Page 29 of Forever Fighting
“Love you.” I disconnect the call and turn to Lydia. “All right. Let’s do this.”
I adjust my dark suit jacket and head out into the main dining area to look for her. Braelyn is waiting by the host stand, her brown eyes taking in the buzz of the restaurant while an appreciative smile tickles her lips. The sight of her stops me mid-stride. The gown of midnight blue follows the curves of her body like water, with a deep V-neckline that reveals the inner slopes of her breasts and cinches in at her waist, only to flow down along her hips to the floor. Her chestnut curls are swept up and pinned behind her, and her makeup is heavier than usual, her eyes smoky, and her lips the same deep red as the walls.
Jesus.
My typically cool and steady heart has never heated and thundered like this.
I take her distraction and run with it, studying every line, savoring every curve, waiting for the moment when her eyes finally turn to meet mine like they are now. A dazzling smile curls up her lips, and fuck, I can’t breathe. It feels like an elephant is sitting on my chest. She gives me a long, approving once-over and crosses the room to me.
“You’re stunning,” I tell her before I can stop it, bending to kiss her cheek but somehow growing closer to the corner of her lips. She’s wearing perfume. It’s not something she does with any regularity, and it’s light and airy, but it’s making my blood thrum and my cock throb all the same.
“You clean up nicely too,” she tells me, running her hand down my black shirt and suit jacket that’s missing a tie because ties aren’t what I do. “This is very… you.”
My lips twitch. “You approve then?”
“Of you in an all-black sexy suit? What’s not to approve of?”
“Did you just call me sexy?”
She laughs lightly, her tone teasing. “I called your suit sexy. You’re… adequate.”
“You’re not. You’re insanely sexy. I’ll have to keep you by my side all night or I’ll end up murdering someone.”
A flush spreads across her cheeks, but she doesn’t shift or shy away from it. “It’s the dress.”
“It’s the best thing I’ve ever spent money on.”
She does a twirl, giving me a nice view of her ass in the process. “Well, when a famous chef insists on buying you couture for his fancy restaurant opening, it’s rude to say no and disappoint him.”
“Kid, there is nothing about you that could ever disappoint me.” The words come out rougher and more intense than I intend. Thankfully, Lydia comes over and interrupts us with people I unfortunately have to meet.
No hiding in the kitchen or avoiding pictures tonight.
The next hour dissolves into a series of introductions, handshakes, and literal wining and dining. Critics from every major publication circulate through the space, scribbling notes and feigning nonchalance as they sample dishes and sip on drinks. Celebrities and social media influencers position themselves strategically for photos that make them appear important.
Through it all, Braelyn stays by my side, and I hold her there, keeping her close. She’s brilliant at this, always good with talking to strangers and making everyone feel like the most special person in the room. I have no doubt she’s like this as a nurse, instilling care and comfort in her patients. She deflects questions about our relationship with humor, asks insightful questions about the food that makes the critics take a second bite, and charms models and actresses with wild stories about the ER.
“The secret to the pesto is the olive oil, I think,” she muses,taking a taste as she chats up a critic. “Roman insists on using a specific olive oil from an orchard in Spain where the trees are older than most other countries. I’m convinced that’s also why his homemade pasta is as incredible as it is.”
“That’s not precisely—” I begin to correct her, but the critic is already nodding appreciatively and jotting something down on his phone.
“Don’t ruin my stories with facts,” she murmurs when the critic moves on. “I’m playing on your mystique.”
“I wasn’t aware I had mystique.”
I get a serious eye roll. “That’s because you don’t see it. But you’re as elusive as they come. Quiet. Introspective. Brilliant. Annoyingly gorgeous without trying to be. And besides, it’s not entirely fiction. You are ridiculously fastidious with your recipes and ingredients. It’s also what makes you so good in the ring. Your attention to detail allows you to see what others miss.”
I used to be more reckless. Always chasing something I couldn’t quite grasp. Then my brother died, and it was my fault, and after that, I didn’t want to be reckless anymore. I wanted to control everything, see every potential risk from ten miles out. But the restlessness never faded. It’s why I box. Yet somehow, Braelyn manages to calm me in a similar way. Her presence has always been a balm to my unsettled, ravaged heart.
Kind of like what she’s doing for me here.
I hate everything about the forced socialization and smiles, but she draws the latter effortlessly out of me.
My fingers sweep along her cheek. I shouldn’t be moving as fast as I am with her. I’ve been testing boundaries and blurring lines. Lines I don’t want to redraw. Lines I want to keep pushing. But she’s not ready yet, and I have to remember that and respect it. Moreover, she’s my best friend’s ex. A best friend who is desperate to win her back. And I’m leaving. How can I push for something real when I won’t be here to see it through?
I’m here to be her friend. The guy who helps her get over her heartache. I don’t want to be a complication or a confusion.
“I’m going to grab another drink,” she declares. “Do you want one?”
