Page 64 of Filled

He grins, and the scar through his eyebrow pulls with it. “She’s just sitting there, man. You can do this.”

“She’s not just sitting there. She’s sitting there in Dante’s hoodie.”

“Yeah, I clocked that too.” Micah glances over at Dante, who’s bouncing on his toes, rolling his neck. “And Cruz keeps looking at her like she’s a steak. And you keep looking at her like she’s water. Y’all are about as subtle as a brick to the head.”

“Shut up, Micah.”

“I’m just saying.”

Ray, our old-timer, snorts from the corner where he’s been quietly watching everything with his arms folded. Ray doesn’t say much. Ray doesn’t have to. When he does talk, the whole room shuts up.

“Kid,” he says, and I’m not sure if he means me or Micah. “Discipline. That’s all this sport is. You can want everything in the world, but you step in that cage, there’s only room for one thing. Winning. Everything else can wait six minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t sir me. Listen to me.”

“Yes, Ray.”

Victor claps once. “Up. Let’s go again. Two rounds left.”

Dante locks eyes with me as I step back into the center. There’s something playful in his expression. “Stop thinking about her,” he murmurs as we touch gloves.

“I’m not.”

“Brady.”

“Fuck. Off,” I huff.

The buzzer goes.

He comes forward, and I circle out, jab, jab, slip, hook to the body. He absorbs it on his elbow. Steps in. I feel his weight shift before I see it, and I’m already moving, ducking under his hook, coming up with an uppercut that grazes his chin. He smiles around his mouthguard.

“There he is,” Victor says.

I push the pace. Two-three combo, hook to the leg, switch stance. Dante reads it, ties me up in the clinch, and I feel his forehead press against mine, the heat of him, the way our breath syncs without trying. For one weird half-second, I think about him with Cruz, the way they looked at each other in the cage.

I shove him off harder than I need to.

“Easy, baby,” Dante says, low enough that only I hear it.

My whole body goes hot. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?”

I don’t have an answer.

The buzzer goes, and I’m grateful.

“Water break. Four minutes.” Victor checks his watch. “Last round, then you’re done, Brady. Cool down properly. I don’t want you cramping up.”

I climb out of the cage and grab my towel, and Cruz is right there, all six-foot-two of him, blocking out the light. He hands me a fresh bottle of water without saying anything, just claps his huge hand on the back of my neck and squeezes once before letting go.

“Looking sharp, kid.”

“I lost focus.”

“Once. Then you found it.” He shrugs. “You did good.”