Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
“You okay?” I grab the door, pulling it wider.
She slides in without looking at me. “Yup.”
“Molly—”
She turns her head and stares at me with glossy blue eyes. “Can we please go?”
“I’m on it.” I make sure she’s tucked in her seat and shut the door.
She’s quiet while I navigate out of the parking lot and onto the road that will take us to the Thruway. The last thing I want to do after the day we’ve had is get lost somewhere on Long Island.
“You okay?” Why am I asking when I know the answer.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re going to Vegas? For a big fight?”
No time to have an argument like when we have a three-hour drive ahead of us. “It’s just been talk so far. Nothing was confirmed until today.”
From the corner of my eye, I catch Molly’s bottom lip wobble. All I want to do is pull over, drag her into my lap and kiss her concerns away. The reunion show was stressful enough, without this extra bullshit.
I better start with what I’m sure is her biggest concern. “I won’t be leaving again. You heard Underhill, he’ll work with me so I can train at home.” Shit, that’s not entirely true. “Well, I have to go to fight camp three or four weeks before the event—but it won’t be like the show. We’ll be able to talk whenever we want. It’s probably gonna be when you’re in the middle of finals, anyway.”
“For something that isn’t confirmed, you sure have a lot of details,” she says, staring straight ahead.
“I’m trying to be smarter this time, Molly. Learn as much as I can before I commit,” I explain. “Once you’re done with finals, I want you to fly out to meet me for fight week.”
She blinks rapidly. “Wait, you want me there? I can come to the fight? To Las Vegas? To be with you?”
“Of course I want you there.” I can’t stand not having my arms around her another second. I spot a small gas station ahead and pull into the parking lot.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
I stop in a space on the side of the building, out of view from most of the parking lot and turn toward her. “I need you there.” I reach over and take her hand. “I won’t have a lot of free time during fight week. There’s going to be press conferences and stuff. Probably boring as hell. And I’ll still be training. But I’d really like you there. After the fight, we can stay for a few days and explore Vegas if you want. Hell, if I win, we can go anywhere you want.”
“I don’t care about seeing Vegas or anything else.” She turns my hand over and traces a soft, ticklish line from my middle finger to the inside of my wrist. “I want to be there to cheer for you.”
“Thank you. I want you there, believe me.” I raise her hand and brush my lips against her knuckles. “While I’m training at home, I might not be able to drive out and visit you as often as I have been lately.”
Her brow furrows. “Griff, I understand how serious training for something like this is. If you’re doing it, then you need to do it a hundred percent.”
“I can’t do this…I won’t, unless you’re really okay with it.”
One corner of her mouth slides up. “Well, from what Diane said, it sounds like this guy is in desperate need of a Stonewall Slap.”
That’s not the answer I expected, but it’s definitely the one I needed.
If I didn’t know how much Molly wants a small, rose garden wedding one day, I think I’d ask her to marry me while we’re in Vegas.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Molly
Griff and I get home so late that we don’t wake up until the next afternoon.
Wait. I open my eyes. I’m alone.
Where is he?
I grab a T-shirt from one of his drawers, slip on my velvet pants even though they feel gross from wearing them all day yesterday, and head upstairs.
Low, angry voices greet me as I push open the door. Griff and Remy. I roll my eyes and walk toward their budding argument.
“What do you mean she punched someone?” Remy seethes.
They’re in the dining room. That’s good, at least there’s a whole table between them. Remy’s back is to me, his neck and shoulders tight with anger.
Griff’s facing me and notices my arrival first.
“Good morning, Remington,” I say from behind him.
He turns and relief washes over his face, smoothing the angry furrow between his eyebrows. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I show him my right hand. “My fingers hurt a little. I don’t know how you guys do that repeatedly.”
He gently takes my hand, inspecting for damage, then looks up into my eyes.
Remorse, not smug satisfaction that he was right, shimmers in his eyes.