“You really had me going there for a minute,” she admitted, brushing the hair from her forehead. “I will watch your fights soon. Because you’ve got my interest piqued, and I’m sure you are amazing to see in action.”

Pride warmed the center of my chest. I hadn’t experienced that in a while.

The side door opened and three more groups of noisy fans streamed in. The volume level grew louder. Tabitha leaned all the way across the table and placed her mouth at my ear. My heart stuttered to a stop. My mind exploded with sensory details, and not of the solar-system variety. Soft skin, oranges in her hair, the dent in her bottom lip, the swell of her breasts—although I tore my eyes away to stare up at the ceiling.

“It’s getting too loud in here,” she whisper-yelled. “Want to walk me home?”

I must have grunted out an answer, too stunned for real words. She motioned for me to follow her. The bar patrons parted for her easily—less because of my presence, more because there was confidence in every step she took.

There always had been.

And as I followed close behind, I hoped I didn’t look as eager and hopeless as she always made me feel. Because those few classmates I’d spotted shot me discreet looks as Tabitha swayed past. It didn’t take much effort to interpret them.

Maybe if things were different. Maybe if I was still in the ring, taking what I wanted, winning all the damn time, being around a high school crush wouldn’t have even registered.

But things weren’t different. And Tabitha wasn’t any old crush. She was the crush. And only home for a minute before chasing those dreams of hers far from South Philly.

It didn’t matter if tonight she’d tumbled into my lap or laughed at a rare joke. This was all temporary for her.

And she was permanently out of my league.

6. Tabitha

Six

Tabitha

Once outside the bar, my body greeted the wisp of a breeze with open arms. From the second I’d landed in Dean’s lap, I’d been blushing from the ends of my hair to the tips of my toes. I had been on the prowl for a summer-fling candidate. I just wasn’t expecting to be pressed against Dean’s powerful legs or stunned stupid by his brooding, dark-and-stormy good looks.

And that deep voice of his was carved from granite, with the kind of low, rough edges that turned romantic words, dirty and sweet promises into filthy acts. Dean was as tall as he’d been in school, but all that rangy, teenaged-boy energy had transformed into a big man with a thrum of intensity beneath dense boxer muscle.