“Oh my God, sorry for being such a fucking perv,” she yelled. “And sorry for yelling that on your front stoop for anyone to hear. I’m definitely making this situation worse and not better. But I randomly picked up mango and lemon water ice from John’s and thought it was spontaneous enough to have you join me on the stoop?”

Her fingers separated an inch so she could peek through. Electricity snapped off my nerve endings like heat lightning. I was grateful for the literal brick wall separating us. This was fight night power. The unstoppable kind. The addicting kind.

And I hadn’t closed the curtains or covered myself up either. I’d let Tabitha check out my body like she was as overcome with temptation as I was.

I cocked my head at the door and let the curtain drop. Then I placed the phone down on the table and cracked my front door open. Her cheeks were pink, lips parted.

“Let me finish this call, and then I’ll come eat your…water ice.”

Her dark brows shot up. “Okay, now who’s the perv?”

I rubbed my jaw. “I’m learning from the best.”

She tipped her head back and laughed. And was still laughing as I let the door click shut.

“Sorry, Harry,” I mumbled into the phone. “It was my neighbor.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he said. “But listen…Dean, I’m telling you. I’ve got huge news. The network called, asking about your availability.”

“What network?”

“Are you kidding me? The network. Game Time. The largest sports entertainment channel in the country isn’t ringin’ a bell for you?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Of course it is. But why are they calling about me? I’m out and I’ve been out.”

Game Time didn’t usually air amateur fights, but they aired the Golden Gloves the year that I won, which was a large part of my popularity once I went pro. Every bar in Philly streamed the weekend fights on the Game Time channel.

“Not to box. As a commentator. Their top guy is leaving, and they want to replace him with someone who’s retired but on the younger side. You are on an extremely short list. And, look, they know you would be young compared to a lot of the other commentators on their network, but it’s the new angle they’re looking for. You could grow into a new career.”

I fell back heavily against the door. “A…commentator?”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“But I can’t…” I trailed off. Sports commentators wore fancy clothes and sat behind desks while facing a camera crew. They interviewed athletes and analyzed performances.