smile, and the crowd lost it again.

After the Nevada gaming commissioners checked his hands and smoothed Vaseline over his face, he stepped inside the octagon to the night's loudest applause.

He walked around the cage, smiling and waving to the fans, and then his eyes met mine.

The smile on his face slowly disappeared, and he stopped moving.

His lips parted as he looked me over, and my heart beat the reckless rhythm that belonged to only him.

Instead of moving to his corner and waiting for Juarez to complete his walkout, he stepped out of the cage.

His trainer tried to push him back inside, but Travis was too strong for him. He continued walking toward me.

“What the hell is he doing?” “Did he leave something?” “Is this a new part of his walkout or something?” The audience members behind me speculated.

With the entire crowd watching, he stepped directly in front of me.

Suddenly, the lights in the arena flickered and dimmed. It was time for Juarez’s walkout, but the screams were nowhere near as loud for him.

“Good luck tonight, Travis.” I swallowed. “I’m rooting for you to win.”

“I would hope so,” he said, closing the gap between us. He pressed his finger against my exposed chest, trailing a line down the V-cut of my black dress, sending my nerves haywire.

“I miss you,” he said, trailing a finger against my lips. “I’ve been fucking miserable without you.”

“It’s only been a couple weeks.”

“They’ve been the longest fucking weeks of my life,” he said. “You’re not planning to leave here without saying goodbye again, aren’t you?”

“Does that matter?”

“Of course it does.” His finger was still on my lips. “But do you really think I wasn’t going to chase you down?”

“Mr. Carter?” A suit cleared his throat from behind, saving me from answering that question. “Mr. Carter, you need to return to the octagon.”

Travis ignored him, looking into my eyes. “Did you really block my number again?”

“Travis.” I kept my voice low. “Your fight…”

“Fuck this fight,” he said. “Answer me.”

“Yes.” I spoke softly. “I blocked your number. You need to—”

“Tell you that I’m sorry.” He cupped my face in his hands. “I’m so fucking sorry for not seeing how fucking conflicted and hard our relationship was on you.”

I said nothing.

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