He stopped clapping and grinning and looked to me.

“She’s fifteen, she gets more freedom. She’s fourteen, she does not.”

“She’s fifteen next month,” I told him something he knew better than me.

“Then she doesn’t have long to wait,” he retorted and looked away, toward the boys in their clutch patting Auden on the back.

He took it then his eyes went to his dad. After that, they came to me.

I gave him a thumb’s up and some silent clapping.

He shook his head and rolled his eyes but did it grinning.

Then he started pulling on his track suit.

“Look at those mooks,” Cillian stated disgustedly, staring at the two boys now wrestling on the mat. “Auden is the best…ever.”

Mickey slid an arm along my waist and kept it there.

I endured the bone-crushing boredom of watching another bunch of boys—these I didn’t know and love—wrestle, doing this fortified by Mickey’s arm around me.

Then, thankfully, it was over and we all went home.

* * * * *

I knocked on the door to the locker room.

It flew open and I found myself flying in because Mickey’s hand latched onto my wrist and he pulled me in.

He looked out the door he had his other hand on.

“Kids in their seats?” he asked the hallway.

“Yes, Mickey,” I breathed.

He slammed the door, locked it and shoved me against the cinderblock wall.

Then, in his boxing trunks and shoes, upper body bare and still slicked with sweat, he dropped to his knees in front of me.

“Mickey,” I panted.

His hands taped from the fight he just lost to Jake, he pushed up my pencil skirt.

“Are you okay?” I asked, noting (in what I had to admit was a distracted way) the red welling on his cheek.

He didn’t answer.

He ripped down my panties.

I sucked in a breath.

He tipped his head back, sliding a hand up the side of my high-heeled Jimmy Choo boot.

“Like these boots, baby,” he whispered.

“I…good,” I mumbled.

He slid his hand back down, grasped my ankle, tossed it over his sweat-glistened shoulder and dove right in.

My head hit cinderblock and I buried my hands in his hair.

He ate me, hungry, voracious, no mercy until I came in his mouth (and again I had to admit, this didn’t take long).

Still soaring, he was up, I was up, and he was fucking me against cinderblock.

I came again while he was kissing me, moaning into his mouth, tasting me and Mickey.

He followed me while I was kissing him, groaning into my mouth, tasting only me.

When he was done, he stayed buried inside me, shoved his face in my neck and held me against the wall.

I stroked his hair and his back and stared unseeing at the locker room.

“I love fight night,” I whispered.

Mickey pulled his face out of my neck and looked at me.

Grinning.

* * * * *