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She had plenty of curves, though, from where I was looking. And she was sort of blonde. Somewhere between dark blonde and light brown? I wasn’t sure what I’d call her hair color.
Perfect?
She sighed. “Would it help if the suit tailor was curvy and blonde?”
“Not even a little bit.” I reached past her, startling her, as I picked up a large hunting knife that was lying on the bar and pulled the serrated blade from the leather sheath.
Her eyes widened. “What are you doing?”
“Cleaning up from last night.”
I went over to the fuck doll and stabbed it dead. I stomped all the air out of that poor deflated bastard and stuffed him in the kitchen garbage can. I sheathed the knife and stashed it in a drawer.
All the while, Jolie stared. “Is it normal for you to have sex dolls and giant knives lying around?”
“Maybe. It’s called a party.” I swiped all the greasy pizza boxes off the counter and dumped them in a pile on the floor.
“What kind of party is that?”
“Get some fun friends and maybe you’ll find out.”
She blew out a breath.
“Great comeback. I see you’ve been working on those.”
“How’s this. I would’ve thought you’d be more into live humans than inflatable ones. But I guess a swamp troll like yourself takes what he can get, huh?”
She squirmed, looking around as if for an escape route, as I strolled back over to the bar where she stood and got too close. I reached past her to grab a banana from the fruit bowl. I peeled it slowly and said, low and deliberate, “You couldn’t handle what I’m into.” I held out the banana, offering her a bite.
She scowled.
I studied her sweet, roundish face. She had pretty lips. Not a tiny nose, but the bridge of her nose had a little bump that somehow made it endearing. She wasn’t even wearing makeup and she had soft, clear skin, with a blush on her cheeks that was just growing brighter as we bickered. Her hair was just past her shoulders, in waves that she’d spent a lot of time working to make look natural, or that were actually natural. The big, pink-rimmed glasses were adorable.
She was exactly as cute, effortlessly cute, as I remembered her being.
No, she was definitely perfect.
No wonder Dad adored her. He’d always been a sucker for a pretty woman.
As she stared at me, I took a bite of the banana and dumped the rest into the blender on the bar. “You never answered my question. What do you want?”
She huffed a little. “I want to call a truce, okay?”
I almost laughed. Then I headed into the kitchen, started loading more ingredients into the blender. Frozen berries and powdered greens.
The only reason anyone would call a truce was because they knew they couldn’t win.
Take Moe Brampton. Like hours after I agreed to fight him, he’d withdrawn from the fight. Said, on his YouTube video about it, that his team had advised him against it. Whether his team advised him against it because they thought he was too good to fight me or because they thought he couldn’t really beat me and didn’t want him to disgrace himself by losing to the likes of me, I’d probably never know.
The greasy sleazebag who touted himself lord of the underground fight circuit, a guy I knew only by the goofy alias of Buddy Black, had texted me last night to ask me what I wanted to do about it. Did I want to pick up another fight? He probably knew I’d be hungry for blood.
But I didn’t text him back yet.
Decided it was a better idea to have a few dozen people over and get trashed. Might as well, right? Since my training camp was abruptly over about as quickly as it started.
Though maybe I’d just stay in training.
Maybe taking another fight was the only fix for this fucking jagged energy coursing through me.
