Once I knew I was going pro, I gave in to the structure and restrictions that came with elite-level training six days a week. As a teenager, I adopted a classic boxer’s diet: meat, vegetables, carbs. No sugar, no soda, very little alcohol. I didn’t indulge because I knew how it would make my body feel later, and that wasn’t a risk I enjoyed taking. And when I was near the height of my career, wasn’t a risk I even wanted. There was too much riding on each victory—money, reputation, and the weight of the fans sharpening my focus.

The fight nights might have stopped but my diet and workouts hadn’t, a weird vestige I hadn’t been able to give up.

Tabitha held the cocktail across the table. “Do you do cheat days?”

I shook my head.

“Never?”

“Never,” I said.

She studied me over the salted rim of her glass. My shoulder blades rippled with restrained motion. Having Tabitha Tyler across the table from me, legs touching mine, tempting me into drinking alcohol with her, was urging me toward actions I’d never have the courage to take. To place my lips and tongue where hers had been. To enjoy the tart lime, the burn of tequila, to overindulge because it didn’t always have to mean anything.

“Mr. Machine?”

I blinked, muscles flexing in response to the husky tone of her voice. “You go ahead and have the whole thing. Thank you for the offer though.”

She held my gaze. “No getting a little wild for you, then?”

I cut my attention to my phone. “It’s now thirty minutes past my bedtime. You’re seeing me at my most spontaneous.”

She reached for my wrist. “It’s truly an honor to witness this debauchery. I only hope being seen with you while you’re so clearly out of control doesn’t besmirch my innocent and angelic reputation around here.”

I chuckled softly and looked away, sure she was a fever dream. But when I let my eyes rise back up, there she was—beautiful, happy, and very real.

“Tabitha,” I said.

She was knocking her drink back. “What’s up?”

“I’m not a boxer anymore.” I scratched the back of my head. “My workouts are grueling, but I’m not…training. I retired three years ago. I’m just Dean now.”

She placed her glass down gently. Licked her lips. “When we were in school, I thought just Dean was pretty awesome. Did you retire for good reasons or hard reasons?”

My knee jumped up and down beneath the table. No one ever asked me that. “Hard reasons.”

“Well, that sucks.”

Her candor startled a smile from me. “You’re from here. You can imagine…” I waved my hand around me.